Ivy’s heart pounded as she stumbled back from the Thornwood, the vision of her mother’s accusing scream—*“Murderer!”*—searing her mind. Lucian’s denial, his glowing eyes, and the shadowy figure watching from the trees left her reeling, her trust in him fraying like a worn thread. The blood moon’s crimson light followed her into Marlowe Manor, casting long shadows that seemed to writhe with intent. The Thornwood’s whispers clung to her, their chant—*“Choose, or we choose for you”*—a relentless echo. She needed someone to anchor her, to make sense of the chaos, and her feet carried her to the one person whose touch, however dangerous, felt like a lifeline.

The parlor was dimly lit, a single candle flickering on the mantle. Damien Blackthorne lounged against the wall, his emerald eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and exhaustion. His leather jacket was slung over a chair, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the sharp lines of his collarbone. He looked like a fallen angel, beautiful and broken, and Ivy’s heart ached at the sight of him. She wanted to hate him for the weakness his kiss had left her with, for the pain that lingered in her bones, but the pull between them was undeniable, a spark that refused to die.

“You look like hell, darling,” Damien said, his voice teasing but softer than usual, his smirk not quite reaching his eyes. “Thornwood get under your skin?”

Ivy’s hands clenched, the diary’s warning—*“Don’t trust the one who loves you most”*—burning in her mind. “You could say that,” she said, her voice sharp but trembling. “I saw my mother, Damien. She called Lucian a murderer. And you—you keep disappearing, leaving me weaker every time we touch. I need the truth. What are you doing to me?”

Damien’s smirk faded, his face paling as he straightened. “Ivy,” he said, his voice low, almost a plea. “You don’t want to know this. Not now.”

“I do,” she insisted, stepping closer, her green eyes locked on his. “My mother’s diary said one of you will betray me. Your kiss—it’s killing me, isn’t it? Tell me why.”

He flinched, as if her words were a blade. For a moment, he was silent, his hands fisting at his sides. Then he spoke, his voice raw, stripped of its usual charm. “It’s a curse,” he said, each word heavy with guilt. “Every time I touch you, it takes your power, feeds it to the Shadow Court. I’ve been fighting it, Ivy, I swear. But it’s stronger than me.”

Her heart stopped, the air between them thick with pain. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered, her voice breaking. She wanted to scream, to push him away, but the anguish in his eyes held her. She’d spent her life alone, guarding her heart, and yet Damien’s vulnerability cracked her open, made her want to save him.

“I didn’t want you to hate me,” he said, his voice barely audible. He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the cedar and smoke on his skin. “I feel you, Ivy. Every time I’m near you, it’s like I’m alive again. But I’m poison to you, and I can’t stop it.”

Her chest ached, torn between fear and a desperate need to pull him closer. “You’re not poison,” she said, her voice fierce despite the tears stinging her eyes. “We can break this curse, Damien. Together.”

His laugh was bitter, broken. “You don’t know what you’re offering,” he said, his eyes glistening. “Breaking it could kill you. And I’d rather die than let that happen.”

Before she could argue, he closed the distance, his hands framing her face, his touch trembling with restraint. “I shouldn’t do this,” he murmured, his breath warm against her lips. “But I can’t stop wanting you.”

His kiss was a collision of need and despair, soft at first, then deepening, hungry, as if he could pour his soul into her. Ivy’s hands tangled in his hair, her body singing with the intensity of it, a bittersweet fire that burned away her doubts. For a moment, she was lost in him, in the way his touch felt like home despite the danger.

But the pain came, sharp and searing, a burning in her chest that stole her breath. She gasped, pulling back, her vision blurring with shadows that coiled around her like smoke. Her knees buckled, and Damien caught her, his face ashen. “Ivy, no,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry—I can’t stop it.”

She clung to him, her breath ragged, the room spinning. “We’ll find a way,” she said, her voice weak but defiant. “I’m not giving up on you.”

Damien’s eyes filled with tears, his hands shaking as he held her. “You should,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m losing, Ivy. Every time I touch you, I lose more of myself to them.” He pulled back, his body trembling, as if fighting an invisible force. “You need to stay away from me. For your own sake.”

“No,” she said, reaching for him, but he stepped back, his face a mask of guilt and longing. The diary’s warning echoed in her mind—*“Don’t trust the one who loves you most”*—and her heart twisted. Was Damien the betrayer? Or was it his curse, stealing her power for the Shadow Court?

Before she could speak, the parlor doors creaked open, and a cloaked figure stepped inside, their presence chilling the air. The Shadow Court’s emissary smirked, their eyes glinting like polished obsidian. “Damien’s already given us half your power, Ivy,” they said, their voice a silken taunt. “Care to guess who gets the rest?”

Ivy’s blood ran cold, her hand instinctively reaching for Damien’s, but he pulled away, his face pale with horror. “No,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what?” Ivy demanded, her voice trembling with fear and betrayal. She stepped toward the emissary, her heart pounding. “What do you want from me?”

The emissary’s smirk widened, shadows coiling around them like a living cloak. “The pact demands your choice,” they said. “And time’s running out.” They vanished in a swirl of darkness, their laughter echoing, leaving Ivy staring at Damien, her heart fracturing.

“Damien,” she said, her voice breaking, “what have you done?”

He didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the spot where the emissary had stood, his hands shaking. The manor groaned, the Thornwood’s whispers surging through the walls, chanting her name. Ivy’s vision blurred, the pain from Damien’s kiss lingering, and a new fear gripped her: If Damien was feeding her power to the Shadow Court, who was next? And what would they take from her?