Aria sat stiffly in Zyren’s lap, her back straight and her expression carefully blank, doing everything she could to ignore the revulsion that knotted like a fist in her chest.
Every instinct screamed at her to pull away from him—to tear herself from the cold, unyielding body pressed against hers, from the possessive curve of his arm locked around her waist. But she didn’t move. She couldn’t. Not without provoking something worse.
Her leg still throbbed with pain, a slow, pulsing ache that coiled around her nerves like barbed wire. Dull, constant, and impossible to ignore. But as long as Zyren didn’t try to go further—didn’t let his hands wander again—she could endure this. She had to.
The carriage bumped and swayed with every jolt of the uneven cobblestone path beneath its wheels, making her stomach turn.
Each tremor sent her body shifting closer into his, a movement she tried—and failed—to resist. Every time the vehicle rocked, Zyren’s grip around her waist tightened just slightly. Subtle enough to appear casual, protective even, but she knew better. He was using the motion as an excuse to draw her nearer.
Aria’s fingers curled into the coat draped over her lap, gripping the thick fabric until her knuckles ached. She didn’t let her face betray the disgust rising in her throat.
She kept her gaze pointedly fixed out the narrow window, trying to track how much longer this nightmare ride would last. All she wanted was for the carriage to stop, for the suffocating closeness to end—even if only briefly.
And then she felt it.
A slow, deliberate glide of his hand over her bare thigh.
The contact was light but unmistakable. His fingers brushed just beneath the edge of the coat, skating along the soft skin left exposed by the hem of her dark gown. The contrast of his cold touch against her warm flesh sent a violent chill down her spine.
Aria tensed, her muscles seizing, and with a sharp jerk she yanked the coat down to cover herself, pulling it as low as it would go. Her chest rose and fell with short, shallow breaths. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t dare.
Zyren’s voice came next, low and close to her ear—a whisper more intimate than it had any right to be.
"I’m hungry," he murmured, the words a silken growl that slithered across her skin.
Even if someone else had been in the carriage with them, they wouldn’t have heard it. His tone was meant for her and her alone, meant to send a warning, to curl like smoke into the corners of her mind.
"I’ll have to drink from you later," he added, the promise in his voice dark and unrelenting.
Her breath caught mid-inhale, throat tightening around a sound she didn’t let escape. Her heart stuttered, then raced wildly, beating out of rhythm with her thoughts.
She fought to stay calm, to reason with herself. The last time he’d fed from her, he hadn’t taken too much—just enough to leave her weak and cold, but not broken. Not dead.
But that wasn’t the part that haunted her.
That twisted, shameful heat that bloomed inside her body as his fangs sank into her flesh. A warmth she hadn’t wanted, hadn’t invited—but had felt all the same. As though her own blood had turned traitor, reacting to the predator that drank from her like she belonged to him.
The memory made her skin crawl, made her stomach twist in a knot of loathing and fear. And now he wanted more.
She began to shift, to pull away—anything to break contact before he touched her again—but before she could move, the carriage shuddered to a halt.
The sudden stop rocked her forward, and she immediately stood, seizing the moment with near-desperation. She grabbed her cane, steadying herself with it as she rose, her coat still clutched tightly around her. Relief washed over her like a cold wind.
But the sight outside turned that relief to ice.
Aria froze just beyond the carriage’s open door, eyes widening as she took in the scene.
A crowd had formed in a half-circle around the grand marble staircase leading to the entrance of the building. Vampires of all kinds—some familiar, most not—were kneeling, heads bowed in perfect, synchronized reverence. Their clothing gleamed with wealth: velvet coats, embroidered silks, glittering gemstones layered at their throats and wrists.
"Greetings, my King!" a chorus of voices called out in unison, their tone steeped in formality and forced delight.
Zyren stepped from the carriage with a regal calmness, as if their reverence was nothing more than expected.
Aria followed slowly, the weight of dozens of eyes cutting into her. She wrapped the coat around herself even tighter, shoulders tense beneath its folds. The chill in the air didn’t bother her—but the stares did.
She felt them—cold and assessing. Some were heavy with disdain, others laced with envy, but not one felt welcoming.
A man approached, richly dressed in deep crimson robes threaded with gold. His hair was slicked back, and his smile glittered with sharp teeth.
"My name is Akram. I’m the one in charge of the auction," he said, bowing deeply. "I can assure you, Your Highness, that you will find something you like."
Zyren gave him a single nod, impassive and unreadable.
Aria remained silent, unmoved, her expression a frozen mask. She didn’t ask why she was being looked at with such blatant derision. She didn’t need to.
She kept her eyes on the building ahead.
It rose high above them, the stone archway carved with intricate symbols she couldn’t place. Heavy red and black banners draped down from the rooftop, fluttering in the wind. The entry doors were gilded with obsidian handles and inlaid ruby studs—evidence of the wealth that passed through this place.
Inside, the building opened into a grand hall with rows of velvet seats and a massive stage under golden lighting. But what seized her attention were the cages.
Dozens of them, lined up neatly like grotesque displays. Inside were humans—men, women, some children—all trapped behind iron bars. Some huddled in corners, some stared blankly ahead.
She followed Zyren closely, staying behind him to block herself from the stares, the murmurs, the whispered speculations. Her cane tapped softly against the polished floor as they ascended to the second floor—a private balcony overlooking the stage, opulent and secluded.
The balcony was a spectacle of its own—scarlet drapes with black trim, obsidian pillars carved with bat-winged crests, and two enormous thrones carved from blackened wood, upholstered in crimson velvet.
Zyren took his seat without hesitation. Aria remained standing, body taut with tension.
Akram approached again and gestured to a nearby woman. She was young, beautiful, and nearly naked beneath a gauzy, transparent gown. Her bosom heaved beneath the plunging neckline, and her corset squeezed her already tiny waist into an hourglass curve.
"If there’s anything you need, my king," Akram said smoothly, "Mari will attend to you to the best of her abilities."
His tone left no doubt about what those abilities included.
Mari bowed deeply, deliberately, offering not just respect but temptation. Her breasts nearly spilled from the gown as she dipped her head, long lashes fluttering up at Zyren in invitation.
Aria’s mouth curled into a slight smirk. Don’t let me stop you. Feel free to jump on him anytime, she thought, the bitterness in her chest briefly giving way to something almost like relief. If Zyren was distracted by someone else—anyone else—it would be a blessing.
Vampires filled the seats below, their voices loud, the tension palpable.
The first item was a human male. Then another. Each dragged out in chains, made to kneel or pose under flickering lights while the crowd erupted in competitive bids.
The prices were staggering—astronomical sums thrown out as casually as dice.
Aria watched with guarded detachment, her mind already trying to brace for what Zyren was trying to show her.
But then the women were brought out.
And suddenly the bids doubled.
"Look at her! She would make a nice brood mare! You can have a litter of tiny humans!" the auctioneer cried with twisted glee.
Laughter erupted. Aria flinched, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. She forced herself to look straight ahead, refusing to glance at Zyren, refusing to acknowledge what he might be thinking.
If things had gone just a little differently... If she had been caught by slavers...She might have been down there.
But then her breath caught in her throat, freezing her in place.
A new woman had been brought out—third in the line. Her hair... the same fiery red as Aria’s. Her features—softer, gentler. Her figure—slender and delicate. Her skin was pale, untouched by the sun, smooth in a way that showed years of care.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. She didn’t cry out. Didn’t fight.
But her eyes... they were empty.
A hollow silence filled Aria’s chest.
Her fists clenched. Her breath hitched. Her heart pounded so violently she thought it might burst from her ribs.
Alive. Trembling. Chained.
Aria couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Her vision tunneled, fixed only on that one face—on the girl she thought was dead.
Zyren’s voice sliced through the fog of her thoughts.
"Little flame," he murmured, a cruel sliver of amusement in his voice. "You sound breathless."
He turned to her slightly, eyes glittering with dark curiosity.
"Did you find something you like?"