The manor was never truly silent.
Even when the wind slept, and the shadows stretched long across the floors like fingers, the house breathed. Whispered. Groaned under the weight of ancient secrets and hungers that refused to die.
Mira sat in the west corridor, tucked into a window alcove, her knees pulled to her chest. Moonlight poured through the stained glass beside her, painting red across her pale skin like bloodied chains. The chill of the night pressed against the stone, but that wasn't what made her tremble.
It was the sounds.
It started with a soft thump. Then a low growl.
Her eyes darted down the long hall toward Salene's door.
Then she heard it—Salene's voice. Breathless. Eager. And not alone.
"Harder, Varek… let me feel it…"
The words struck Mira like thorns.
A crash. Furniture scraping. Guttural sounds. Another voice—Kaelen's—rough with lust and mockery.
"You beg too easily, Salene. I thought you liked the chase."
Salene gasped, laughing breathlessly. "Then chase me again."
Mira's nails dug into her arms.
Lucien's voice joined, darker than the rest. "You like to be used, don't you?"
"By all of us," Darian added. "At once."
Salene's moan followed, long and loud—no shame, no restraint. Just hunger.
Mira pressed her hands over her ears.
But it didn't stop.
No, it got louder. The rhythm of bodies, the creak of the bed, the growls, the snapping fabric, Salene crying out their names—each one—again and again.
They were feeding. Not just on her blood—but on her submission. Her craving.
And Mira felt it in her own veins—the bond stirring, pulling their lust into her like poison. She gasped, her own heart beating too fast, too wrong. Her blood knew what was happening behind that door. It felt them. Every touch. Every breath. Every dark craving.
She stumbled to her feet and ran.
Through the cold halls. Out into the trees. Into the forest behind the manor, where silence might be real.
The night air struck her face like a slap. She didn't stop until she reached the edge of the glade, panting.
But the forest whispered, too.
The trees, tall and skeletal, seemed to bend toward her as if to listen.
And she did something she hadn't done in years.
She screamed.
A raw, broken cry that shook the silence. A scream of rage, jealousy, confusion. It wasn't because she wanted what Salene had—it was because she didn't understand why she felt like she did.
Why her body responded to them.
Why their voices, their hungers, stirred things in her she wanted to bury deep and never face.
"I hate you," she whispered into the dark. "All of you…"
Branches rustled.
"Do you?"
She turned sharply. A figure stood beneath a dying tree. Cloaked in black. Watching.
Kaelen.
His silver eyes gleamed like moonlight.
"I thought you'd be out here," he said, stepping closer. "You always try to run when the bond burns."
Mira backed up. "Get away from me."
"Why?" he smirked. "Afraid of what you heard?"
She looked away. "Disgusted."
He came closer. His voice lowered. "Or maybe curious?"
Her hand shot out—she slapped him.
His head turned from the impact, but the smile didn't vanish.
"Good," he said, licking the blood from his lip. "You're starting to feel it."
"Feel what?"
He stepped into her space, pressing her back against a tree.
"The need."
"I feel nothing for you."
"Your body lies better than your mouth does."
She shoved him away, but he caught her wrist, pulling her back gently, like a game.
Kaelen leaned in, lips near her ear. "You want to know what we did to her?"
"Stop—"
"You want to know how she screamed when Varek bit her thighs, how Lucien held her down while Darian tasted every inch of her. You felt it through the bond, didn't you? Your heart racing. Heat in your belly."
"Let me go—"
"Salene begged," he murmured. "And you hated it wasn't you."
Mira's body shook. "I'll never beg for you."
He looked into her eyes. "We'll see, blood-link."
Then, with a mocking bow, he vanished into the woods.
And Mira was left alone.
Or so she thought.
Behind her, the forest whispered again. This time, it wasn't Kaelen's voice.
It was older. Colder. And it said her name.
"Mira…"
She turned slowly—only to see a pale figure with glowing blue eyes, standing far in the trees, half-shrouded in mist.
Not one of the Lords.
Something else.
Something older.
The bond to the Four was awakening things.
And Mira was beginning to understand… they weren't the only ones bound to her blood.