Marked by His Shadows

Chapter One – The Mark

The first time it happened, Lila Monroe was standing in the rain outside a nightclub she couldn't afford to enter, holding her heels in one hand and a half-dead phone in the other.

Of course, it would rain.

Of course, she'd miss the last bus.

And of course, her roommate had turned off her phone-again.

Life had a way of kicking her just when she thought things couldn't possibly get worse. And right now, she wasn't sure if she wanted to scream, cry, or walk until her legs gave out. Maybe all three.

She huddled beneath the crooked awning of a closed café, water dripping down the back of her neck. The city glowed around her-so alive, so far removed from her existence. Neon signs flickered like they were laughing at her. Couples walked past, umbrellas raised, warm in each other's arms.

She hadn't felt warm in years.

Then it happened.

A sharp sting bloomed across her collarbone-like fire, like ice, like claws beneath her skin. She gasped and stumbled, clutching at her chest.

The pain was searing. Not outside. Inside.

She yanked the neckline of her dress down just enough to see it.

A mark.

Intricate. Ancient. Carved into her skin like a brand. Black as ink, but pulsing faintly. Not a tattoo. Not paint. It looked alive.

"What the hell..."

She didn't finish.

Because in the reflection of the café window, someone stood behind her.

A man. Tall. Motionless. Dressed in black, with eyes like silver frost.

She spun around.

Nothing.

The alley was empty. No sound but the patter of rain on pavement and the distant growl of city traffic.

But the mark on her chest still burned.

---

She didn't sleep that night.

The mark didn't fade. It was still there the next morning, even after three frantic showers, two scrubs with a loofah that left her raw, and a desperate Google search for "spontaneous magical skin diseases."

The results were not helpful.

She missed work. Her boss-an underpaid manager at a bookstore that smelled like dust and regret-left her a furious voicemail. She didn't care.

Because something was wrong.

And someone was watching her.

She felt it in every shadow. Every corner. Every flicker at the edge of her vision.

---

Two days later, it got worse.

She was walking home from the train station, eyes on the cracked sidewalk, keys gripped between her knuckles the way her mother taught her-when a black car rolled up beside her.

Sleek. Silent. Unmarked.

The window slid down.

"Get in," a voice said.

Her heart seized. She stopped, confused. "Excuse me?"

The man behind the wheel wore a suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent, and his eyes were hidden behind dark glasses despite the cloudy sky.

"You're not safe out here, Miss Monroe."

She laughed-high, sharp, disbelieving. "Did you seriously just say that?"

Then the door behind her opened.

Another man stepped out. He didn't say a word. Just stood there, blocking her path.

Something primal in her reared up.

She turned and ran.

---

She didn't get far.

Hands grabbed her. Not violently. But firmly. Like they knew exactly how not to leave a bruise.

She kicked, clawed, screamed-but no one helped. People glanced, frowned, turned away. Because to them, it didn't look like danger. It looked like security. Like control.

They shoved her into the car. Locked the door.

And then she saw him.

Sitting across from her in the backseat.

The man from the café reflection.

Perfectly tailored suit. Sharp features. A stillness so complete it made her breath catch. And those eyes-silver, inhuman, ageless.

"Lila Monroe," he said, his voice low and smooth, like glass over ice. "You've been marked."

She stared. "Who the hell are you?"

He didn't blink.

"Adrian Thorne."

The name hit her like a slap.

She'd heard it before. Everyone had. The elusive CEO of Thorne Enterprises. A billionaire recluse. Whispers of criminal empires, political puppets, and power that didn't make sense in the real world. A man seen so rarely that most people assumed he was a myth.

He looked very real now.

"What do you want from me?" she said, voice shaking.

He tilted his head, studying her. Not like a man studies a woman. Like a predator studies prey it isn't sure whether to kill or protect.

"You've been claimed by something ancient," he said. "Something that's waking. And whether you like it or not, you are now part of a covenant older than blood."

Lila blinked. "Are you high?"

"You carry a sigil that hasn't appeared in two hundred years," he continued, ignoring her sarcasm. "You are bound. And others will come for you. Soon."

She tried the door.

It was locked.

She looked back at him, heart pounding. "You kidnapped me."

"I saved you," he corrected. "The moment that mark appeared, your death became a guarantee. I'm the only reason you're still breathing."

A moment of silence stretched.

Finally, she spoke. "Then what do you want with me?"

He leaned forward, eyes sharp enough to slice.

"I want to keep you alive, Miss Monroe. Because if you die..."

He paused.

"...so do I."

---