"You're awake. Good. I was starting to wonder if I'd broken you already."
The voice was cool, distant, and draped in the kind of arrogance that made my teeth ache. I didn't open my eyes. Not yet. I could feel the sheets beneath me—silk, heavy and expensive, cool against my skin. But beneath the luxury, my body felt like it had been run over by a freight train and then jump-started with a lightning bolt.
"Go away," I croaked. My throat felt like I'd swallowed ground glass.
"In my own house? I don't think so, Sienna."
I forced my eyelids open. The room was bathed in a dim, golden glow from amber sconces on the walls. No windows. The air was still, heavy with the scent of jasmine and that underlying metallic tang I was beginning to associate with Julian Vane. He was sitting in a high-backed velvet chair across from the bed, a glass of dark liquid in his hand. He wasn't wearing his mask anymore. Without it, he was devastating—sharp cheekbones, a jawline that could cut glass, and eyes that held too much history.
"Where am I?" I sat up, clutching the duvet to my chest. I realized with a jolt of panic that I wasn't in my violet gala dress anymore. I was wearing a silk slip that left far too much skin exposed. "Who changed my clothes?"
"One of the maids. Don't flatter yourself," Julian said, though the way his eyes tracked the movement of my collarbone suggested he was lying. "You're in the East Wing. It's... secure."
"You mean it's a cage," I snapped, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold marble. I looked at the door—heavy oak, reinforced with iron bands. No handle on the inside. "You kidnapped me."
"I saved you. There's a difference."
"Saved me? You bit me! You fed on me like I was a damn juice box on a balcony!"
Julian stood up, his movements fluid and terrifyingly fast. Before I could even stand, he was at the edge of the bed, looming over me. "I did more than feed, Sienna. I tasted something that shouldn't exist. That violet light... that surge of power... do you have any idea what that does to a man like me?"
"I don't care about your cravings, Julian. I'm a Hunter. My job is to put a stake through that cold heart of yours."
He leaned down, his face inches from mine. I could smell him—spiced cedar and something ancient. "Your heart is beating so fast I can see it in your throat. Is that hatred, or is it the lingering heat of my venom? Don't lie to me. I can feel you shivering."
He was right. My body was betraying me. Every place his skin had touched mine on the balcony felt like it was on fire. The "Blood-Singer" high hadn't fully faded; it had just settled into a low, thrumming ache in my lower belly.
"It's revulsion," I whispered, though my breath hitched as his hand came up to trace the line of my jaw.
"Is it?" His thumb brushed my lower lip. "Because your blood is screaming for me to do it again. I can hear it. It's a Song, Sienna. And I'm the only one who knows the melody."
I slapped his hand away, standing up and stumbling back. "What do you want from me? Why am I still alive?"
Julian straightened, his expression hardening back into that of the Prince. "The Council meeting is in three days. My brother Silas, Viktor, the Elders—they're all circling like sharks. They think I've grown soft. They think the Vane line is thinning."
He took a step toward me, his voice dropping to a predatory hum. "But your blood... it's a catalyst. One taste and my strength triples. My senses are sharper than they've been in a century. I need you, Sienna. Not as a guest, and certainly not as a corpse."
"You want a battery," I said, a bitter laugh bubbling up. "You want me to sit here and let you drain me so you can win a political pissing contest?"
"I want a vessel," he corrected. "Serve me willingly. Give me your blood when I ask, and I will protect you. I'll give you anything you desire. Jewels, clothes, the heads of your enemies... you'll live like a queen in this wing."
"And if I refuse?"
Julian's eyes flashed crimson for a brief, terrifying second. "Then I turn you over to the dungeons. And I promise you, the interrogators there won't be as interested in your 'Song' as they are in how many pieces a Hunter can be cut into before they stop breathing."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "You're a monster."
"I'm a Prince. I do what is necessary." He stepped closer, his hand sliding behind my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. "But I'd much rather you be mine. There was a moment on that balcony, Sienna... when our pulses synced. Tell me you didn't feel it."
His touch was electric. I wanted to pull away, but my body felt heavy, drawn to his coldness like a moth to a flame. He pulled me flush against him, his other hand splaying across the small of my back. The silk slip was nothing between us. I could feel the hard lines of his chest, the sheer, overwhelming power of him.
"I felt... violated," I lied, my voice breaking.
"You felt alive," he murmured, his lips grazing my ear. "For the first time in your sheltered, boring life, you felt the truth. You aren't just a girl with a knife. You're something ancient. Something mine."
He leaned down, his lips pressing into the crook of my neck, right over the marks he'd left. A gasp escaped me, my hands instinctively clutching his shoulders. The heat flared again, a dizzying, carnal rush that made my toes curl against the marble. It wasn't just blood-loss; it was a biological pull so strong it felt like my soul was trying to merge with his.
"Julian," I breathed, my eyes fluttering shut.
"Say my name again," he whispered, his teeth grazing my skin. "Tell me you want the cage."
I opened my mouth to curse him, to scream, to tell him I'd rather die in the dungeons—but the words died in my throat. Because for a split second, I did want it. I wanted the darkness, the heat, the terrifying safety of his arms.
Then, the world shattered.
CRASH.
A sound like a lightning strike echoed from the hallway. The heavy oak door groaned, the iron bands shrieking as something—or someone—hit it with the force of a battering ram.
Julian went rigid, his head snapping toward the door. The romantic tension evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold, lethal stillness. He shoved me behind him, his shadows beginning to bleed out from his feet like ink in water.
"Stay back," he snarled.
BOOM.
The door buckled again. I could hear muffled shouting, the sound of boots on stone, and then a laugh that made the hair on my arms stand up. It wasn't the deep, controlled laugh of Julian. It was higher, wilder, and dripping with a sadistic glee.
"Oh, come now, Jules!" the voice shouted from the other side. "I know you've got a new toy in there! The whole house smells like a bakery! Don't be greedy, brother! Share a bite with Silas!"
"Silas," Julian hissed, his fangs dropping. "That fool."
Another impact, and a hairline fracture appeared in the wood of the door. My heart was hammered against my ribs. Silas. The hedonistic brother. The one Marcus said was even worse than Julian because he had no self-control.
"Julian, he's going to get in," I whispered, looking around for a weapon. There was nothing but a silver hairbrush on the vanity. I grabbed it, gripping the handle like a dagger.
"He won't touch you," Julian said, but he sounded distracted. He was staring at the door as the wood began to splinter.
But it wasn't just the threat of Silas that made my blood run cold. As the door began to give way, a strange, flickering image flashed in my mind—a memory that wasn't mine. I saw a young man, a boy who looked like me, being dragged into a dark room. I saw a silver Thorne emblem being crushed under a boot.
Leo? The name surfaced in my brain like a drowning man reaching for air. My brother. The one I was told died in the fire ten years ago. Why was I seeing him now? Why did his face look so much like the silhouette I could see through the cracks in the breaking door?
"Julian!" I screamed as the door finally exploded inward, wood shards flying through the air like shrapnel.
A man stood in the wreckage. He looked like Julian, but his hair was longer, his clothes disheveled, and his eyes were wide with a manic, starving light. He ignored Julian entirely, his gaze locking onto me with the intensity of a starving wolf.
"There she is," Silas whispered, licking his lips. "The little Songbird."
But as he stepped into the room, I didn't see a vampire. I saw a shadow behind him—a second figure, standing in the darkness of the hallway, watching me with eyes that didn't look dead at all. They looked... familiar.
"Who is that?" I gasped, pointing past Silas.
Julian turned, but the figure was gone, vanished into the gloom of the corridor. Silas only laughed, stepping over the threshold, his hands crackling with a dark, purplish energy.
"Don't worry about the help, darling," Silas purred. "You should be worried about me."
My mind was reeling. The "Blood-Singer" power was humming again, but this time it wasn't a song of desire. It was a warning. A riddle.
Was the person in the hall an ally, or was I losing my mind? And if Julian was my captor, why did I feel like he was the only thing keeping the real nightmare at bay?