The rain hadn’t stopped in three days.
Blackthorn, a town where everyone knew everyone
else’s business, was used to gossip. But nothing
prepared them for the woman who stepped off the
midnight train with fire in her eyes and thunde
r in her wake.
She called herself Eliza Crane.
No one believed her.
They said she came from the old world, that she’
d been seen in town once before—back during the
war. Some said she was a spy. Others whispered s
he was cursed.
“I saw her walking the ridge above the old mill,
” said old Mrs. Harlow, clutching her pearls lik
e they were a rosary. “She didn’t get wet. Not o
nce.”
“Superstition,” scoffed Sheriff Tate. “People al
ways looking for ghosts.”
But even he couldn’t explain the way the crows f
ollowed her, or why the lights flickered when sh
e passed.
Eliza Crane didn’t care what they said.
She had one purpose: find the relic and break th
e curse before the next eclipse.
That was easier said than done.
Blackthorn was built on old bones and older secr
ets. The town’s founding families had buried som
ething deep in the hillside, and it wasn’t just
money.
She needed help.
Unfortunately, the only person who could get her
inside the old Blackthorn estate was the town’s
golden boy—and her fated mate.
“You want me to what?”
Jace Blackthorn stared at her like she’d grown a
second head.
She didn’t blame him.
He was a war hero, NFL star, and billionaire. Sh
e was a woman with a storm in her veins and a pa
st full of blood.
“I need access to your family’s archives,” Eliza
said. “Before the eclipse.”
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over h
is broad chest. “And what happens if I say no?”
“The town burns,” she said, dead serious. “And y
ou die screaming.”
He blinked.
Silence stretched between them like a taut wire.
Then he laughed. A low, rich sound that made her
stomach twist.
“You’re something else, Crane.”
She didn’t smile. “You have no idea.”
The next day, Jace showed her the house.
It was a fortress of marble and shadow, filled w
ith portraits of men with his eyes and women wit
h his arrogance.
“This was my greatgrandfather’s study,” he said,
opening a heavy oak door. “He was a senator dur
ing Prohibition. Bootlegged whiskey across the M
idwest.”
“Was he the one who buried the relic?”
Jace frowned. “How did you know that?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she moved to the fireplace and ran her
fingers along the mantle. A whisper of magic hum
med beneath the stone.
She pressed harder.
The wall shifted.
A hidden door groaned open, revealing a narrow s
taircase spiraling down into darkness.
Jace swore under his breath.
“You’re telling me my family’s been sitting on t
his and didn’t know?”
“Your bloodline was never meant to wield it,” sh
e said. “Only guard it.”
He followed her down.
The tunnel opened into a chamber lined with symb
ols that pulsed like veins. At its center sat a
black stone altar, and on it, a silver locket gl
owing faintly in the dark.
Eliza’s breath caught.
“That’s it,” she whispered.
Jace reached for it.
“No!”
Too late.
The moment his fingers touched the locket, the a
ir cracked with energy.
The walls trembled. The floor split.
A scream echoed from the walls—voices of the dea
d.
Jace staggered back, clutching his chest.
Eliza caught him before he hit the ground.
His skin was burning.
“It’s in him now,” she muttered. “The curse.”
He gasped, eyes wide with pain. “What the hell w
as that?”
She met his gaze. “It chose you.”
Over the next week, Jace changed.
He started seeing things—shadows that moved when
no one was there, whispers in the wind.
The townsfolk noticed too.
“She’s cursed him,” Mrs. Harlow said. “Just like
the old stories.”
Sheriff Tate came knocking.
“You need to leave, Crane,” he said. “Before thi
ngs get worse.”
Eliza didn’t flinch. “You don’t understand what
you’re dealing with.”
“Then explain it.”
She did.
Everything.
The war in the old world. The betrayal that left
her cursed to walk the earth. The relic that co
uld free her—and the price it demanded.
Tate didn’t believe her.
Not until that night, when the sky cracked open
and the dead rose from the hillside.
Jace was the only one who could stop it.
But to do that, he had to let go of everything h
e thought he knew.
Including her.
“You have to destroy the locket,” Eliza said, he
r voice steady.
He stared at her. “And you?”
“I’ll be free,” she said. “Or I’ll die.”
“No.”
He gripped her hand. “I won’t lose you.”
“You have to,” she whispered. “It’s the only way
.”
He hesitated.
Then he kissed her.
A desperate, searing kiss that tasted like goodb
ye.
He turned and ran into the storm.
The final battle was chaos.
Lightning split the sky. The dead clawed their w
ay from the earth.
Jace stood at the center, the locket burning in
his palm.
He spoke the words Eliza had taught him.
The relic shattered.
The hillside screamed.
And then—silence.
When the sun rose, Eliza was gone.
So was the curse.
Jace stood alone on the ridge, the wind carrying
the faintest trace of her scent.
He never saw her again.
But every spring, on the anniversary of that nig
ht, a single white rose appears on his doorstep.
No note.
Just a whisper on the wind.
