CHAPTER 24
MINUTES STRETCH INTO HOURS as I drift between feeble consciousness and a hazy drowse. The pain ebbs and flows, sometimes a dull throb that allows brief moments of rest, other times, raking enough to convulse me fully awake.
In the darkness, I can’t tell how much time passes. The wound in my chest gradually knits itself closed, leaving a tender, puckered scar that pulls with every breath. My throat burns with thirst, my stomach a hollow cavern.
The small amount of food and blood Saul brought barely made a dent in my hunger, but they probably ensured my survival.
The cell door’s ancient hinges announce his arrival before I even see him. My eyes struggle to adjust as Ace emerges again, carrying a simple wooden chair in one hand and a tiny vial of fresh blood in the other.
The sight of it makes my parched throat contract painfully.
He sets the chair down facing me, its legs scraping the stone with a sound painfully loud to my sensitive ears. Then he sits, one leg crossing over the other with casual elegance that seems obscene in this filthy cell.
The vial dangles between his fingers, catching what little light filters through the doorway. Its contents slosh with each turn, as if daring me to react. A hungry sound escapes me before I can trap it.
I lick my cracked lips, hating how transparent my need must be, yet daring him with my gaze. “Are you going to do away with me?”
His shoulders lift in a languid shrug, his lips twitching into a faint, unconcerned smile. “That depends entirely on what you tell me in the next few minutes.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I want to understand something.”
My weight bears down on my hands as I push myself up, wincing at the tug of my newly healed wound. “What?” I lift my chin, refusing to show fear despite the tremor in my hands.
These types of interrogations all fare the same. He’s going to torture me for answers, not stopping until he’s got the ones he seeks.
“When you killed Hanae, what did you feel?”
“I…” My voice falters.
The truth feels dangerous, but lying seems pointless.
“Power,” I answer. “For a moment, I felt powerful.”
He nods slightly, as if I’ve confirmed something. “And after?”
“Sick,” I admit, the word barely audible. “Guilty. Horrified.”
“You regret it?”
A flicker of anger cuts through my fear. “Of course I regret it.”
“Do you?” His eyes bore into mine, searching for deception. “Or do you simply regret being caught? Being punished?”
The accusation stings because there’s truth in it. I wanted freedom badly enough to kill for it. I just hadn’t expected to feel the weight of that choice so heavily.
“Both,” I whisper honestly.
Ace straightens and regards me with an unreadable expression, his gaze fixed so intently it feels like he’s stripping my thoughts bare. “Tell me about the pendant.”
The abrupt change in topic leaves me momentarily confused.
“What?”
“The heliotrope pendant,” he clarifies. “The one you were wearing when you arrived here.” His tone remains even, conversational almost, but there’s an intensity to his focus that tells me this matters more than he’s letting on.
“I told you, some old woman gave it to me.”
“And I told you it was a necromantic conduit.” He reclines into the chair, claiming the space.
One arm drapes over the back, fingers curled against his temple.
“Do you know what one can do with such power? Communicate with the dead. Draw strength from them. Raise them.” He gestures to himself with the last two words.
“The possibilities are endless, but never good, which is why I need to know every detail about that pendant during the time it was in your possession.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I say, my voice raspy from thirst. “I wore it. Nothing happened.”
“Nothing? No unusual warmth? No visions? Voices? No reactions when others touched it?”
I hesitate, recalling Max’s fingers brushing against the stone as we sat in the solarium, the faint luminescence that had pulsed for just a moment before fading away.
Ace catches my hesitation instantly. His hand shoots out, gripping my chin with bruising force. “Answer me, Seraph.”
“I-it did something once.” I try to pull away from his grasp. “When Max put it on. The stone glowed faintly for just a split second. Nothing dramatic.”
His grip tightens, eyes narrowing. “Your lover?”
I nod, then he releases my chin, processing this new information.
“Did he say anything when it happened? Feel anything?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. He didn’t even notice the glow because it was so short-lived.”
Max. I hadn’t even let myself think about what the pendant might have done to him.
Maybe I haven’t felt anything, because the pendant had been doing to him what it should’ve done to me instead?
He was the first person to wear it. The mere possibility of having caused him danger without knowing curdles in my gut.
What if I put a target on his back just by letting him touch it?
I try to push the thought down, but it’s already spreading like rot.
He’s already a vampire—because of me.
Before I can follow my fears to their end, Ace’s voice cuts in again, unabating and focused. “Tell me about what happened with Cain.”
The memory of my time in Cain’s lair rises unbidden. I hug my legs close, suddenly feeling trapped by more than just physical constraints.
“He wanted me to mate with him.” The words come out flat, shame curling at the edges. “He said the bond creates a bridge between souls, which can then be manipulated to allow certain qualities to flow from me to him, with the help of some eldritch ritual.”
Ace goes still, his eyes narrowing into something sharper. “Did he succeed? Did he—”
“No.” I lower my neckline, revealing the bloodied but unblemished skin beneath my collar bone. “He was waiting for the right alignment of stars, or something like that.”
Relief flashes across his face, gone so quickly I might have imagined it. “Final question, Seraph.” He uncorks the vial with his thumb, the rich metallic scent instantly filling the small cell. “If I let you live, what will you do?”
My fangs extend involuntarily, razorlike against my bottom lip. The question weighs with consequences I can only begin to imagine.
This isn’t just about my survival anymore—it’s about what I will do with the life I’m now practically begging for.
“I don’t know,” I say, the honesty surprising even me. “I can’t forget what you did to my father.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t speak, just watches me.
“I’m not asking you to forget,” he finally says. “I’m asking you to see beyond your personal vendetta to the larger threats we all face.”
I take a deep breath, clearing my mind and weighing my options: death, captivity, or a tentative alliance with the enemy of my enemy.
None of them are what I want, but only one offers a path forward.
“I won’t fight for you, but I’ll fight against Cain. For now, that puts us on the same side.”
Unexpectedly, he nods. “Good enough. For now.”
He extends the vial toward me.
My fingers reach out, trembling with desperate need, but just when they’re about to close around the glass, he pulls it back.
“Not so fast,” he says, eyes fixed on me. “It’s time you learned some restraint.”
My throat constricts painfully as I watch the blood swirl within its glass prison. “Please.”
“Open your mouth.”
I hesitate, pride warring with necessity.
But the hollow ache in my chest, both from hunger and his earlier attack, ends up making the decision for me.
I obey his order, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Ace tilts the vial to my lips, allowing just enough for a small sip.
The blood touches my tongue, sending a jolt of energy through my weakened body.
Before I can take more, he pulls it away.
A sound more beast than human tears from my throat, the taste gone too quickly, and my body moves before thought catches up.
I reach for the vial, fingers trembling, clawing at his hand—at anything that might bring it back to my lips.
Ace’s reaction is swift.
His fingers tangle in my hair, gripping hard at the crown of my head, a sharp reminder of who is in control.
The vial dangles just out of reach, gleaming darkly in the light between us.
The scent of blood hangs heavy, close enough to taste, and I hate how my body trembles for it.
Hate how I’m on my knees between his, head tilted back by his grip, begging for the one thing I used to deplore others for lusting after.
Every shred of my dignity feels stripped away, replaced by need so raw it burns.
Ace studies me, calm as ever, as if this is a lesson rather than a punishment.
And maybe it is, because the worst part isn’t the hunger.
It’s how, for a moment, I don’t want him to let go.
“Feel it,” he says. “Understand what it’s giving you.”
I freeze, chest heaving, shame and craving warring inside me.
The tiny amount of blood has awakened rather than satisfied my hunger, making me acutely aware of every sensation—the cold stone beneath me, the stale air in my lungs, the phantom pain where his hand had pierced my chest.
“I understand,” I say, the words scraping against my dry throat.
“No, you don’t.” His grip loosens ever so slightly, not releasing me but offering a momentary reprieve. “But you will.”
He tilts the vial again, allowing me another sip of ruby liquid, just enough to coat my tongue. As the blood slides down, my nerves alight with pleasure so intense it borders on pain. I close my eyes, savoring it, forcing myself to remain still instead of lunging forward for more.
“Better,” he says, a note of approval in his tone. “Control isn’t about denial, Seraph. It’s about acceptance. Mastery.” He grants me another sip, slightly larger this time.
The effect is immediate—strength seeping back into my limbs, the wound in my chest tingling as healing accelerates.
Each drop is precious, a gift I’m learning to appreciate rather than resent.