Page 85 of The Devil's Canvas

And now I have what my parents have. What my aunt and uncle have. A connection that won’t fade.

I can’t wait for the Infernal Union. But first—we seal the Claim.

Ophelia leans in, eyes locked on mine, no flicker of hesitation. Her lips part, and when she kisses me, it’s not tender—it’s pure will. Like she’s not just choosing me. She’s igniting something neither of us can contain.

The Mark flares beneath my skin, responding to her mouth like it’s been waiting for this moment to awaken. And I know—this isn’t surrender. It’s her claiming me. Setting the bond ablaze. Stepping into the dark with her eyes wide open.

She jerks back with a sound I’ll never forget. Bone? Muscle? I don’t know. She hits the floor—hard.Not like she tripped. Like something inside her threw her down. Her back arches violently. Her hands claw at her chest, digging into the Mark, nails tearing skin as if she can rip it out.

The scream that rips through her isn’t human.

It starts as a sound and ends as a weapon—echoing off the stone, rattling dust from the ceiling. Blood pours from her nose, her mouth, the corners of her eyes. She convulses. Muscles locking, spasming. Her spine bows like it’s going to snap.

The Mark pulses. Gold spreads in sharp, jagged lines across her skin like veins—or roots. Like something inside her is trying to grow out of her body, and she’s fighting it.

But it’s winning.

I move, knowing I can’t help her, and the bond punishes me. Heat lashes across my arm—hot enough to leave smoke in the air. I stop. Fists clenched. Useless. All I can do is watch her thrash, bleed, break.

Her jaw locks. Her teeth grind. Her eyes roll back. Her entire body is trembling like she’s being electrocuted from the inside. Like the Claim is feeding on her.

I feel it all. Her fear. Her fury. Her agony. It crashes into me through the bond like a flood I can’t outrun.

And I still can’t take it from her.

The Claim was never meant to be shared. This is her crucible. I am only the shadow cast by her fire.

I’ve seen gods fall. Watched souls beg for mercy. But nothing—not war, not death—has ever hit like this. Standing here. Watching her be devoured.

And knowing she chose it.

"I'm here, baby," I say, low and raw. A vow. I drop to my knees just outside the circle of burning heat where the Mark keeps me back. I can’t touch her. I can’t stop it.

But I can stay.

And I do.

“I know it hurts,” I murmur, the words cracking in my throat. “I feel it. Every scream. Every pulse. You’re unraveling in front of me and I can’t do a fucking thing.”

She cries out again—guttural, broken—and I flinch like it hit me in the ribs.

“Come back to me,” I whisper, steadier now. “Ophelia. Look at me.”

She doesn’t. Her eyes are rolled back. Her body still locked in the storm. But I keep talking. Because if I stop—I’ll shatter.

“You’re not alone,” I say. “You never were. I love you. In ways I don’t have words for. And I know this is yours. I know you chose it. But you don’t have to carry it alone.”

I reach out. Close enough to feel the air sear my skin. It hurts. I don’t care.

The screaming pulls back like a tide. Her body goes limp. Her chest heaves. Blood streaks her skin. The Mark still glows—dim now, like embers dying in ash.

Her eyes open.

For a second—just one—I see blue.

Herblue.

She looks at me like she doesn’t know where she is. Doesn’t knowwhoshe is. And that’s when I move.

---