Mika woke to the sound of rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Vane estate. For a moment, he forgot where he was—until he tried to move. A sharp, localized ache in his hips and the heavy, lingering scent of bourbon and tobacco brought the previous night rushing back.
The bed beside him was empty. The black silk sheets were cold. Soren was gone, leaving behind only the ghost of his possessive touch and the faint, stinging marks he'd left on Mika's skin.
Mika sat up slowly, clutching the duvet to his chest. His silver hair was a tangled mess, and his throat felt raw from the sounds he'd made under Soren's "Alpha Command." On the nightstand sat a single, heavy black card with gold embossing.
"Breakfast at 09:00. Room 4B. Don't be late. — S.V."
"Room 4B," Mika whispered, his voice cracking. He wasn't even allowed to know the names of the rooms in his own "home." He forced himself out of bed, his legs trembling. Every step toward the massive en-suite bathroom was a reminder of his new reality. He caught his reflection in the gold-rimmed mirror—he looked fragile, his pale skin littered with dark bruises that looked like ink against snow.
He found a fresh robe—white silk, of course—and made his way downstairs. The Vane mansion was a labyrinth of marble and shadow. But as he reached the top of the grand staircase, a cold, rhythmic thud echoed from the foyer below.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Mika peered over the railing. In the foyer, the man from the night before was gone. In his place was the "Black Shadow." Soren Vane stood in a sharp, charcoal three-piece suit, his black hair perfectly slicked back. He wasn't looking at Mika. He was watching two of his guards interrogate a man tied to a chair.
The man was sobbing, his face a mask of blood. Soren didn't even blink. He just casually checked his gold watch.
"You have thirty seconds to tell me who authorized the hit on the harbor shipment," Soren said, his voice as cold as a winter grave. "Or I start taking fingers. Starting with the thumb."
Mika felt his stomach turn. This was the man he was now bonded to. A murderer. A monster who could go from a passionate lover to a cold-blooded executioner in a matter of hours.
Soren suddenly looked up. It was as if he could sense Mika's gaze. His golden eyes locked onto Mika's silver ones, and the transition was chilling. The murderous ice in Soren's gaze shifted into a dark, predatory hunger. He ignored the screaming man in the chair and walked toward the stairs.
"You're late," Soren said, stepping up until he was level with Mika. He reached out, his thumb tracing a fresh bite mark on Mika's neck.
"You're a monster," Mika whispered, his voice shaking with a mix of fear and the unwanted spark of the fated bond.
Soren leaned in, his scent of bourbon overwhelming the smell of iron and blood in the air. "I'm your monster, Mika. My mark is on your neck, and my ring is on your finger. In this world, that makes you the most protected person in the city—and the most trapped."
He leaned closer, his lips brushing Mika's ear. "Dress well. We have guests for lunch. You need to look like a happy bride, even if you have to fake it. If you don't..." He looked down at the bleeding man in the foyer. "I'll find someone else to take my frustrations out on."
Mika realized then that the "Consuming" was only the beginning. He wasn't just Soren's mate; he was his newest, most prized trophy in a game of blood and power.