The world dissolved into a single, searing point of agony at my neck. A sharp, wet heat bloomed there, followed by the unmistakable, dreadful sensation of liquid warmth tracing a path down my skin.
I choked back the scream that clawed at my throat, my vision swimming. Through the blur, I saw the deep crimson stain spreading across the torn fabric of my dress, a shocking contrast to the pale grey linen.
Lucien's mouth was locked on me, a terrible, intimate violation. A strange, sweet fire flooded the wound, a venom that felt like liquid moonlight and hellfire combined, seeping into my veins and setting a course for my very core.
My body temperature skyrocketed, a furnace igniting deep within my bones. I'm burning alive. The thought was a desperate, silent plea. Water, cool, fresh water, I needed it more than I needed air.
His hand, impossibly cold, slid up the column of my throat, and the shock of that icy touch against my fevered skin made me gasp. It was the only comfort in this torment.
The sound that escaped my lips seemed to trigger something in him. Lucien became something else entirely. He was no longer just a beast but a beast in heat. He sank his teeth deeper, and a fresh, more potent wave of that intoxicating poison flooded me.
The fire in my blood roared in response, consuming my fear, my reason, my very self. The heat wasn't just pain anymore. It was a desperate, aching need.
That coolness, the icy sensation of his skin, was the only thing that could quench it. My own mind felt foreign, a distant spectator as my body took control.
With a strength that was not my own, I pushed him. Lucien stumbled back a step with a growl of dissatisfaction.
I closed the distance, grabbed the lapels of his immaculate jacket, and crushed my mouth to his.
It wasn't a kiss of affection. It was a battle. My lips were demanding, fueled by the inferno he had lit inside me. I could taste my own blood on his mouth, coppery and sweet, and it only made me hungrier. For a moment, he was still, and I felt a thrill of domination. But Lucien was never one to be subdued.
A low growl rumbled from his chest, a sound that vibrated through my entire body. His arms snapped around me like iron bands, and he spun us, slamming my back against the unforgiving, cold stone wall of the room.
The impact stole what little air I had left, but it was a fleeting discomfort, washed away by the avalanche of sensation that followed. What happened after that was no mystery.
***
My eyes fluttered open slowly, resisting the cruel, bright light of a morning I hadn't expected to see. For a confusing, agonizing moment, I didn't know where I was. Then the crushing weight on my chest, the familiar scent of cold metal and old silk, brought the terrible reality crashing back.
I was lying on the hard bed, tangled in the limbs of my enemy. My heart slammed against my ribs, silent and furious. His arm was draped possessively across me, heavy and dead to the world in sleep. I tilted my head just enough to study him. He looked younger, softer, terrifyingly human in repose.
But the mask was flawed. A dark, dried smear of blood was visible at the corner of his lips, a grotesque smudge that instantly reignited the cold, clean burn of my hatred.
Every fiber of my being screamed to vent, to claw, to strike, but I was bound by my common sense. What good was a flash of rage if it guaranteed my death? I held the grudge, let the hatred deepen the coal in my core, and focused only on the present.
The heavy, ornate door to the room was slightly ajar. To Lucien, it was a careless mistake but to me it was my only chance.
My fingers, numb and clumsy, began their terrified pilgrimage toward his body. I needed the keys to the iron shackle locked around my wrist.
I felt along the expensive fabric of his trousers, the cloth surprisingly rough under my sensitive touch. My hand was shaking so violently I had to press my palm flat against the mattress to steady my wrist.
Finally, my fingers closed around a familiar cold metal weight hidden in a shallow pocket. The key ring.
I slid the keys out, the small jingle swallowed by the thick velvet silence of the room. With deliberate, excruciating slowness, I lifted the keys to the lock on my ankle. The tumblers clicked. The cold iron fell away.
I didn't stop to celebrate. I slipped out of his embrace, the lack of my weight barely causing the hard mattress to shift.
At the door, I paused, looking back one last time at the man who held the key to my past and who believed he controlled my future. My mouth made a silent, ferocious vow of revenge before I melted into the corridor's shadows and ran.
Weeks later, the mountain air felt clean but treacherous. I had found the scattered remnants of my mother's coven, three witches who had managed to escape the lowland purge. We were hiding, desperately trying to rebuild a semblance of protection.
It was an elderly merchant, we had bribed for news, who delivered the crushing irony. I was being hunted. Not just sought, but pursued with a ferocious, targeted vengeance that even Thaurion's war had not inspired. They said I had poisoned the Vampire Lord, Lucien.
***
Present day...
I had vowed that day to make them all pay, to watch Lucien's world burn and his minions suffer, yet I'm the one chained here, pathetic and exposed.
I am a prisoner again, and the cold certainty radiating from the three pairs of eyes confirms it. They are going to kill me. There is no pretense this time, only spectacle.
The only flicker of light, the only desperate prayer I offer, is for my half-sister to come and save me. I picture Elysia's face, knowing she is trying to find me.
I am hoping against all reason that she will come in time, but the vise grip of dread around my heart confirms it. Judging from this situation, the utter formality of this execution, my fate is decided.