Silver Eyes, Golden Mark!

The storm hit the village without warning. Wind slammed against wooden rooftops, rattling windows like angry fists. Avalora pressed her palm against the shutters, trying to keep them shut, but a strange heat pulsed under her skin, right at the center of her wrist. Not again! She pulled back her sleeve. The mark she'd spent her whole life hiding, three thin lines twisted into a circle, was glowing softly, like embers of fire trapped beneath her skin. "No, no, not tonight," she whispered. The glow brightened. A cold shiver ran down her spine, sharp enough to steal her breath. For twenty-two years, the mark had been nothing but a silent curse her mother warned her never to reveal. But now...it felt alive. Outside, the wind suddenly stopped. Silence swallowed the world. Too quiet. Too wrong. She stepped back, heart pounding. The air thickened, turning heavy, electric. Magic-dark magic, pushed at the edges of her senses. Something was coming. A shadow flashed past her window. Avalora's breath hitched. She grabbed a knife from the table-not that it would help against whatever could make the air feel like this. The mark burned. A voice, a low, dangerous growl, whispered from behind her. "You should not have awakened it."  Avalora spun. Someone-no, something-stood in her small cottage, tall enough that his head nearly brushed the beams overhead. Cloaked in black, soaked from the rain, he looked like he'd stepped out of a nightmare. Eyes like molten silver locked onto hers. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She couldn't even breathe. He stepped forward, the shadows curling around his boots like they obeyed him. Her pulse thundered in her ears. "Who are you? How did you..." "Your mark," he said, voice low and rough. "It called." "I didn't call anything." His gaze dropped to her wrist. The glow intensified under his stare, warming her skin in a way that felt...wrong. Intimate. As if his eyes alone could touch her. Avalora jerked her sleeve down. "Don't look at it." He let out a breath, almost a laugh, but too dark to be amused. "You think hiding it changes what you are?" She swallowed hard. "What am I?" He stepped closer, slow and controlled. Predatory. "Dangerous. To them. To yourself." Then, softer-almost reluctant- "And unfortunately...to me." A confusing heat shot through her chest. To him? The storm outside roared back to life, but the cottage stayed eerily still-as if the world held its breath. He moved closer, and despite every warning in her mind, Avalora didn't step back. Something pulled her toward him. Something ancient. Something deep. His hand lifted, reaching for her wrist. She should've flinched. Should've screamed. Should've run. Instead, her breath caught. Because the moment his fingers brushed her skin, her mark flared bright gold-blinding and burning-sending a jolt through both of them. He froze. She gasped. And the shadows around him exploded outward, cracking the wooden floorboards beneath his feet. His voice was ragged when he spoke. "Damn it...you're the one." Her heart hammered. "The one what?" He grabbed her arm, not gently, but not cruelly either-like someone holding on to the only thing stopping them from falling apart. His silver eyes glowed. "The one I was cursed to find." Avalora stared at him, chest tight, the pull between them terrifying and magnetic, like gravity itself had chosen him for her. "I don't even know your name," she whispered. He leaned in, too close, too intoxicating, and the heat from his body rolled through her like forbidden fire. "Rion," he said softly. "Prince of the Fallen Court." Then he looked into her eyes as if he already owned her soul. "And you, Avalora...you are mine."