Disgusted with what I'd done, I refused to leave the bed unless it was to step off the jet. Victor treaded lightly, trying to distract me—until, eventually, he gave up and forced the issue.
"You murdered someone," he said flatly. "And that's awful. But I need you to focus on what matters now, Ayana."
The memory of the two flight attendants surged back, and I went still. I stretched out on the bed as the last of Victor's gifts pulsed through me, dulling the edge of my guilt. Fighting it felt pointless. Still, I scowled when his hand settled on my thigh.
"Better?"
Lie.
"Much," I murmured.
He wanted me to want him—to reach for him without prompting. So I did. Just as he began to rise, I caught his hand, holding him in place.
"Lay with me."
His heartbeat echoed in my ears as he settled beside me again. The cabin dimmed around us, the hunger between us tightening like a thread. I gave in to it. I needed to believe this was okay. That no one was being hurt.
We were married, after all.
"Do you want me right now?" I whispered.
"In every way possible," he said, teasing, "if you can manage."
I almost smiled—almost forgot everything that brought us here. Victor leaned over me, one hand slipping beneath my neck, pulling me in for a kiss. My body screamed to close the distance. Then, something shifted.
It was like our minds had clicked into place. I could feel what he felt—see what he saw. I gasped softly.
Suddenly, it all made sense. This was where I'd always been meant to end up. No matter what I'd done differently, it would always lead to him.
After that kiss, he surprised me by stopping, brushing my hair back and shaking his head.
"Tempting," he said. "But that's all I want for tonight."
I pouted, hiding my face in my curls, pretending to sulk. Victor was quiet for a beat.
"Did you feel it?" he asked.
I hesitated, close to confessing everything. "Yes. I did."
He smiled and cupped my face.
"We're bonded. Finally. I thought it'd take forever."
The urge to tell him vanished. I just smiled back, hoping it passed for excitement.
When the plane landed, my stomach twisted with dread. What was I supposed to do—stand tall and address everyone like Victor? Or stay silent? I chose the latter, whispering to myself as I pulled on the fur coat Victor had brought.
A thin layer of snow covered the private runway. Everyone we passed kept their eyes downcast. I felt severed from humanity.
Victor wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close as we descended the steps toward the waiting car. A stranger in a dark cap held the door open, saying nothing. I dozed on Victor's shoulder, lulled by the hum of the road and the sound of him softly humming that half-familiar tune.
The drive was longer than I expected, though I slept through most of it. When I opened my eyes, the car was pulling down a long, winding path toward the estate. The mansion wasn't as grand as Belmore—but beautiful in its own way. Sleek. Modern. Men in blank, expressionless masks stood at the gates, inspecting the car.
"Honestly, is this really necessary?" Victor snapped.
"If you are unsatisfied, you are more than welcome to leave," one of the guards said coolly.
I turned to the window, bracing for Victor to explode—but he didn't. He simply leaned back with a sigh.
When we arrived, I reached for Victor's hand—not because he needed comfort, but because I did. He brought it to his lips and kissed it gently.
"Are you hungry? I'm absolutely famished," he whispered, his breath brushing mine.
I nodded, not even pretending otherwise. The ache had returned long ago.
Victor's expression darkened again as we entered. The mansion was staffed by servants—and young women in leotards and tutus, all of them watching him intently. He kissed each of their hands, addressing them by name, while I stood by, invisible.
When he was finished, he finally turned to me.
"This is my wife, Ayana. I expect you'll all take care of her."
They looked at me with thinly veiled contempt. He introduced his last.
"Hi," I said bluntly, brushing past them without waiting for a response.
Victor reached for my hand, but I stepped back.
"Don't. I don't know what you're used to, but this is a hard no for me."
"It was just a kiss on the hand. It's a normal gesture here," he said, amused.
"I don't care. If you're going to kiss every woman like that, then don't ever kiss me again."
Victor opened his mouth to argue—but before he could, a woman's voice drifted from down the hall.
"Your wife isn't accustomed to your lifestyle, Victor? Does she know you at all? Poor thing."
Victor groaned and dropped into a nearby chair.
A tall, elegant woman in her mid-forties stepped out from the shadows. "Dinner is ready. Shall we?"
She led us into a lavish dining room—marble table, white pillowed chairs, a chandelier dripping glass. Candles flickered like stars above us.
I sat stiffly, my rage still simmering. Victor leaned toward me.
"Ayana, please calm—"
"Victor," the woman interrupted, "leave her be. The poor girl will just have to get used to things, won't she?"
I turned my face away. One of the servers pulled out a chair, and I sat without speaking.
Then three masked people entered and lay down in front of us.
Victor and the woman——leaned in and began to feed, biting into their flesh like it was routine.
I stared at my "meal" in horror. The man trembled beneath me, breathing hard.
"Leave," I said.
He ran.
Victor stood, wiping his mouth delicately.
"Are you not hungry? Is the food not to your liking?"
"I'm not hungry anymore," I said quietly. "I'm just going to bed."
"No. You will stay and eat your dinner."
His tone turned cold, sharp.
"Victor, leave her be. If she doesn't want to taste him, she doesn't have to," Ida offered.
"She is my , and she will do as I say."
Ida rolled her eyes and withdrew. The man was dragged back in, weeping, and placed in front of me once more.
"Drink," Victor ordered.
I looked down at him, trembling. The fear of taking another life warred with the pull in my gut. I turned my head away.
Victor snapped.
He swept the table clean, glass shattering. With one brutal motion, he snapped the man's neck and seized my arm.
I screamed, covering my face, shaking with fear.
But instead of more violence, Victor paused.
"Leave us," he said.
The room emptied—Ida last, her expression unreadable as she shut the doors behind her.
Victor knelt before me, reaching for my cheek. I flinched.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked softly.
I didn't answer.
"I'm so sorry if I frightened you. It won't happen again."
He was lying.
Of course it would.
The more I defied him, the worse it would get.