The mark still burns, my skin hot and throbbing under his touch. My whole body trembles, every nerve raw, but I can't pull away. Not when he's this close. Not when his voice coils around me like smoke, sinking under my skin.
"Blood was not enough," he murmurs, thumb stroking against my jaw, almost tender if not for the power that crackles beneath it. "The mark was not enough. I need more, little mortal."
His eyes glow brighter, red bleeding into the dark until I can't look anywhere else.
"You will speak it."
My lips part, dry, trembling. Speak it? My thoughts stumble, racing. I've already given him my blood and he's branded me like cattle. What more could he want?
"The vow," he says, as though he had heard my thoughts. His smile curves, cruel, dangerous.
"Say it. Say you belong to me. Say you are mine."
My pulse hammers so hard it hurts. Fear claws at me, and yet—the shameful truth crawls beneath my skin—I feel the mark, tugging me toward him, urging me to give in. No. No, I can't. He'll own me if I do. He already does.
"I—" my voice cracks, I look down away from his pulling eyes. My chest burns with the effort to resist.
"Look at me," he commands, hand tightening its grip, dragging my gaze back to him.
And God help me, when my eyes lock with his, I want to obey. I want to fall into that molten red, even as terror screams inside me.
My voice shakes as the words slip free, dragged from me like a confession I don't want to give:
"I am yours."
The contract flares red, glowing so bright it sears the edges of my vision. Power lashes out, winding around my body like chains, tightening with every syllable.
Oh God. What have I done? I can feel it—I can feel him inside me already, curling around my soul, stitching me to him like thread through flesh. I can't breathe without the weight of him pressing closer.
Adrial's lips curve into a victorious smile. He leans in, so close I feel the brush of his breath against my mouth.
"Again."
My body betrays me. Heat coils low in my stomach, throbbing in time with the burning mark. My pulse stutters, shame choking me. I don't want to say it. I shouldn't want to say it. Then why does my body ache to give him what he wants?
"I am yours."
The air shudders, the circle trembling as if the whole world heard me swear myself away. The sigil on my chest pulses, syncing now to his heartbeat instead of mine.
He owns me. In blood. In flesh. In soul. And worst of all… some broken, hidden part of me is glad.
His smile is slow, dark, and satisfied.
"There," he whispers, brushing his lips against my ear. "Now you're bound in every way that matters."
His breath is still hot at my ear when his expression flickers—sharp, distracted, like he's just heard something I can't.
The glow in his eyes hardens. A muscle ticks in his jaw.
"No," he mutters almost to himself. "Not now."
Before I can ask what he means, he tears himself away from me. The sudden loss of his touch leaves me cold, empty in a way that steals the air from my lungs. My hand shoots out instinctively, as though my body refuses to let him go.
"Wait—" My voice cracks, desperate, shameful.
He's already fading back into the shadows, his figure swallowing into the dark the way it emerged. Still, his voice cuts through the cellar, low and commanding, wrapping around me even in his absence.
"Do not forget, little mortal. You are mine. Bound in blood, branded in flesh. Nothing can change that."
The candles blow all at once, plunging me into pitch black. The air is heavy with smoke, copper, and the faint scorch of my own burnt skin.
My knees give out, and I collapse onto the cold floor, clutching at the still-throbbing mark on my chest. My pulse thrashes in my throat, my body trembling with a hunger I can't explain.
God, I can still feel him. His voice, his heat, his power coiled inside me like it's waiting to strike. Why did he leave? Why does it hurt more that he's gone than it did when he first appeared?
The cellar is silent but for my shuddering breaths. And the hollow, gnawing ache inside me.
I'm alone again. Cold, aching, bound to something I can't understand—and the worst part is…
I want him back.