The moon outside the mansion's highest tower was thick with red—the cursed hue that turned blood restless and sharpened hunger into madness. In the silence that followed the brutal claiming, Mira lay on silken sheets, her bruised body barely able to register the cold air that passed through the open arched window. Her lips trembled as she tried to lift herself, but every limb was a weight she couldn't carry.
The pain from the previous night hadn't faded.
Neither had their marks.
And neither had their rejection.
Her heart still bled, not from the bites, but from how they looked at her when it was over—like nothing. Like she was less than dust beneath their boots.
A knock echoed.
No, not a knock.
A command.
The door slammed open.
Lucien.
He stepped in without hesitation, dressed not in finery but in battle leathers, his long dark coat brushing the ground like shadows drawn behind him. His eyes found hers instantly, unreadable. Cold. Calculating.
"Mira," he said, voice deceptively soft. "Get up."
She flinched. "I… I can't—"
"You will," he snapped. "You don't get to lie in silk like some pampered blood doll. If you're bound to us, you prove it."
She managed to sit up, body quaking. "What do you mean?"
Lucien walked to the center of the room. With a snap of his fingers, the entire space shifted.
Illusions fell away like curtains.
The walls melted into stone. Chains clinked from the ceiling. A bloodstained training arena stretched out around her.
Mira gasped.
"I brought you here," Lucien said darkly, "to see if you're worth the blood inside you. That golden blood they whisper about. That blood that chained us to you." He turned to her with fire in his eyes. "You'll fight tonight, Mira. You'll bleed. You'll scream. And you'll learn that being ours is not about surviving us. It's about surviving everything else."
Before she could answer, the door creaked again.
A vampire was dragged in by guards. Rabid, fanged, wild—its eyes crazed from blood starvation.
"No—" Mira backed away, heart slamming in her chest.
Lucien tossed a blade at her feet. "Kill him. Or he'll kill you."
She stared at the weapon. Her trembling fingers refused to move.
"I'm not like you," she whispered. "I'm not a killer."
Lucien's lips curled into a merciless smirk. "You're not anything yet."
The crazed vampire lunged.
Mira screamed, grabbing the blade instinctively as the monster tackled her to the ground. Its claws scraped across her arm, drawing blood—her golden blood. The creature paused, snarling, intoxicated by her scent.
Then—it attacked harder.
Mira rolled, slashing wildly. Panic fueled her strength. She stabbed once—missed.
Twice—nicked its shoulder.
The third time—she drove the blade through its chest.
It collapsed atop her, twitching, dead.
Silence fell.
Her hands were soaked in blood. Her own and his.
Lucien stepped forward slowly, crouching beside her. His voice was low, dangerous, yet disturbingly amused.
"There," he murmured. "You've taken a life. How does it feel, little lamb?"
Tears blurred her vision.
"I hated it," she gasped.
"Good," he whispered. "Because soon…you'll have to do it again."
Mira's body trembled, but her eyes—burned brighter.
She didn't know what was changing inside her.
But something was.
And Lucien saw it.
He stood, turning away. "Rest now, Mira. This was just the beginning. The real test will come with the next red moon. And if you fail…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't have to.
Because she already knew—
Failure meant death.
Or worse—
It meant belonging to them forever.