"Stop. Just... stop."
My voice was a pathetic rasp, a thin thread of sound that didn't even make a dent in the heavy, humid air of the balcony. Julian didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. His grip on my upper arm was like a shackle of frozen iron, dragging me away from the light and the safety of the crowd.
"You had your chance for conversation in the ballroom, little wolf," Julian said, his voice flat, devoid of the playful velvet from before. "Now, we're going to have a different kind of exchange."
He shoved me against the stone railing of the balcony. The drop behind me was at least sixty feet of jagged limestone and manicured rose bushes, but it was the man in front of me that made my knees shake. The moonlight hit him, turning his skin into polished marble and making those crimson eyes glow like dying embers.
"Go ahead," I spat, trying to find the fire that Marcus had spent ten years stoking in my gut. "Kill the trainee. See how long it takes for the Silver Thorne to burn this entire estate to the ground. You think I'm the only one? There are snipers in the tree line, Julian. There's a tactical team waiting for my signal."
Julian leaned in, his shadow swallowing me whole. He rested his hands on the railing on either side of my waist, trapping me in a cage of his own making.
"Liar," he whispered. "You're a solo insertion. A sacrificial lamb sent to see if the Prince was as bored as the rumors suggested. And your signal? That little clicking toy in your ear?"
He reached up, his fingers brushing my hair aside with a touch that was mockingly gentle. He pulled the earpiece out and crushed it between two fingers like it was a dried leaf. The plastic shards fell to the stone floor.
"You're alone, Sienna. Completely and utterly alone."
"I'm never alone," I snapped, though my heart was betraying me, thudding a frantic, uneven rhythm against my ribs. "I have my training. I have my blade—"
"Your blade is on the ballroom floor," he reminded me, his voice dropping an octave. "And your training... your training didn't prepare you for me. It prepared you for the scavengers. The runts. The monsters that hide in alleys and scavenge for rats. I am not those things."
"You're a leech," I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. "A high-end, well-dressed parasite. You're nothing but a hunger with a fancy last name."
His eyes flared, a flash of genuine anger crossing his handsome features before it was replaced by a terrifying, predatory curiosity. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up at him.
"A hunger? Yes. But you... you are the feast."
"I'll bite your tongue off," I threatened, baring my teeth.
Julian laughed, a low, dark sound that vibrated through my own chest. "I'd like to see you try. But first, let's see what Marcus was so desperate to keep hidden."
"Don't," I gasped, my hands coming up to push at his chest. It was like trying to move a stone wall. "Julian, please. Just kill me. Don't... don't do this."
"Why so afraid, little wolf? Isn't this what you were trained for? To face the beast?"
"Not like this," I whispered.
He didn't listen. He couldn't. The scent of my blood—which I could now smell myself, a metallic, sweet tang rising from the small scratch on my arm where his grip had been too tight—was clearly driving him toward the edge. He tilted my head back, exposing the line of my throat.
"You smell like sunlight," he murmured, his breath ghosting over my skin. "Like a summer field before a storm. It's impossible. You're human. You should smell like fear and salt."
"Maybe I'm just spicy," I tried to joke, a desperate, hysterical sob catching in my throat.
"Let's find out."
The world narrowed down to the point of contact. His lips were cold, then his tongue traced the line of my jugular, a wet, electrifying sensation that made my entire body arch. I wanted to scream, to fight, to claw his eyes out, but a strange, heavy languor was starting to seep into my limbs.
Then, the sting.
It wasn't the sharp, agonizing pain the manuals described. It was a needle-prick, followed by a rush of heat that felt like molten gold being poured directly into my veins. I gasped, my fingers curling into the expensive fabric of his jacket, my head falling back against his shoulder.
"Julian..." I moaned, and I hated myself for how it sounded. It wasn't a protest. It was a plea.
The moment his fangs sank deep, the balcony disappeared. The moon disappeared. Everything disappeared but the sensation of him.
But then, something shifted.
Julian let out a choked sound, a low growl that turned into a gasp of shock. He didn't pull away—he clamped down harder, his hands gripping my waist so tight I thought my ribs would snap.
My blood wasn't just flowing into him; it was fighting him. I felt a surge of energy, a white-hot lightning bolt that shot from my heart through his fangs and into his body. It was a power I didn't recognize, a humming, vibrating force that made my vision turn violet.
Julian ripped himself away, stumbling back against the opposite railing. He looked like he'd been electrocuted. His chest was heaving, his face flushed with a dark, unnatural color.
"What... what are you?" he wheezed, his voice sounding raw, broken.
I slumped against the pillar, my hand flying to my neck. The wound was already closing, the skin tingling with a heat that shouldn't have been there. I felt... different. I felt awake. For the first time in my life, the world didn't look like a series of shadows. It looked like a map of energy.
"I don't know," I whispered, my voice sounding deeper, steadier. "What did you do to me?"
"What did I do?" Julian growled. He looked down at his hands. They were shaking. His fangs hadn't retracted; they were fully extended, dripping with my blood, and his eyes were so red they looked like they were bleeding. "Your blood... it's not just blood. It's a Song."
"A song?" I took a step toward him, emboldened by the sudden, terrifying strength in my legs. "What are you talking about?"
He looked at me, and for the first time, I didn't see a predator. I saw a man who had just looked into the sun and realized he was blind.
"The Blood-Singer," he whispered, the words sounding like a curse. "The legends... they said the blood would be like a drug. Like a god's nectar. I thought it was a myth. A fairy tale told to keep the Houses in line."
He lunged at me again, but this time he didn't pin me. He grabbed my shoulders, his face inches from mine, his expression a mask of pure, unadulterated hunger.
"I can't let you go," he snarled, his voice vibrating with a need that felt physical, like a rope pulling us together. "I can't let anyone else have you. If the Council smells this on you... if Silas tastes even a drop..."
"Let me go, Julian!" I fought him, but the more I struggled, the more the violet light pulsed in my vision. "You've had your taste. Isn't that enough?"
"Enough?" He let out a jagged, humorless laugh. "Sienna, I've spent three hundred years starving, and I didn't even know it until three minutes ago. You aren't just a hunter. You're a catalyst. You're the key to everything I've ever wanted."
"I am a person!" I screamed, slamming my palms into his chest. This time, he actually stumbled. The strength in my arms was terrifying. "I am not a key! I am not a snack! I am a Slayer!"
"You were a Slayer," Julian corrected, his eyes darkening, the hunger in them turning into something even more dangerous: possession. "Now, you're the most valuable thing in this city. And I am the only one strong enough to keep you."
He reached for me again, and this time, I didn't fight. My head swam, the sudden surge of energy from my blood hitting a wall of exhaustion. The "Blood-Singer" high, or whatever it was, was receding, leaving me hollow and cold.
"I hate you," I whispered as the world began to tilt.
"I know," Julian murmured, his voice sounding like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel. He caught me as my knees gave out, his arms wrapping around me with a terrifying, absolute finality. "But you'll learn to love the cage, little wolf. Especially when the rest of the world is trying to tear you apart."
As the darkness rushed in to claim me, I felt him press a kiss to the wound on my neck—a brand, a promise, and a death sentence all in one.
But as my consciousness flickered out, a single, chilling thought echoed in the back of my mind, a whisper that didn't sound like Julian and didn't sound like me.
The silence followed, heavy and suffocating, leaving me with a mystery that tasted like copper and felt like betrayal.
Why did the Silver Thorne train me to kill him, if they knew my blood was the only thing that could make him a god?