Chapter 5

The car hums through snow-laced silence.

I’m crammed between two vampires in the backseat, my wrists still raw from the metal. My skin prickles under my too-short clothes—leftover from the auction display. No one thought to give me a coat before dragging me out into a weather fit for corpse preservation. Freaking awesome.

Snowflakes whip sideways, caught in sharp wind gusts, and I clamp my jaw tight to stop the shivering.

Then, without a word, the blue-eyed vampire reaches forward and turns up the temperature.

The air warms, gently at first, then all at once, like a kiss of life on my frozen skin.

Hell, yes! I don’t say anything—because I don’t thank vampires—but inwardly, I send a solid nod of gratitude to the Moon Goddess. Maybe the vampires feel the cold, too.

A few minutes pass.

The mirror catches my eye. The blue-eyed vampire’s slowly loosening the top button of his shirt, collar parting just enough to show a hint of pale collarbone and something inked beneath that makes me bite my bottom lip.

I glance at the temperature dial.

Still turned up.

So maybe they don’t need it that warm... He could’ve easily turned it back down, but he didn’t.

I don’t like how that makes me feel. Like he’s… accommodating me. Like I’m more than a product he outbid the room for.

We pull up to a lake surrounded by spiked mountains, trees like sentinels watching from a distance.

The castle is surrounded on all sides by water and beyond that, a menacing mountain terrain. If there is ever a brutal and yet beautiful environment that reflects the vampire kind, this is it.

Jagged towers and black stone set against white snow and endless ice. It sits on a small island, isolated by intent, with a single arched bridge stretching toward the mainland like a challenge.

It dares you to come closer.

I watch from the warmth of the car as another vehicle rolls around the side path. Through the frost-streaked glass, I catch a glimpse of purple hair—the girl who went feral and nearly took the announcer’s hand. She’s still shackled, being led behind the castle toward something I can’t see. A backyard? A cage? She’s a werewolf, so who’s to say.

I never see the brunette girl again.

No one tells me anything.

“Fucking hell,” the vampire beside me curses with a disgusting face looking at me before he opens the door, letting in a rush of cold and snow. I step out on trembling legs, my shoes crunching over gravel and frost. My breath ghosts in front of me as we make our way to the castle.

Inside, it’s cold. Not the sharp kind of cold that bites skin, but the old kind—the kind that seeps from stone and history. The kind that doesn’t melt, just settles. But there’s deep red velvet draped over the walls, chairs, even the curtains framing the massive arched windows. That much red almost feels warm.

My eyes dart around. The castle’s main hall is gothic and elegant, with arched ceilings, chandeliers that drip crystals, and long, velvet shadows. It smells like old paper, iron, and something faintly floral that doesn’t belong.

I walk beside the blue-eyed vampire in silence.

The two others who rode with us peel off once we pass the entrance, flashing fanged grins without ever really looking at me. That same pattern repeats as we move through the halls—beautiful vampires standing too still, watching without blinking, smiling with too many teeth, but never coming close.

They keep their distance like I’m radioactive.

Or contagious.

Or marked.

We reach a side quiet and dim corridor. Just the two of us now.

The metal around my wrists is starting to chafe. In agony, I shift them, and the sound of a clinking chain echoes too loudly in the narrow hall.

I glance up at him, lingering my eyes on his broad shoulders before asking, “Are these a permanent accessory, or am I allowed to circulate blood to my hands again?”

He stops walking.

His eyes slide to mine, then lower to the shackles.

“Hold still,” he says and then kneels.

I blink, startled with his position.

The vampire unclasps the metal with a slow, practiced ease. The chains fall away with a low clatter, hitting the stone like dropped silverware. My skin sings with relief, even as goosebumps rise in the sudden absence of weight.

His hand brushes my wrist—deliberately or not, I can’t really tell—and I don’t flinch. I just watch him. Even though he’s kneeling, he’s still a little taller than me.

He looks up, and for a second, it’s too quiet.

Too close. His eyes drop to my parted lips.

Then he rises slowly. I take a step back. Not out of fear—just space. I feel my face burn with a fiery blush.

I clear my throat. I say to his back as he starts walking again, “So. Shackles, stage lights, and now a silent treatment?”

He doesn’t slow.

I follow.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Or are you all trained to glare from a distance like I’m a cursed heirloom nobody wants to admit they bid on?”

That makes him stop.

He turns to me, eyes ice and something older. But there’s a flicker of something behind it. Heat. Frustration. Hunger. I can’t tell exactly what.

“You still smell like them,” he says, his voice low and threaded with restraint.

I blink. “Like who?”

“Werewolves.”

Oh.

I wonder if I smell like my father, or my siblings, or perhaps a mix of my whole family together.

“Well,” I snap, crossing my arms, “sorry I didn’t have time to light a sage stick after being sold like a rare steak.”

He steps closer. The air shifts. My mouth dries.

His gaze flicks down, lingers at my collarbone, then climbs back up like he’s filing away every inch. I can feel my chest getting a red blush beneath his blue gaze. “A shower will fix it.” He opens the tiniest smile. And the tiniest dimples appear on each side of his cheek. I have to control my hand to not fan myself.

I almost thank him for the bit of information. Almost.

“I won’t shower anytime soon, then!”

The words leave before I register I said them out loud.

Goddess, someone digs me a grave.

He slowly smirks. It’s devilishly. It’s way too handsome when paired with dimples.

“It won’t matter,” he says in his deep voice. “You’ll bow eventually either way.”

It’s just a metaphor, right?

I don’t move.

But he does. And then I’m being led again, this time toward a set of massive double doors.

They creak open to reveal a room that could house a war—or host a coronation. ​​The moment my feet touch the room, there is a change in the air. I can’t put words to it, but I feel it in my bones. Dark stone, banners I don’t recognize, and a single raised throne draped in black velvet.

And him.

The most handsome man I’ve ever seen sits in it like he was carved there. Not a man. A vampire.

Long black hair almost brushes his shoulders, half-tamed waves framing a face sculpted by myth.

The blue-eyed vampire moves toward him like a shadow given form. I strain to catch even a syllable, but their voices drop to a sharp and rapid whisper.

Then, in a blink, the blue-eyed vampire’s gone.

And I’m left standing here.

Alone. With him.

His eyes—red, glowing like coals in a dying fire—lock on mine and do not waver.

He doesn’t stand.

Doesn’t speak.

He just looks.

And my nerves scream to flee.

What the hell am I doing here?

Finally, he sighs, almost boring.

My jaw tightens.

He tilts his head. His gaze lingers, slow and heated, trailing over my bare skin until my cheeks burn with a fiery blush.

Damn him!

His voice is cutting and powerful when he says, “You’ll do.”

I don’t know whether to be insulted or relieved.

He shifts slightly, head tilting a little back. “Bow, little flower.”

The words are soft, almost tender like he knows I don’t know what I am doing here. But I feel the command buried in them. The leash.

Little flower.

It slides into my chest like a hook. My body wants to obey him for some reason.

But I don’t.

Instead, I lift my chin, my shoulders sharp. “Not a chance.”

The words land in the room like stones.

His smile doesn’t falter. In fact, it widens.

“You bought my blood,” I bite. “That’s all you’ll get, vampire. Being a blood bag is one thing. Bowing’s another.”

There’s a beat of stillness.

The man on the throne doesn’t blink. He just watches me with those gleaming crimson eyes.

Then, with maddening calm, he speaks, his voice is smooth, almost amused. “Well, she has thorns.” His eyes flick past me.

It takes me a second to understand he’s not talking to me.

A gust of wind, and then the blue-eyed vampire is suddenly at my side, silent and fast.

My pulse skitters.

The man on the throne rests his cheek on his knuckles, smiling now. “Let’s see how deep that defiance goes, little flower.” Shifting his gaze to the vampire by my side, he commands with a deep voice, “Brand her with my crest.”