Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~9 min read
Sage had been awake for three hours and hadn’t left her bedroom.
Not because she was hiding. She wasn’t hiding.
She was strategizing.
Yesterday’s honesty-ward disaster had made one thing crystal clear: being around Thorne Blackwood was dangerous. Not because he was a Thorne—though that was still technically true—but because apparently her brain-to-mouth filter had completely disappeared.
The smell of coffee drifted under her door.
Her stomach growled.
Fine. She needed caffeine more than she needed dignity.
Sage pulled on jeans and an oversized green sweater, braided her hair to keep her hands busy, and ventured into the common area.
Thorne stood at the stove, cooking eggs and toast like this was normal. Like they hadn’t admitted to being attracted to each other less than twenty-four hours ago.
He looked up when she entered. His hair was damp, like he’d just showered. He wore dark jeans and a fitted black henley that should be illegal.
“Coffee’s ready,” he said. “Mugs are in the cabinet above the pot.”
“Thanks.”
This was fine. They were being normal. Professional.
Sage poured herself coffee and absolutely did not notice the way Thorne’s shoulders moved as he worked. Did not notice how his rings caught the morning light. Did not notice anything except the coffee.
Which was, objectively, the best coffee she’d ever tasted.
“This is amazing,” she said before she could stop herself.
Thorne glanced over. “Family secret. My grandmother taught me. She said coffee should be strong enough to wake the dead but smooth enough to not need sugar.”
“She sounds smart.”
“She was.” His expression softened. “She died five years ago. Heart attack, completely mundane. She would’ve hated that. Always said she’d go out in a blaze of magical glory.”
Sage smiled despite herself. “My grandfather wanted the same thing. Instead he tripped over a garden hose and broke his hip. Died of complications three weeks later. We didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the funeral.”
“That’s rough.”
“That’s life.” She took another sip of coffee. “The universe doesn’t care about our dramatic exit plans.”
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Thorne plated eggs and toast, sliding one across the counter to her.
“You made breakfast for me?”
“I made breakfast for myself. You just happen to also need to eat.”
But the wards hummed, and they both knew that was partially a lie.
Sage hid her smile in her coffee mug.
They ate quickly, and then Thorne cleared the table while Sage spread out her research materials. Books from the Mitchell archives, printed articles about bloodline curses, her own handwritten notes from the past week.
Thorne added his own pile. Older texts, some in languages Sage didn’t recognize, and a leather journal that looked ancient.
“Where did you get that?” she asked, gesturing to the journal.
“Thorne family records. Goes back to the 1700s.” He opened it carefully. “I found references to three different bloodline curses in our history. All were resolved, but the methods varied.”
“Mitchell records show two curses. One was broken by the death of the caster. The other…” Sage consulted her notes. “Required a magical sacrifice from the bloodline. Willing or unwilling.”
Thorne’s expression darkened. “Let’s hope our curse follows the first model.”
“Agreed.”
They worked in focused silence for an hour, occasionally sharing findings. Despite everything, they fell into an easy rhythm. Sage would find a reference, Thorne would cross-check it with his texts. He’d identify a magical signature, she’d trace it through historical records.
It was… nice.
Efficient.
And entirely too comfortable for two people who were supposed to be enemies.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Sage said finally, staring at her notes. “Every bloodline curse in recorded history required either intimate access to the family or a blood relative casting it. But our curse targets two bloodlines simultaneously. That shouldn’t be possible.”
“Unless the caster has access to both families,” Thorne said.
“Which brings us back to: who?”
“Someone old enough to have ancestral magic from both lines. Or someone who stole enough biological material to fake it.” Thorne drummed his fingers on the table. “The timing bothers me too. Three weeks ago, exactly. What triggered it?”
“Maybe an anniversary? Something historically significant to both families?”
“I’ll check the dates of major conflicts.”
“I’ll look for celestial events. Some curses are tied to moon phases or—”
Sage’s phone buzzed.
Then Thorne’s.
They looked at each other, dread pooling cold in Sage’s stomach.
She grabbed her phone.
Mom: Another death. Thorne family this time. Council is calling emergency session tonight.
“Fuck,” Thorne breathed, reading his own phone.
The fourth death. Already.
“It’s accelerating,” Sage said. “Your cousin was what, four days ago? This should’ve been six or seven days.”
“The curse is getting stronger.” Thorne stood, pacing. “Or more impatient. We need to work faster.”
“We need to actually test the curse magic. Analyze it directly instead of just reading about it.”
“How? The victims are dead. Their magic is gone.”
Sage thought for a moment. “Not all of it. Magic leaves traces. Especially dark magic. If we could get something personal from one of the victims—”
“We could trace the curse signature back to its source.” Thorne’s eyes lit up. “That’s brilliant.”
“It’s also dangerous. Dark magic backlash can kill.”
“Then we’ll be careful.”
Sage looked at him. “You’re really willing to risk dark magic exposure?”
“To stop this curse?” The honesty wards pulsed. “To save my family? Yes. Without question.”
The conviction in his voice did something to her heart.
“Okay,” she said. “I can get something of Lily’s. My cousin. She had a bracelet she never took off. My aunt probably still has it.”
“I can get my cousin’s spell focus. A ring. My uncle’s keeping her things.”
They called their families, making excuses about needing personal items for “emotional connection to the research.” No one questioned it. Everyone was too desperate for answers.
Two hours later, they had both items on the table between them.
Lily’s bracelet: silver, with tiny earth-magic charms.
Catherine’s ring: onyx, carved with shadow runes.
Sage stared at them, her chest tight. These had been worn by people she’d loved. People who were gone now.
“Are you okay?” Thorne asked quietly.
“No. But we’re doing this anyway.”
He nodded. “I’ll set up protection wards. You prepare the tracing spell.”
They worked together, Sage drawing the magical circle on the floor while Thorne layered protective shields around the space. His magic felt different than hers—darker, cooler, like standing in a shadow. But it complemented her earth magic perfectly, the two energies weaving together seamlessly.
“Ready?” Thorne asked, kneeling across from her in the circle.
“Ready.”
They placed the items in the center.
Sage began the tracing incantation, her magic reaching toward the bracelet, searching for the dark magic residue. Thorne mirrored her movements with the ring, his shadow magic probing carefully.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the curse signature hit her like a freight train.
Dark, ancient, furious. It slammed into Sage’s mind with enough force to steal her breath. She saw flashes—a ritual circle, blood, chanting in a language that made her ears bleed. Hatred, thick and choking. The curse writhed like a living thing, trying to claw its way into her magic, to corrupt it—
“Sage!”
Thorne’s voice was distant, muffled.
She couldn’t let go. The curse had her locked in, feeding on her magic, draining her—
Arms around her, yanking her backward out of the circle.
Shadow magic slamming into the curse, severing the connection.
Sage gasped, the world snapping back into focus.
She was on the floor, Thorne behind her, his arms wrapped around her chest, his magic coating her skin like armor.
“Breathe,” he ordered, his voice rough in her ear. “Come on, Mitchell. Breathe.”
She dragged in air. Once. Twice.
The cabin came back into focus. The circle was smoking, the items blackened. Thorne’s protection wards had shattered.
“What the hell was that?” Thorne demanded, still holding her.
“The curse. It’s…” Sage’s voice shook. “It’s alive. Or close to it. That’s not normal dark magic. That’s something ancient.”
“Did you see anything? Before it attacked?”
“A ritual. Blood magic. And…” She closed her eyes, trying to remember through the pain. “Laughter. Someone was laughing while they cast it.”
Thorne’s arms tightened around her.
Sage became acutely aware that she was leaning against his chest, that his heart was hammering against her back, that his breath was warm on her neck.
“You jumped in front of the backlash,” she said quietly.
“Of course I did.”
“You could’ve been hurt.”
“So could you.” His voice was fierce. “And I told you—my job is keeping you alive.”
“That’s not your job. We’re partners.”
“Then partners protect each other.”
Sage turned in his arms, needing to see his face.
Mistake.
They were inches apart. His eyes were bright with adrenaline and fear and something else. Something that made her stomach flip.
“You scared me,” Thorne said, the honesty wards pulling the words from him. “When that curse grabbed you, I thought—” He stopped, jaw clenching.
“Thought what?”
“Thought I was going to lose you. And I’ve only known you for a week, but the idea of you dying made me want to burn the world down.”
Sage’s breath caught.
“That’s not…” She struggled to find words. “We barely know each other.”
“I know.” He looked as confused as she felt. “But it’s true anyway.”
They stared at each other, the air charged and crackling.
Thorne’s gaze dropped to her lips.
Sage’s pulse skyrocketed.
This was a terrible idea. The worst idea. They were supposed to be professional, focused on the curse, not—
His phone buzzed.
They jerked apart like they’d been burned.
Thorne grabbed his phone, his expression closing off. “Council meeting is in two hours. We need to report our findings.”
“Right. Yes. The meeting.”
Sage stood on shaky legs, putting distance between them.
But as she gathered her scattered notes, she could still feel the ghost of his arms around her.
Could still see the fear in his eyes when he thought she’d been hurt.
And she couldn’t shake the terrifying realization that Thorne Blackwood was starting to matter.
Not as a research partner.
Not as a means to break the curse.
But as a person she was desperately afraid of losing.
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