"...You're alive." Victor's eyes widened.
He remained motionless before the suspended body, feeling that slow pulse beneath his palm as if it were a countdown. Fifteen seconds between one pulse and another. Fifteen seconds of absolute silence. Fifteen seconds to imagine all the possible consequences.
"What do I do...?"
The first idea was obvious.
Blood.
He just needed to open her wrist and feed her. If she was alive, hungry, drained for centuries... perhaps a single offering would be enough to restore at least some of her vitality. But it was precisely there that fear crept in.
What if she awakened completely? What if those chains existed for a reason far greater than he could comprehend? What if freeing the Primordial meant repeating the massacre that would destroy the territory two years later?
Victor clenched his teeth.
The last time something "awakened," the result was fire, wind, and a demonic laugh echoing over corpses.
He couldn't simply act on impulse.
He didn't want to risk the end of that territory.
He didn't want to be the catalyst for a second ruin and waste his second chance to live a dignified life.
He removed his hand from her chest and took a half-step back, breathing deeply. He needed control. He needed a method.
And then… a memory emerged, almost as if he were forced to remember it… A gentle memory, almost out of place in that somber setting.
His mother, Serafall.
The days he was bedridden, too weak to rise. When she stayed by his side for hours, teaching him ancient traditions of House Valentine, as if she wanted to ensure that, even if his body failed, he would still carry the lineage's heritage.
Among these teachings was a ritual.
Ancient.
Extremely rare.
The Vampire Marriage Ritual.
It wasn't just symbolic. It was an absolute blood pact.
First, the circle should be drawn on the ground with the proposer's blood, forming a magical seal that bound the souls under the laws of ancestral lineage.
Then, he should offer his blood to his beloved. If she accepted by drinking voluntarily, the first bond would be formed.
Next, he should drink directly from her neck. Not a casual drop. But a conscious act.
And then, finally, she would drink again from his neck, sealing the bond reciprocally.
Accepting the marriage.
"Blood is the money of the soul… the currency of life."
Victor's voice echoed low in the void, laden with a cold lucidity that didn't match his age. He wasn't talking to her. He was organizing his own thoughts. Weighing the decision.
"If I do this… I will use blood to create an absolute contract. It's not just energy. It's not just power. It's a bond." He took a deep breath. "I will be negotiating my own life in this."
There was no romanticism in that conclusion.
Just calculation.
A marriage of souls.
The idea sounded absurd at first glance—to unite with the very founder of House Valentine, the Primordial Queen sealed deep within the base. But, strategically, it was the safest option. It wasn't just about feeding her. It wasn't about blindly freeing her.
It was about linking her awakening to him.
"A marriage of souls…" he repeated, almost testing the weight of the words.
He couldn't simply turn his back and return to his routine as if it didn't exist. Not after discovering the truth. Not after understanding that there lay the root of everything—of the festival, the lie, the massacre to come.
And, above all, not when there was a clear advantage.
Having the queen herself bound to him…
It was arrogant.
Extremely arrogant.
But Victor never had the luxury of living humbly. He had lived thirty years languishing. Thirty years watching others rise while he slowly rotted.
If the world offered him such an absurd piece on the chessboard…
He wouldn't pretend he didn't see it.
His eyes rose again to the suspended body.
Even in the dim light, something in them had changed.
The darkness seemed to deepen in his irises, as if the surrounding light were being swallowed. It wasn't lust. It wasn't just ambition.
It was possession.
A raw and overwhelming desire to claim it as his own.
"I want her."
The thought wasn't gentle.
It wasn't chivalrous.
He didn't see her merely as a queen, nor simply as a weapon. There was something more complicated there—a mixture of strategy, fascination, challenge, and a strange connection he couldn't name.
It wasn't like looking at an object.
It was like looking at something destined.
Before he had even finished reasoning, he had already acted.
Victor cut his own wrists without hesitation. The blood flowed thick, dark, too hot for that cold room. He bent down and, using his own fingers as brushes, began to draw on the ancient stone floor. Each stroke was firm, precise, almost artistic. The circle slowly took shape—complex, intertwined, resembling a pentagram, but much older, much deeper. Lines crossed, forming seals of submission, bond, and eternity. It was cruel. It was beautiful. It was a contract written with life itself.
When the circle was complete, he lifted Carmilla's body and placed her seated in the center of the seal, supporting her so she wouldn't fall like an empty doll.
"It's time to wake up… my wife."
The voice came out low, but laden with something dark, possessive, decisive.
He held her chin and forced open her mouth, pressing his own wrist against her parched lips. At first, nothing happened. Then, as if a primal instinct had been triggered, her body reacted.
A harrowing sound escaped her throat—a harsh, painful, hungry noise.
And then she drank.
The blood flowed in thick rivers, trickling from the corner of her mouth, dripping onto the white, soiled rags, staining the fabric a vivid red. Crimson seemed to dominate the entire room. The metallic smell spread through the air like unholy incense. That blood Victor had hated all his life—the RH-Null that had condemned him to decades of suffering—now seemed magnificent. Powerful. Sacred.
The cursed blood flowed onto the lips of the Primordial Queen.
And then… her eyes moved.
Slowly.
Her eyelids trembled, opening inch by inch, revealing an ancient, deep, immeasurable glow.
The transformation began immediately. The hand that had once crumbled to dust began to rebuild itself. Her skin regenerated with absurd speed, filling invisible fissures. Color returned to her cheeks, a slight blush replacing the cadaverous gray. Her dirty white hair began to regain its shine and purity, strands coming to life like newly woven silk. Her body trembled violently as an ultra-regeneration swept away centuries of draining.
"Haah… ahh…"
She gasped between gulps, each breath stronger than the last, each drag more desperate.
Victor watched everything with darkened eyes, consumed by the decision he had made. When he realized she was conscious enough to act on instinct, he grabbed her by the neck and pulled her away from his arm, removing her almost empty wrist.
Without hesitation, he exposed his own neck.
"Drink." He ordered.
Her eyes did not meet his. Not yet. The focus was on her veins pulsing beneath her skin. In a movement too swift for someone who had been on the brink of death seconds before, she sank her fangs into his neck.
The pain was intense.
Deep.
But Victor didn't flinch.
In the same instant, he leaned down and did the same, sinking his fangs into her neck.
It was the first time he had drunk blood directly from someone since returning to life. Until then, he had limited himself to small, stored portions of Serafall's blood—controlled, measured, distant. He had never experienced the direct heat of an artery pulsing beneath his teeth.
He had never felt the living flow flooding his mouth.
Carmilla's blood wasn't just strong. It tasted as good as a thousand-year-old wine. No, it had aged for at least ten thousand years.
As he savored that primordial blood, his body began to feel warm and his muscles began to expand, his clothes tore slightly as he absorbed the essence of the woman in his arms.
The same happened to Carmilla; her whole body trembled as she drank that blood.
Cursed Blood? Never, to her, that blood was nothing but Golden, a Divine Blood.
So divine that it made her even hungrier, forcing her to increase the speed at which she drank.
The circle on the ground began to glow.
The crimson lines ascended like embers being blown by the wind. Ancient symbols rose in ruby light around them, slowly rotating. The air became heavy, laden with an almost divine pressure.
And then it happened.
It wasn't a sound.
It wasn't an explosion.
It was a sensation.
Something closed.
Like two gears finally fitting together after centuries of misalignment. Victor felt a thread pierce his very being—not physical, not visible, but absolute. A bond that connected his heart to hers. His hunger to hers. His existence to hers.
Carmilla felt it too.
Her eyes widened the moment consciousness fully returned.
She pushed him away.
It wasn't a simple push.
It was an explosion of force.
Victor was thrown back as if struck by an invisible impact, passing through part of the darkness and sliding several meters until he stabilized, his feet digging into the cracked ground.
Carmilla fell to her knees inside the circle, her breathing heavy, her hair now shining like living silver. She placed her hand on her chest, feeling the bond pulsing there.
Her eyes descended to the seal on the ground.
To the blood.
To the marks.
Horror crossed her expression.
"What… did you do…?"
She was completely lucid now.
Completely herself.
Her gaze then slowly rose to meet the figure ahead.
A young man.
Darkened eyes.
Neck still marked by his fangs. Who was he?
Victor brought his hand to his own neck, wiping away the remaining blood, and then… laughed.
Not an insane laugh.
But a satisfied laugh.
"Your new husband."
For a second there was silence.
Then Carmilla laughed.
A laugh full of contempt and disbelief.
"Husband? You dare— I am the Queen of—"
"My. Wife."
His voice cut through her like a blade.
The next instant, he vanished from where he was.
He appeared before her.
Without giving her time to react, he held her face firmly and kissed her.
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't hesitant.
It was deep. Dominating. Charged by the newly formed bond that still pulsed between them like a second shared heart.
And, for a brief moment… her mind was clear as a blue sky, unable to deny that touch and love. A possessive love, born from the pleasure of having and possessing.
What they don't talk about regarding soulmates is the emotional connection. They usually ignore it, but… sometimes it's so sensitive that partners can feel each other's feelings. But this only happens with those who have deep connections… That's what scared Carmilla…
The feeling of having and possessing was so great that it broke the contract's limitations and now… it was stealing her feelings and consciously saying that it was very good.
Yes, she was enjoying being possessed by someone. Having her freedom forcibly stolen by a handsome man was simply exciting. Even if this man seemed very young.
"Kiss me more," she said, returning the kiss, "P-possess me… be mine…" she said between wet sounds as the kiss entered an even more arrogant exploratory phase.
"As you wish." Victor responded coldly between kisses, but his touch... It felt like an erupting volcano.