The candlelight in Damien's chambers had dimmed to embers.
Ariana lay tangled in black silk sheets, her body still humming, sore in the most decadent way. Damien hadn't just taken her—he'd claimed her. And though the mark hadn't been carved into her skin yet, she felt it in every breath.
But something was wrong.
She stirred, the warmth beside her gone.
The door creaked open. Not by Damien.
A figure entered quietly.
Female. Tall. Pale as bone. Crimson lips curved in amusement.
Ariana sat up, tugging the sheet to cover herself.
"You must be brave," the woman said. "To lie in our king's bed with so little understanding of what you've stirred."
"Who are you?" Ariana asked, voice hard.
The vampire dipped into a mock bow. "Esme. One of Damien's court. Once his… preferred entertainment."
Ariana narrowed her eyes. "I'm not interested in games."
"Ah," Esme said with a cold smile. "But you are in one."
She stepped closer. "Six nights. That's all it takes. After that, the Blood Mark will be etched into your flesh—and soul. You'll belong to him, in ways you can't undo."
Ariana didn't flinch. "Good."
That wiped the smile from Esme's face.
"You think you understand what it means to be marked by a vampire lord? You won't just share his bed. You'll share his power. His enemies. His death sentence."
"Is that what this is about?" Ariana asked, standing. "You're scared I'll replace you."
Esme's expression twisted.
Then—like a switch—she softened. Too soft. Too pleasant.
"Let me show you something," Esme whispered, holding out her hand. "You deserve to know the price of wanting him."
Ariana didn't move. But she watched.
Esme waved her hand in the air—and the mirror across the room, previously veiled, shimmered.
It showed a memory.
A woman, bleeding in Damien's arms. Fangs bared. Eyes wide with love—and fear.
"She was his last mark," Esme said. "She begged for him to stop."
Ariana's stomach tightened. "What happened to her?"
Esme tilted her head. "She became him. And when she lost control… he had to end her."
The mirror vanished.
Ariana stood frozen.
"You think he's your savior?" Esme whispered. "He's a curse wrapped in silk and fangs. And once he marks you, there's no escape. Not even death severs the bond."
Footsteps echoed in the hall.
Esme turned toward the door with a cruel smile. "He's coming. Be sure you know what you're asking for when he lays his teeth in your throat."
She vanished just as the door opened.
Damien entered—his face stormy.
"What did she tell you?" he asked.
Ariana stared at him. "Everything."
His jaw tightened. "You believed her?"
"I believe she's scared," Ariana said. "Of what I mean to you."
Damien crossed the room in a blur, gripping her waist. "You are not her. You won't break."
"And if I do?"
"I'll rebuild you."
His lips crashed onto hers again, full of fury and need.
But this time, something had changed.
Not less passion.
More fear.
Because for the first time, Ariana realized…
Damien wasn't afraid of losing her.
He was afraid of loving her.
And if Esme was right, love wasn't salvation.
It was a weapon.