BLAIR'S POV
I woke up to the smell of old paper and cold stone. For a second, I panicked, my hand flying to my chest. My heart was still thumping—weak, erratic, but alive.
Day Two. I looked around the room. Damien was gone. The massive bed felt like an ocean of red silk, and I was a small, broken ship lost in it. I looked down at my dress. It was still on.
"Damn it," I cursed under my breath, throwing the covers aside. I had offered myself to a monster on a silver platter, and he had… what? Put me to sleep like a child?
The audacity of that man—or beast—was infuriating. I didn't come here for a nap.
I stood up, a wave of dizziness hitting me. I leaned against the bedpost until the world stopped spinning. My body felt heavy, but my mind was on fire. If Damien thought he could just ignore me until I died, he was dead wrong.
I walked to the massive vanity in the corner. A silver tray had been left there: a glass of dark, thick liquid and a single black rose. I sniffed the glass. It wasn't wine. It smelled like iron and honey. Vampire blood.
Was he trying to keep me alive? Or was he just fattening me up for the slaughter?
I ignored the drink and headed for the door. I needed to find him. I needed to remind him that my clock was ticking.
As I reached the grand hallway, the silence of the castle was broken by the sound of voices. Low, cold, and dripping with malice. I crept toward the balcony overlooking the main hall, staying in the shadows.
Damien was there. He stood near the obsidian throne, looking more like a King than ever in a dark military tunic. But he wasn't alone.
A man—if you could call him that—stood opposite him. He was thinner than Damien, with skin like parchment and eyes that looked like yellowed bone. He wore extravagant robes that screamed of old money and even older sins.
"The Council is displeased, Damien," the stranger hissed. His voice sounded like dry leaves scraping on a grave. "Target Thirty was supposed to be a catalyst. A woman of pure blood and peak vitality. Instead, you bring this... leaking vessel into the sacred chambers?"
My grip tightened on the stone railing. Leaking vessel?
"Her name is Blair, Valerius," Damien's voice was like a low-frequency vibration that rattled my bones. He sounded bored, but I could see the way his hand was clenched into a fist behind his back. "And what I do with my sacrifices is no concern of the Council."
"It is every concern!" Valerius stepped closer, his yellow eyes gleaming. "You have nine days left to complete the first cycle of your restoration. If you fail to harvest the essence required because you're playing nursemaid to a dying human, the Council will declare you unfit. They will strip you of your title and feed you to the lower-bloods. Is she worth your immortality?"
Valerius laughed, a jagged, hideous sound. "She smells of the morgue, Damien. Why waste your mark on her? Give her to me. My hounds haven't tasted fresh human meat in weeks. At least then she'll be of some use."
The air in the hall suddenly turned freezing. A dark, suffocating aura exploded from Damien, shadows rising from the floor like literal blades.
"Touch her," Damien whispered, a sound more terrifying than any scream, "and I will tear your soul from your body and feed it to the void bit by bit."
Valerius recoiled, his smug expression flickering with fear. "You're obsessed. You've been awake for forty-eight hours and you're already losing your mind over a girl who won't even last the week."
"She is mine to break, Valerius. Not yours," Damien growled. "Get out. Before I forget the treaties that keep your head attached to your shoulders."
Valerius sneered, adjusting his robes. "Fine. But remember, King... the clock doesn't stop for love. And it certainly doesn't stop for death."
As Valerius turned to leave, his eyes suddenly shot upward, landing directly on me. A cruel, predatory smile stretched across his face. He didn't say a word, but the look in his eyes said it all: I'll be waiting for you to fall.
I didn't hide. I stood tall, staring back at him until he disappeared through the heavy gates.
When he was gone, Damien didn't move. He stayed perfectly still, his back to me.
"You should be in bed, Blair," he said, his voice echoing through the hall. He didn't even have to look up to know I was there.
"And you should be in mine," I replied, my voice echoing back, just as cold and just as determined.
I walked down the grand staircase, my silk dress whispering against the marble. When I reached the bottom, I walked straight up to him. The shadows around him were still restless, snapping at the air like vipers.
"Who was that?" I asked, stopping just inches from his chest.
"A vulture," Damien muttered, finally looking at me. His eyes were still glowing crimson, his hunger barely contained. "One who is waiting for you to die so he can pick at the remains."
I reached out, my fingers brushing the silver buttons of his tunic. "Then don't let him. If I'm going to be consumed, My King, I want it to be by you. Not some yellow-eyed scavenger."
Damien grabbed my wrist, his grip almost painful. "You heard him. If I don't take what I need from you, I lose everything. My throne, my life, my immortality."
"Then take it," I challenged, leaning in until I could feel the cold heat of his skin. "What are you waiting for? Are you afraid that if you taste me, you won't be able to stop?"
Damien's eyes darkened, his fangs lengthening. The drama was no longer just about my heart; it was about a war for his throne. And I was right in the middle of it.