Magdalena had never known the abbey to hum.
It wasn't audible in the traditional sense, but a resonance—an energy—rippled through the ancient stone walls, as though some divine force had awoken deep within. Or perhaps, something infernal.
She awoke in tangled sheets, her skin damp with sweat, her thighs aching with memory. Lucien was beside her, his form half-hidden by shadows, one hand tracing idle patterns across her bare stomach. The fire in the hearth glowed with a low red pulse, casting their bodies in a wicked dance of light and shadow.
"Was that the truth of sin?" she whispered.
Lucien's voice was low and thick with possession. "That was only the beginning."
His mouth found hers again, not with urgency, but with reverence. He kissed her as though she were scripture, sacred and dangerous all at once. His hands slid over her curves, worshipping each swell of flesh, every gasp she offered.
But this time, they were not alone.
A soft knock interrupted the dark reverie.
Lucien stiffened. Magdalena grabbed the sheet to cover herself.
The door creaked open without permission.
"I told you he was here," a smooth voice announced. The speaker stepped into the room—a tall woman with scarlet curls and eyes like burning coals.
Lucien sighed. "Lilith."
Magdalena's heart thundered.
Lilith. The first woman. The myth. The sinner before Eve. And now, she stood in Magdalena's doorway in a red silk gown that barely concealed her figure, smiling like the cat who'd found the cream.
"So this is your nun," she purred, eyeing Magdalena with curiosity and hunger. "She smells of temptation and holy water. Delicious."
"You're not welcome here," Lucien said evenly.
"I'm not here for you," Lilith replied, running a finger along the wooden bedpost. "I'm here to warn her."
Magdalena pulled the sheet tighter. "Warn me?"
Lilith's smile faded. "There are those who hunt him, Magdalena. Angels. Fallen ones, too. They won't hesitate to cut through you to reach him."
Lucien sat up, muscles tensing. "I can protect her."
Lilith's laugh was like a bell—beautiful, mocking, cruel. "Can you protect her from Heaven itself? Or from what you truly are becoming when you lie with her night after night?"
Magdalena stared at him. "What does she mean?"
Lilith tilted her head. "Tell her, Lucien. Tell her that your seed isn't just desire. It's power. She's changing. Can't you feel it, Magdalena? The fire beneath your skin?"
Magdalena did feel it.
She'd thought it was lust. Thought it was the rush of doing something forbidden. But it wasn't just her body that felt different. Her thoughts were faster. Her senses sharper. She could hear things—whispers behind walls, wind patterns shifting.
Something inside her had awakened.
Lucien's jaw clenched. "She doesn't need to know yet."
Lilith's eyes glittered. "She's already halfway there. Soon she'll be able to summon flame with a word and bend the will of men with a glance. A fitting queen for the Morningstar."
"Get out," Lucien growled.
Lilith smirked and turned, but not before brushing her fingers along Magdalena's shoulder, a soft touch laced with suggestion. "If you tire of him, Sister, come find me. Some of us know how to savor power."
The door closed with a hiss, and silence fell.
Lucien turned to Magdalena. "I wanted to wait."
"Wait for what? To tell me I'm becoming like you?"
He took her hands. "You're not becoming like me. You're becoming something new. Divine flesh tempered by infernal fire. I didn't mean for this to happen."
She yanked her hands away. "But you let it happen."
His face was a portrait of agony. "Because I love you. And I can't stop."
Magdalena's heart thundered. Love. Was it love? Or obsession? Was it protection, or possession?
She didn't know. But her body knew him. Her soul burned for him. And deep inside, that fire Lilith spoke of began to pulse stronger.
Later that night, Magdalena wandered into the library. She needed answers.
Brother Alaric sat at a table, sifting through ancient texts.
"You look unwell, Sister," he said, not looking up.
"Have you ever heard of a union between a mortal and a... being like Lucien?"
Alaric finally looked at her, eyes narrowing. "You've lain with him."
She said nothing.
Alaric stood. "He is not of this world. And neither, it seems, are you anymore."
He moved toward a locked shelf and retrieved a tome bound in black leather. On its cover was a sigil shaped like an inverted sun.
"This book was forbidden by Rome. Contains rites lost to time."
He handed it to her. "Find your answers. But beware—every page turned is a step deeper into his world."
That night, Magdalena returned to her chamber and opened the book. The language twisted on the page, but her eyes adapted quickly. Words glowed. Symbols danced.
And as she read, her body ignited with memory—of Lucien's hands, of Lilith's gaze, of the fire rising in her blood.
The book spoke of the Unholy Union. Of a prophecy where a mortal would become the vessel of divine rebellion.
Her name was not written.
But she felt it pulsing between the lines.
She closed the book, heart pounding, and turned to find Lucien behind her, watching her with unreadable eyes.
"You were always meant to find it," he said.
She rose slowly, letting the silk slip from her shoulders.
"Then let the fire consume me."
This time, their bodies met not in lust but in power. The room shimmered with heat as their lips collided, and the very walls of the abbey trembled. Her fingers scorched his skin. His breath seared her soul.
In their union, the line between heaven and hell blurred.
And somewhere in the night, a single star fell from the sky.