Mira stepped back frantically, her breath ragged, pupils dilated. Her mind screamed for her to run, to hide, to wake up from what felt like a vivid, twisted dream. "W-what are you doing?" she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lucien's smirk returned, slow and deliberate. His sharp, aristocratic features glowed faintly under the moonlight that spilled into the room through her window. His fangs were still out, glistening.
"Taking your blood," he said smoothly.
"Not drinking blood, right?" she clarified, inching back until her spine hit the doorframe.
Lucien tilted his head. "It's both, technically."
"You mean, through this?" she asked, pointing at his mouth—more precisely, the sharp fangs.
"Yes. Like this," he replied, stepping closer.
"You're insane!" she cried, panic surging through her veins.
He grabbed her shoulders with a grip that made her wince. It wasn't just the physical pressure, but the cold—his hands were like ice, sending chills straight into her bones.
"Now show me your neck," he whispered, voice low and oddly gentle despite the steel in his grip.
"No, please, there must be another way! Finger prick? Syringe? I'll even give you a bucket!" she rambled in terror.
Lucien chuckled darkly. "This is the only way. The pact must be sealed through the original rite."
"I thought you said just a few drops!" Mira said, trembling.
"Yes. But the method is non-negotiable."
She looked up into his glowing blue eyes, which now held a soft shimmer of something deeper—regret? Hunger? She couldn't tell. "Will it hurt?"
"It will sting a little," he said calmly. "Close your eyes."
Reluctantly, Mira obeyed, her lashes fluttering down as she tried to steady her breath. Her heart thundered in her chest, each beat screaming warnings she could no longer heed. She felt the brush of his cold fingers move her hair aside. Then, his breath fanned warm against her skin. She could feel every second stretch, every inch he closed between them.
Then, pain. A sharp, invasive prick that dug deeper than expected. She gasped aloud.
She could feel her blood being drawn—not just taken but pulled, slowly, intimately. Her knees buckled slightly as her body reacted to the drain. Her hand instinctively moved to push him away.
"S-stop… You said just a few drops…" she whispered.
But Lucien didn't stop.
He held her tightly, one arm circling her waist while the other cradled her head like a precious object. Her feeble attempts to push him away only made his grip tighten further. A part of her began to panic, her body screaming that something was wrong.
Her vision blurred.
She could hear the blood roaring in her ears, or perhaps that was just the absence of it. Her body grew weaker with each passing second, her limbs too heavy to move.
"L-Lucien… Please…" she gasped.
And then, darkness started to close in. The last thing she heard before the world slipped from her grasp was his voice, frantic, cracking with panic.
"Oh my god… I am so sorry."
___________________________
When Mira woke, everything felt distant—like she was wrapped in cotton. Her limbs refused to move at first, and her mind struggled to connect dots. She lay in her bed, head resting gently on a cool pillow. A strange warmth covered her—like a blanket and more. She blinked, the room spinning for a second before settling.
Lucien sat at the far end of the room, perched on her desk chair, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. The moment she stirred, his head snapped up.
"You're awake," he breathed, relief flooding his voice.
She tried to sit up, but her body wouldn't cooperate. "What… what did you do to me?"
"I took too much," he said softly, guilt etching every word. "I lost control. I haven't fed in… too long. I never meant to—"
"You said a few drops," she whispered, her throat dry. "That didn't feel like a few."
"I know. I messed up."
"No kidding," she hissed, slowly managing to prop herself up. "You could have killed me!"
"But I didn't," he replied, his voice tight, as if he was reminding himself as much as her.
"That's not comforting!" Mira shot back.
"I'll fix this," he promised.
"How? With another bite?" she asked bitterly.
Lucien stood. "You're in no danger now. The pact is sealed. Your blood and name are in the binding.
You are under protection. And... now bound to secrecy."
Mira tried to stand but nearly collapsed. He was there in an instant, catching her gently this time.
"Don't touch me," she whispered, but she didn't have the strength to push him away.
He helped her sit on the edge of the bed. "I've healed your wound. There will be a mark, but it'll fade."
"You had no right," she said, tears of rage welling in her eyes.
"You came into this world the moment you stepped into that backyard," he murmured.
"I didn't ask for this world!" she snapped.
"Sometimes the world finds us anyway."
They sat in silence for a long moment.
Then, she asked, "Why were those other people here?"
Lucien's jaw clenched. "They were following me. They wanted your blood. But I stopped them."
"You say that like it's supposed to make me feel safe."
"You are safe," he said firmly. "As long as you stay quiet. And as long as I'm around."
She narrowed her eyes. "And what happens if I talk?"
Lucien's face hardened. "You break the pact. And the consequences will follow."
She remembered his words from earlier. Marriage. Servitude. Worse?
"Was that part—about marrying someone like you—real?" she asked, not wanting to hear the answer.
Lucien hesitated, then nodded once. "That's one of the less violent punishments, yes."
"Then I won't talk," she whispered.
"I believe you," he said.
"Then leave," she said shakily.
He stood slowly, walked to the window, then turned back. "Mira… I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You did," she replied. "Even if you didn't mean to."
Lucien bowed his head slightly, a rare gesture of remorse. Then, he stepped out through the window, vanishing into the night.
Mira lay back down, hand on her neck, heartbeat loud in her ears.
She had stepped into something she didn't understand. And now, there was no stepping back.
The night was quiet again.
But her world had changed forever.