Location: Unknown Chamber – Beneath the Estate
⌊ Nathaniel ⌋
I woke in darkness.
Cold damp stone beneath me, rough enough to bite into the skin at my shoulders. My arms ached with pressure. My wrists were bound above me in shackles. Silver, I realized the moment I tried to shift. It burned, a dull resistance that stole some of my new strength. I was chained to a pillar in the center of what felt like a circular chamber. The air smelled of wet stone, old blood, and fear.
A single torch flickered across from me, its orange flame sputtering against the draft. Its dim light cast long, crooked shadows on the wall. My senses reached outward instinctively. Every sound, every heartbeat, every tremble of dust reached me with vivid perception.
I tilted my head. There was the sound breathing nearby.
I turned my head in the direction it was coming from.
She sat slumped just across from me, chained by the ankle to the far wall, her back pressed to stone, one leg curled beneath her, the other stretched toward me. She wore a simple cotton shift, blood staining the fabric at her side where a fresh wound wept down her ribs. It wasn't fatal, but it was open. Intentional?
Her pulse pounded in my ears like a war drum.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
That second mouth inside me, the one that had awakened during the turning. It yawned open now, hungry and aching. My throat burned. My jaw clenched. My fingers curled into fists against the chains. Every instinct screamed: feed.
The girl lifted her head slowly and her eyes met mine.
Her eyes were calm. There was no fear. None that I could pick up from.
She knew what she doing.
"What… is this?" I asked, voice tight and raw.
The dungeon door creaked open.
Cain descended the narrow stone steps, a silhouette carved of elegance and iron. He walked with that same quiet grace, but noticed that his eyes were colder.
"A test," he said simply. "Of a sort."
I snarled without meaning to, turning my head back toward the girl.
"She's bleeding," I said. "You want me to lose control."
"I want to see if you can choose not to."
I fought the pull. I could smell the salt of her sweat, the metallic wine of her blood. My throat burned as if it were filled with hot sand.
"She's chained," I growled. "She's helpless."
Cain raised a brow. "You speak of her like a victim."
He turned to the girl. "Tell him."
Her voice was soft, steady—trained. "I volunteered."
My mind reeled.
"I belong to the House of Morelles," she continued. "I was raised in the blood sanctum beneath Vienna. My family has served your kind for generations."
I stared at her, stunned. "You want this?"
Her gaze didn't waver. "It is my purpose."
Cain turned back to me. "Her blood is clean. She has not been fed upon. The wound is fresh. This is your test of restraint. We need to know if you have the will to control your hunger. You will stay down here with her for five days and nights. Those silver chains will weaken you as time goes by. The weaker you become, the stronger the urge to feed and sustain your life force becomes."
I tugged at the chains. My body screamed to move, to close the distance, to drink, to end this burn in my throat and feel whole.
"But if I do… if I lose control…"
Cain nodded solemnly. "She dies."
The words sank into me like ice.
"And if I resist?"
"She lives. And you earn your right to reunite with your sister again."
The girl shifted slightly, wincing as her wound reopened.
The scent hit me again, stronger this time.
My pupils dilated. My fangs pressed behind my lips, sharp as truth. My hands trembled against the silver.
I closed my eyes.
Breathed in. Breathed out.
The air burned in my throat. Not like fire—no, this was something deeper. It was a hollowing, a scorched hunger that twisted in my chest and whispered: Drink. Just once. One taste.
I clenched my fists, the silver shackles biting into my wrists with a sizzle that should have hurt, but only grounded me.
Cain's footsteps faded behind me, followed by the heavy groan of the iron door locking into place.
Silence settled in the chamber.
The girl's shallow breaths.
The soft trickle of blood down her side.
My own heartbeat—or rather, the phantom rhythm of a heart that no longer beat, echoing only in memory.
Five days.
Five days in this cage with a living, bleeding human chained just beyond reach.
She shifted again, the chain rattling faintly. The scent of her life—warm, coppery, pure—crawled through my nose and sank its teeth into the base of my skull.
I snapped my eyes open and pressed my back hard against the pillar.
"Are you well?" she asked softly.
I turned toward her voice. "You're asking me that?"
She gave a tiny smile. "You look like you're drowning in fire."
I huffed a breath. "That's… accurate."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. She didn't speak again, nor did I. I spent the hours with my jaw locked, my gaze fixed on the opposite wall, trying not to see her. Trying not to smell her.
I failed. Again and again...and again.
Her blood called to me like a hymn written in a language only my hunger could hear—clear, exquisite, and cruel. Each pulse from the wound released notes of warm copper and wild spring air, weaving together into a fragrance that eclipsed every mortal pleasure I'd ever known. It was ambrosia, distilled and perfected, as if the gods themselves had bled a constellation and bottled its radiance solely for my lips.
Of course Cain would find my singer on the very first attempt—wrap her scent in this chamber like a ribboned gift I was forbidden to untie. Every breath dragged that perfume deeper into my lungs, until sanity frayed, thread by trembling thread. My fangs ached to pierce the delicate hollow of her throat, to drink until the music stopped and the chalice ran dry.
I ground my teeth, tasting venom, cursing whatever twisted fate decided that the nectar crafted for me—for me—would be placed inches beyond reach, a masterpiece I could study but never touch.
Her blood was a drug I hadn't taken, but already felt addicted to.
Every inhale brought it back—richer, sweeter, more maddening than the last. It wasn't just scent anymore. It became sensation. Texture. Color. A memory of taste I'd never known but now craved like salvation.
And the worst part? She was calm.
She sat there with her knees pulled to her chest, blood slowly staining the side of her shift, and watched me like I was a storm trapped behind glass. Unmoving. Unafraid.
That only made it worse.
I pressed my head back against the pillar, eyes shut tight, jaw clenched until I could feel cracks forming in my control.
Every second here was erosion.
The silver shackles grew heavier with each hour, draining the strength from my limbs in slow, cruel increments. My shoulders ached. My muscles screamed for motion. But the real pain, the true torment, came from the unyielding temptation whispering at the edge of my skull.
Just a taste.
A single sip.
She would barely feel it.
No. No. No.
My body didn't care about morality. My instincts didn't care about oaths. I was Noctari now, forged in death and ruled by hunger. This was the price Cain spoke of.
"Your heart is still intact," he'd said. "But it is no longer in control."
The girl shifted again. A sharp breath hissed from her lips as the wound reopened with a fresh, wet sound that echoed too loud in the silence.
I hissed through clenched teeth. The air felt thick now, soaked in her essence. I could taste her name even though she hadn't spoken it. I could see the veins in her neck, feel the heat wafting off her skin like sunlight through stained glass.
If I lunged now, I could break the chains. It would hurt, yes. But I could do it.
Rip the silver from my wrists. Cross the floor in an instant. Sink my teeth into the soft hollow beneath her jaw. Hear her heartbeat stutter. Feel her warmth flood into me like starlight poured into glass—
I slammed my head back into the pillar hard enough to crack it.
No.
The days bled together, five eternities folded into one.
By the final night, I was barely holding onto language, let alone logic.
I didn't know what time it was anymore. How many times her wound had reopened. How many times I'd nearly snapped the chains out of pure, desperate instinct. My body trembled. My throat was scorched raw with thirst. I had stopped speaking. Stopped thinking. Only that second heartbeat—hers—remained. It echoed through the cell like a cruel lullaby.
She hadn't moved in hours.
Her skin looked pale. Feverish. I could hear her body struggling to stay upright.
And still, she didn't cry out. She didn't beg.
That made it worse.
I growled—something low, broken, and more animal than man—and pulled against the chains one last time. The silver seared into my skin, but I didn't feel the pain anymore. I welcomed it. It meant I was still resisting. Still sane.
Until the final shackle cracked. A single, decisive moment when something inside me snapped.
The chains gave way.
The cold rush of freedom surged up my arms like lightning. My vision darkened at the edges.
And then I was moving.
I didn't remember crossing the cell. Didn't remember pinning her. Only the scent of her blood—so close now. Her pulse fluttering beneath her skin. Her neck tilted back, breath shallow, eyes wide with something that wasn't quite fear.
My mouth opened. My fangs bared.
I pressed them against the skin just above her collarbone.
And then—
She moaned. Just a soft, strangled noise of pain.
But it shattered me.
I blinked, my jaw slackening. The haze broke like glass underfoot.
She was shaking. Not resisting. Not running. She was trusting me.
My hands recoiled like I'd touched fire. I stumbled backward, knocking over the chain that had once bound me. I backed into the far wall, panting like a beast denied a kill. Her blood was still on my tongue. Only a taste. But it was enough to make me hate myself.
I wanted to run. To tear open the door. To vanish.
But before I could—
The chamber door exploded inward.
Cain entered first, Evangeline behind him, her crimson eyes sharp with worry, her gown billowing like storm clouds caught in a grave wind.
Cain crossed the room in two steps and slammed me against the wall. One hand to my throat, the other to my chest, pinning me there like I weighed nothing at all.
I didn't fight. I couldn't. My strength had betrayed me. My will had failed.
"I didn't—" I gasped. "I stopped—"
"She's alive," Cain said, glancing over his shoulder.
The girl nodded weakly from the floor, cradling her bleeding arm, her eyes still locked on me with something that hurt worse than chains: pity.
Cain's grip loosened. "You resisted long enough. But now…"
His eyes flicked to Evangeline. "He needs to feed."
I shook my head violently. "No—no, I don't—"
"You do," Cain snapped. "Or you'll lose yourself."
Evangeline stepped forward, calm and controlled. She stood before me like an anchor in the storm I had become. I tried to look away, but her hand cupped my jaw and guided my eyes back to hers.
"Look at me," she whispered.
Her fingers swept back my hair. "You've suffered. You've resisted more than most would. But now, Nathaniel… you must feed."
She turned, brushing her hair to the side. Then, with deliberate elegance, she lowered the collar of her gown, baring the flawless curve of her neck.
And then slowly with intent, she guided my trembling hand to the back of her neck.
She leaned forward, pressing my face into her skin.
Her voice was low. "Feed, mon cœur. I offer this freely."
I hesitated, fangs brushing her pulse.
"You did wonderfully. I'm proud of you," she whispered.
And I bit.
The hunger quieted, and for the first time since rising, I felt like I could breathe again.
Cain watched in silence.
When I finally pulled away, Evangeline cradled my face, thumb wiping a drop of blood from the corner of my lip. "You're safe now," she said. "You came back."
Cain turned to leave. "He passed," he called over his shoulder. "Barely. But enough."
He paused at the door. "Let him rest. Tomorrow, we visit the Cullens."
When the door shut behind Cain, silence reclaimed the chamber.
Evangeline's hand lingered at my jaw, gentle and grounding, as if she feared that without her touch I might splinter again. I felt the weight of everything press in—what I had done, what I almost did, what I still might become.
"I almost killed her," I whispered.
"But you didn't," she replied.
I pulled away, slowly, carefully, afraid of what I might still do if I let my guard down. The fire was gone now—fed, soothed—but the shame remained. Heavy in my throat. Cold in my chest.
"I wanted to," I confessed. "There was a moment when I didn't care who she was. She wasn't a girl to me. She was… heat. Pulse. Blood."
Evangeline's eyes didn't flinch. "That is the truth of what we are. But it is not all that we are."
I sank to the floor, head bowed, wrists still raw from where the silver had kissed them. "What if I can't do this? What if every time someone breathes near me, I see veins and not faces?"
"You will," she said, kneeling in front of me. "Because you care that you almost didn't. That's the difference, Nathaniel. That's what keeps you from falling."
I wanted to believe her.
I needed to believe her.
But then Cain's words echoed in my mind.
"Tomorrow, we visit the Cullens."
My head snapped up. "Rosalie…"
Evangeline nodded. "She awakened this morning."
The silence between us thickened.
"She's Luminari now," I said. The word felt foreign in my mouth—like naming something beautiful that now existed in a different world.
"She is," Evangeline replied softly. "And you are Noctari. But you are still siblings. Still bound by blood, even if it no longer flows."
I swallowed hard. "Will she know me?"
"She will remember you," Evangeline said carefully. "But whether she recognizes who you've become… that is something we cannot predict."
I stood slowly, my strength returning in controlled waves. My body hummed with new power—but my soul still felt fractured at the edges.
"What do I say to her?"
Evangeline rose with me, brushing dust from her skirts. "You say what you feel."
"That I failed her?" I muttered bitterly. "That I couldn't stop what happened?"
Evangeline's crimson eyes narrowed. "You protected her with your life. You died for her. And because of that, she was spared a darker fate. If she cannot see that, then time will help her remember."
I turned toward the doorway, still haunted by the echo of chains, by the taste of blood I hadn't earned.
"Tomorrow," I whispered.
Evangeline touched my shoulder.
"Yes," she said. "Tomorrow, you'll see your sister again. And face what eternity has made of you both."