We found shelter just before night swallowed the forest whole.
The structure was old stone walls cracked with age, the remains of what might once have been a chapel or a watch post. The roof had partially collapsed, but one corner still stood firm enough to keep the wind out. It was better than nothing.
Luna barely made it inside before her strength gave out.
I caught her before she fell, my arms locking around her instinctively. She was cold now, shivering despite the lingering heat of the mark. I lowered her carefully against the wall and shrugged off my coat, wrapping it around her shoulders.
"Stay awake," I murmured, brushing damp hair from her face.
"I am," she whispered, though her eyes fluttered. "I just feel… heavy."
I knelt in front of her, checking the bandage on her wrist. The mark beneath it was quiet for now but the silence felt deliberate, like a held breath.
I hated it.
She watched me as I worked, her gaze lingering on the blood drying along my ribs, my shoulder.
"You didn't even flinch," she said softly. "When it hurt you."
I met her eyes. "I did."
She shook her head. "No. You chose it."
The words settled between us, heavy and intimate.
I looked away first.
Night deepened. The forest outside went unnaturally still, as if even the darkness was listening. I lit a small flame between us, just enough to chase the shadows back from the walls.
That was when the mark stirred.
Luna gasped.
I was on my feet instantly. "What is it?"
Her fingers clenched around the bandage as a slow, deliberate heat bloomed beneath her skin—not pain. Awareness. The mark glowed faintly, veins of light creeping outward like something mapping her blood.
"No," I muttered. "Not now."
The curse under my skin reacted not violently, but with a sick recognition.
I knew that feeling.
Someone was watching.
Then the voice came.
Not from the air.
From the blood.
"So this is where you ran to."
Luna cried out, collapsing forward. I caught her, pulling her tightly against my chest as the voice echoed again smooth, amused, cruelly familiar.
"You always did prefer hiding in ruins," Mark continued. "It suits you. Broken things clinging to broken places."
My vision darkened.
"Get out of her," I growled.
A low chuckle vibrated through the mark. Luna whimpered, clutching my shirt like an anchor.
"She feels you, doesn't she?" Mark said lightly. "Your rage. Your hunger. How sweet. How… useful."
I pressed my forehead to Luna's, my hand gripping her wrist firmly despite the burn. "Don't listen to him," I whispered. "Focus on me."
Her breath was shallow. "He knows my name," she whispered back. "He knows everything."
"Of course I do," Mark replied, delighted. "Your father begged just as prettily when he realized what he'd traded away."
Her body went rigid.
"What did you do to him?" she demanded, her voice breaking.
Silence.
Then laughter soft, satisfied.
I felt something in me snap.
The curse surged violently, shadows writhing along the walls in response. I slammed my fist into the stone beside us, the impact cracking it.
"You wanted my attention," I snarled. "You have it."
"Oh, I've always had it," Mark said. "You just finally stopped running."
The mark flared bright.
Luna screamed.
I pulled her fully into my arms, shielding her with my body as if that could keep him out. My lips brushed her temple as I spoke urgently, desperately.
"You're not his," I told her. "You hear me? Whatever deal was made it ends with me."
Her hands fisted in my shirt. "Then don't let go."
I tightened my hold. "I won't."
Mark sighed theatrically. "So touching. You'd burn the world for her already, wouldn't you?"
Yes.
The answer lived in my bones.
"That's why you'll lose," he continued. "Love makes such obedient weapons."
The voice faded slowly, like fingers dragging through blood before withdrawing.
The mark dimmed.
Luna sagged against me, trembling violently. I held her until the shaking slowed, my hand moving gently through her hair, grounding her.
Minutes passed before she spoke.
"My father made a deal," she said quietly. "He thought he could control it. Control him."
I closed my eyes.
"He was wrong."
"Yes," she whispered. "And now I'm paying for it."
She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes shining in the low light. "If you walk away now, I'd understand."
I cupped her face, my thumb brushing the tear she didn't realize had fallen.
"There is no walking away," I said. "Not anymore."
Her breath hitched at the closeness. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the space between us to shared warmth, shared fear, shared defiance.
Then she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to mine.
"Then stay," she whispered. "Even if it destroys us."
I kissed her hair, slow and reverent, like a vow.
Outside, something moved in the darkness.
And far away, Mark smiled.