Aira had barely spoken the words when her body moved—two careful steps back, then another, her heartbeat quickening as her instincts surged forward.
She wanted space. She wanted air. Most of all, she needed to be far enough away that Zyren wouldn’t touch her again—wouldn’t kiss her like he had before, without warning, without care, without permission. The memory of it still burned unwanted across her lips like fire that didn’t warm but consumed.
Her bare feet made no sound against the marble floor as she backed away, her breathing shallow but controlled. The room was large, with high arching ceilings, dark stone walls, and velvet drapes that stilled like watching sentinels. She moved faster, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug beneath her as she increased her pace, putting more and more distance between them.
Yet her gaze never wavered.
She kept her eyes on Zyren the entire time, not because she feared what he would do—but because she needed to know what he was thinking. She could never tell. His face rarely changed, as though expression were beneath him. But right now... she caught it—a flicker of something. A slight narrowing of the eyes. A tension at the edge of his mouth. A frown. Small, nearly invisible, but it was there.
Zyren lowered himself onto the chair she had been sitting on only moments before. His presence took up the space like a storm cloud—silent, heavy, watching.
"You don’t have to fight her now," he said, his voice calm as ever, even as his eyes trailed her—still backing away—"But once you’re well, you’ll have to."
His words didn’t surprise her. But they hollowed out her chest all the same.
Aira didn’t speak aloud. Her thoughts screamed instead, spiraling deep inside her as she forced herself to breathe.
I guess I will have to look death in the face and try to escape!
Her back brushed the wall. She’d run out of space.
There is no way I’m suddenly going to be able to...
But her thought didn’t even finish before Zyren’s next words shattered the storm she was building in her mind.
"I could teach you how to fight. A week should be enough for—"
"What exactly do you want?" Aira cut him off, voice sharp and trembling.
Her tone was quiet—almost soft—but it carried an edge so hard it could cut bone. Her entire body trembled as she glared at him, eyes blazing with a fury that refused to die. She took a breath, not to calm herself, but to give space to her rage.
"I said... what exactly do you want?" she repeated, louder now. Stronger.
She stared at him like she might tear him apart if she had the power. Her fists clenched at her sides, her shoulders taut with frustration.
"What do you want from me?" she choked, her voice cracking from the pressure building in her chest.
"One second you’re sending me to my death and the next you’re offering to stop me from being killed!"
Her breathing hitched.
"One second you’re ordering for my legs to be broken, and the next you act like the thought of seeing me dead is the worst thing you could imagine!"
The tears came—unwelcome and infuriating. She hated that they found their way to her eyes, that her body betrayed her anger with sorrow.
She wiped her face roughly with the back of her hand before the tears could fall fully, before they could leave streaks of weakness across her skin. Her hands were shaking, her body trembling like a dam about to break.
Still, Zyren didn’t speak.
He watched her. Quietly. Head slightly tilted, like she was an unfamiliar puzzle he was enjoying far more than he should. His expression—coldly neutral, perhaps even curious—only enraged her more. As if her pain was an object of fascination. As if she was nothing but dust being pushed around by a breeze he controlled.
She waited for a response, a blink, a flinch—anything.
She turned, intending to fall on the bed behind her and swallow the rage, pretend her outburst hadn’t happened.
"I’m a vampire, Aira," he said at last, his voice slow and sharp. "I’ve lived almost ten of the lives you’re yet to live."
"You’re human. Your life is flimsy, short, and it will pass away. You are dust."
The words landed like stones thrown at a window—hard, shattering, echoing too loud in her mind.
She stared at him, lips parted in disbelief.
Then: "Have you tried stepping into the sun?" she barked back, fists clenched. "Your kind burns into ashes!"
Her voice echoed across the room, filled with contempt.
Zyren’s reply came smoothly.
"...But I don’t. I don’t burn. And that’s the same measure with which I judge the world."
Arrogant. Detached. As if he were some unbothered god on a throne of corpses.
"I hate you!" she snapped. "I will never submit to you, and I’ll always try to—"
"I’m not complaining," he said, interrupting her before she could finish.
He leaned slightly to the side, resting his elbow on the table beside him, fixing her with a gaze that unnerved her to her very soul.
"The fact remains that you belong to me. That won’t change until the end of your life."
He said it like a truth already etched into fate.
"You will fight it. And you will lose."
Her mouth opened. Her fury surged so high she could barely speak.
"You really think I won’t try to kill you?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "You killed my family!"
Her voice cracked as she screamed.
"You had them slaughtered in front of me!"
Tears fell now—unavoidable, raw, and real.
She wiped them furiously with trembling hands, glaring through the blur to see his face.
But he didn’t flinch.
He looked as casual as ever. As if she’d merely spoken about a change in the weather.
"They would have died regardless of my order," he said coldly. "Hunter bloodlines are to be killed on sight. You should thank me that you’re still alive."
"Thank you, my—" she began to scream, but his next words cut her off entirely, her fury halting in her throat as a threat curled between his lips like smoke.
"...Your sister’s life too. I’m not sure she’s aware of why she’s still alive."
Aira’s chest heaved. Her nails bit into her palms.
"Threats?" she spat. "Threats? Is that how you intend to make me submit? Is that all you have?"
Her voice dropped an octave, bitter with disgust.
For the first time, she felt it: the sharp, dark thought that maybe she could damn her sister to the same hell if it meant dragging Zyren into it too.
A quiet sound. Almost amused. Like she had just said something charming.
He shook his head slowly, exhaling as he leaned back into the chair.
"Have you forgotten, little flame..." he said, using that name again—the one that made her skin crawl.
"You’re a heatblood. Your body craves to be bonded."
Aira blinked. Confused. Angry. Even more furious that part of her understood what he meant.
"You’re mine," he said, his voice low. "You belong to me. Who else could you possibly bond with?"
The realization struck her hard—why he wanted her closer, why he wanted her in his room, not the dungeon, not a cage.
Because he believed the bond was already forming.
And worse... maybe he wasn’t wrong.
The thought made her sick.
She said nothing more. There was no point.
He didn’t see her as a person. Just a possession.
So instead of screaming again, instead of setting herself on fire with fury, Aira just turned and dropped onto the edge of the bed. She didn’t even care how loud she landed, didn’t care if she seemed weak or childish. She just needed to shut it all out.
She closed her eyes. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t speak. But she knew he was still watching her.
That gaze. Heavy. Cold. Constant.
The pain in her body wasn’t as sharp now. She could move without wincing, but it didn’t make her feel better. If anything, it only gave her clarity she didn’t want.
Silence reigned for a long time.
Then, like a knife under a closed door, his voice slipped through the quiet.
"You’re too weak," he said. Almost in a whisper. "You can’t kill me."
"You’ll only end up hurting your sister and yourself."
Her eyes flew open. She bolted upright.
"So I should forget it?" she hissed. "I should forget that you—"
"Yes," he said, cutting her off again. "I could give you anything you want."
Aira didn’t wait to hear more.
She dropped flat on the bed again, pulled a pillow over her head, and pressed down to shut him out.
She didn’t want his words.
She didn’t want his presence.
And more than anything—she didn’t want to know what part of her believed he wasn’t lying.