The morning brought no sunlight—only a dense, suffocating blanket of grey mist that seemed etched into the very sky.
Alaric had regained a portion of his strength. Though his complexion remained as pale as unpolished marble, the oppressive aura of dominance had fully returned. He didn't allow me to wear the tattered remains of last night's gown. Instead, he personally draped me in a heavy, plum-colored velvet robe, fastening the high collar so tightly it barely revealed the pulsing, violet mark on the nape of my neck.
"Come with me, Evangeline," he said, taking my hand. The chill from his fingertips pricked my skin like needles of ice.
He led me through a labyrinth of freezing corridors to a massive glass structure at the rear of the estate. It should have been a sanctuary of life, but as he shoved the heavy iron doors open, I felt the air leave my lungs.
Every plant inside was black. Black roses, black mandrakes, even the hanging vines resembled silent, coiled vipers. The air was thick, viscous as liquid, smelling of a sickly-sweet decay that made my head spin.
"These are the 'relics' the Thorne family has collected over a century," Alaric stood before a blooming black rose, his fingers stroking the petals with a tenderness that was utterly terrifying. "Every flower here has siphoned a soul. And now, they bloom for you."
He turned, pinning me against a cold iron pillar. His body pressed flush against mine, leaving no room for escape.
"Look at them, Evangeline. They never wither, because they were never truly alive," he whispered, his icy breath ghosting over my cheek. "Just like me. Just like what you are becoming. Last night's pact is irreversible; your life force is now tethered to the frequency of this manor. Should you ever step beyond these grounds, the silver veins beneath your skin will shrivel. You will age in seconds, crumbling into nothing but grey ash."
I widened my eyes in horror, searching for a lie in his gaze. But there was only an abyssal, terrifying sincerity.
"So, here are my new rules," he murmured, his palm cupping my jaw while his thumb traced the curve of my lower lip with rough possessiveness. "First, from this day forth, you do not need the sun. I am your light. Second, you do not need the air of the outside world. The fragrance of this conservatory shall be your sustenance. And third,"
He yanked me flush against him by my waist, erasing the final inch of space between us.
"I want you to swear to me here, amidst this sea of black petals—that you no longer belong to the world of men. You belong only to me. To Blackwood. If you ever dare to run, I will bind your soul into one of these roses, forcing you to watch me for eternity, unable to ever touch me again."
A frantic, beautiful madness flickered in his eyes—something far more frightening than the wraiths from the night before. He wasn't just threatening me; he was showing me the only version of love he knew: a love that demanded total annihilation of the self.
"Say it, my little sacrifice," he coaxed, his voice dropping into a gravelly, magnetic rasp. "Tell me. Who do you belong to?"
I looked at the silent, whispering black flowers around us, then back at this man—handsome as a fallen god, yet mad as a devil. I felt the silver-violet energy singing in my veins.
"I am yours, Alaric," I stammered, leaning my forehead against his icy shoulder in a gesture of total defeat. "I belong to Blackwood."
He let out a low, shuddering exhale—a sound of pure, dark triumph—and crushed me against his chest as if trying to merge our very bones.