Lucian must willingly drink the vampire's blood under a blood moon, symbolizing trust and surrender. However, the curse feeds on hatred—if his heart harbors true animosity, the ritual will fail, binding him to darkness forever.

Rain lashed against the cobblestone, mirroring the storm inside Lucian. His hand gripped the hilt of his dagger, slick with blood—not hers, not yet. She stood before him, moonlight dancing off her inhuman eyes, a predator cloaked in elegance.

"I should destroy you," Lucian muttered, his voice a low growl swallowed by the night. The curse's mark burned on his chest, a dark reminder of his failure. "But fate has a sick humor, doesn't it? Because it seems I need you more than I hate you."

His words hung heavy between them, laced with venom and something far more dangerous: reluctant hope.