She was beyond shocked when she turned around and saw Zyren standing there.
He had his heavy black coat draped over his shoulders once again. But it was his eyes—those blazing crimson eyes—that truly made her blood run cold.
In his right hand, he held a sword she had ever seen before: long, sleek, and entirely black, like the void itself had been forged into steel. From the tip of the blade, a dark shadow leaked and slithered along the ground like smoke with weight, writhing at his feet like something alive.
His face was a mask of fury.
And yet, he hadn’t moved. Not yet.
But his rage was unmistakable, pulsing from him like heat from a wildfire, and Aria knew without a doubt that if she had dared to take a wrong step—if she had so much as said the wrong thing—he would have strike her. She wouldn’t have even had the time to scream.
Her body trembled under the weight of his gaze, her muscles tightening in instinctual fear, as Zyren’s low voice lashed out—not at her, but at the vampire who had been speaking to her.
"Horaitus!" His voice cracked through the space like a whip, raw with fury. "You were going to allow her to leave?"
The named vampire dropped to his knees without hesitation, the leather of his pants slapping the stone beneath him with a wet sound. Despite the dusk and shadows, Aria could make out the trembling in his legs, the slight twitch of fear in his fingers as he bowed his head so low it almost touched the ground.
"Never, my lord!" Horaitus said, his voice steady despite the fear Aria could see rippling through him. "She only wanted fresh air, away from the stench of the inn! I stood watch—nothing more."
But Zyren’s voice came again, louder this time, crackling with raw power.
"Never, my lord!" he mocked, eyes fixed on Horaitus. The pressure in the air shifted—heavy, suffocating. Horaitus’s shoulders began to tremble more violently, as though a great weight had been dropped onto his back, something invisible but crushing.
"I would never lie to you!" Horaitus cried out, head still bowed as though even looking up might get him killed.
Aria’s heart pounded wildly in her chest. Her pulse roared in her ears as she watched Zyren’s grip on the black sword tighten—his knuckles whitening as the air around him buzzed with a deadly stillness.
She could barely breathe.
Then Zyren made a low sound, a hum vibrating with dangerous curiosity. "Mhmmm..."
Slowly, his fingers loosened around the sword’s hilt. The intensity in his frame didn’t waver, but the threat began to simmer beneath the surface rather than hover in the open.
He turned his gaze toward her.
Aria stiffened under the weight of it. The ferocity in his eyes hadn’t dulled—if anything, it had grown. His gaze cut through her like a blade, unblinking and merciless.
He tilted his head slightly, his tone calm and sharp as he spoke. "He’s telling the truth?"
The question—simple, cold, laced with danger—landed like a blow.
Her chest tightened as the blood rushed through her head, her knees aching to buckle under the tension, but she stood firm. His voice wasn’t raised, but it was more terrifying than if he had shouted. There was something coiled behind it, waiting to strike.
Though he no longer held the sword with the same threat as before, he seemed even more dangerous in that moment—like he didn’t need it to destroy her.
Aria couldn’t do anything but clench her fists at her sides, fingernails biting into her palms, her mouth dry with fear.
"I won’t repeat myself," he said.
The words struck like a hammer. Her spine straightened instinctively, sweat sliding down the curve of her back in a slow, icy trail.
She knew—if Zyren had heard Horaitus’s words and was pretending... then not only would the guard die, but Zyren wouldn’t hesitate to punish her as well. And knowing him, punishment could mean anything.
So instead of hesitating, she simply gave the only truth she could offer.
"I had no intention to leave." Her voice was soft but steady, her jaw tight as she forced herself to meet his gaze. "Where would I go?"
There was nothing for her out there. No one. That was the truth.
Zyren’s expression shifted. His lips curved, a deep chuckle escaping him—low, amused, and laced with cruel delight, as if something about her answer pleased him immensely. Something she couldn’t understand.
He turned without another word and slid the black sword into the sheath hidden beneath his cloak. The moment it disappeared, the shadows at his feet dissipated like mist in sunlight.
He addressed the guards around him now, his voice calm but commanding. "Man your horses. We should arrive by midnight."
Without hesitation, the guards scattered to obey his order, their movements swift and disciplined. Even Horaitus—though shaken—stood quickly, moving with practiced efficiency to prepare Zyren’s horse.
Aria’s eyes didn’t leave Zyren. Her heart was still thundering in her chest, but the worst had passed. At least for now.
"Yes," he whispered suddenly, close—too close—his voice brushing her ear like a secret. "Yes, I would have killed him. And punished you... ruthlessly... if you lied to me."
The chill his words sent down her spine was worse than any winter wind. His breath was warm against her cheek, the scent of him cloying and sharp. His tone held that same mocking arrogance, that unshakable belief that he knew her completely. That nothing she did could escape his notice.
When he mounted his horse and extended his hand to her, she didn’t hesitate. There was no flinch, no struggle, only a resigned acceptance. She stepped forward, allowing him to pull her up with a strong arm wrapped around her waist, pressing her firmly against his chest.
His grip didn’t soften.
His breath fanned over her face as he took the reins, the warmth of his body seeping into hers.
She didn’t struggle. What was the point?
Her father and brother were gone—slaughtered. And she didn’t believe, not for a second, that her mother and sister had survived. There was nothing left to hope for. No home. No escape.
’I’ll do whatever he wants,’ she thought bitterly. ’Then I’ll kill him.’ That was the plan. Get close. Find his weaknesses. Then end him. Nothing else mattered.
As the horse galloped at a breathtaking speed, wind whipped through her hair, pulling strands loose from the braid she had tied earlier. Her skirt flew upward, exposing far more than her ankles, but she didn’t care. She didn’t pull it down. She didn’t try to hide.
She simply closed her eyes and let herself feel the wind. Cold. Unforgiving.
It wasn’t until long after nightfall—when the stars were scattered across the sky and the moon hung high—that she stirred. Her eyes fluttered open to find her cheek pressed firmly into a chest she instantly recognized.
She jerked away, shocked to realize she had somehow been turned in his arms during the ride. Her body was tucked tightly into his, cradled in the center of his torso as though she belonged there.
But before she could push herself away completely, his hand slammed her back against him.
"Don’t move," he ordered, voice flat but firm, his palm splayed against her back with enough pressure to lock her in place.
She gritted her teeth in annoyance, her face pressed once more against his chest as the sounds around them shifted. Loud voices called out from the crowd.
The title echoed all around them. She couldn’t lift her head, but she didn’t need to—she could feel it. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of people falling to their knees as they passed through the city.
Through the crack under his arm, she caught glimpses of light—so many lights.
Unlike the modest village they had stopped at earlier, this place was grand. Even in the dark, the stone streets gleamed. Structures towered over them, their edges lined with metal and shining trim. The architecture was nothing like what she’d seen before.
’What huge candles or lamps are they using?’ she wondered in awe, unable to see clearly, but captivated nonetheless.
She tried again to raise her head, her curiosity burning—but he held her pinning her face down. Anger flared in her gut, but she stayed still. For now.
And then... she would destroy him.