Chapter 5

Cillian leaned in, the scent of sterile alcohol and Kane’s sharp, metallic sweat filling the small gap between them. He could feel the heat radiating off Kane’s skin—a fever that wasn't medical, but magical. "I'm not scared of blood, Kane. I'm scared of you dying on my table because you're too stubborn to tell me where this curse came from."

"My family's business is my business," Kane countered, his voice dropping to a low growl. He suddenly shifted, his hand shooting up to grab Cillian’s wrist. The grip was like a vice. "You're a contractor, Cillian. A disgraced little surgeon playing god in my penthouse. Know your place."

Cillian didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned closer, his chest nearly brushing Kane's. He could feel the erratic thrum of Kane's heart through the thin fabric. "Your place is rotting from the inside out. I'm the only thing keeping your ribs from collapsing into dust. Maybe I should remind you who actually holds the knife here."

For a second, the air between them turned electric. It wasn't just the threat—it was the Blood Pact. Cillian felt a sudden, sharp spike of nausea that wasn't his own. He gasped, his knees buckling slightly.

Kane’s eyes widened. He let go of Cillian’s wrist, his own body jerking as if hit by a live wire. "What the hell was that?"

"The pact," Cillian breathed, clutching his own chest. The pain was a mirror image—a searing, white-hot needle stabbing into his lungs. He wasn't injured, but he was feeling exactly what Kane was feeling. The curse had just pulsed, and the tether had dragged Cillian right into the center of the agony. "We're... we're syncing. I can feel it. Your heart... it's skipping."

Kane let out a choked sound, half-laugh, half-sob. He looked at Cillian, really looked at him, and for the first time, the arrogance was gone, replaced by a raw, jagged fear. "You feel that? The void?"

"Yes," Cillian whispered. He reached out, his fingers trembling as they touched the obsidian vein on Kane's neck. The moment his skin met the cursed mark, a jolt of pure adrenaline shot through both of them.

Kane arched his back, his breath hitching. He didn't pull away. He leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut. "It's too much," he murmured, his voice sounding broken. "Every time it pulses, it feels like someone is erasing me."

Cillian’s heart hammered against his ribs. He knew he should pull back. He knew this was dangerous—not just the curse, but the way Kane was looking at him, like Cillian was the only anchor in a storm. He shifted his hand, his thumb grazing the line of Kane's jaw. The friction was subtle, but in the silence of the room, it felt like a scream.

"I can stop it," Cillian said, his voice dropping. "But I need the truth. No more riddles about your father. No more 'family business.' Tell me what you sacrificed to get this power."

Kane opened his eyes. The darkness in them was swirling. "You think you want the truth? The truth is a fucking grave, Cillian. Once I tell you, there's no going back to your little disgraced life. You'll be a target. Just like me."

"I'm already a target," Cillian retorted, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "I was blacklisted from every clinic in the hemisphere. I'm living in your gilded cage. What's a little more danger?"

Kane stared at him for a long beat, his gaze dropping to Cillian’s mouth and then back up. The tension was so thick it felt like a physical weight, pressing them together. Kane started to speak, his lips parting, the air between them humming with a sudden, desperate hunger—

*BAM.*

The double doors to the surgical suite slammed open with a violence that made both men jump.

Lilith stood there, her white coat billowing like a shroud. Her eyes weren't on the patients; they were locked on the scene—Cillian’s hand still lingering on Kane’s jaw, the intimacy of the moment stripped bare and exposed. Behind her, two security guards stood like stone pillars, their faces grim.

"Get away from him!" Lilith shrieked, her voice piercing the quiet. She marched forward, her heels clicking like gunfire on the tile. "I knew it. I knew you were doing something disgusting in here!"

Cillian stepped back, his hands raised, but his mind was still reeling from the sensory echo of Kane's pain. "Lilith, get out. We're in the middle of a procedure."

"Procedure?" She laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. She reached into her pocket and whipped out a digital tablet, sliding it across the metal tray with a clatter. "I call this a crime scene. I've seen the logs, Cillian. The illegal blood-binding, the unauthorized curse-extraction. You're not treating him; you're experimenting on him!"

Kane tried to sit up, his face pale. "Lilith, shut up and leave."

"Oh, look at him!" Lilith sneered, pointing a finger at Kane. "He's so delirious he can't even tell he's being poisoned by a fraud. I'm calling the board. I'm calling the Council. You're going to be stripped of whatever's left of your license, Cillian, and you'll be lucky if you don't end up in a cell for the next twenty years."

Cillian felt a cold sweat break across his neck. He looked at the tablet—the evidence was there. Fragmented, but enough to ruin him again. He glanced at Kane, expecting a sneer or a command to kick her out.

But Kane wasn't looking at Lilith.

Kane's face had gone completely gray. His eyes rolled back, and his chest suddenly stopped moving. A horrific, heavy silence fell over the room.

At that exact second, Cillian felt a crushing weight slam into his own sternum. He gasped, but no air came. His heart didn't just skip—it stopped. The world tilted. The Blood Pact didn't just share the pain; it had just synchronized their death.

Cillian collapsed to his knees, his hands clawing at his chest, his vision blurring into static. He could feel the void Kane had described, a black hole opening up in the center of his soul, pulling him under.

Lilith stepped forward, a triumphant smirk on her face. "Now, let's see how you explain this to the authorities while you're both—"

She stopped. She looked at Cillian, who was shaking on the floor, and then at Kane, whose heart had just flatlined on the monitor.

Cillian looked up, his voice a broken whisper. "The timer... it's starting."