CHAPTER 33
DAYS BLUR TOGETHER in a haze of degradation and despair, my sanity fraying with every passing second, while the world around me sinks further into hopelessness.
True to his word, Cain never leaves my sight, stripping every act of dignity from me until even breathing feels like permission granted.
When I sleep, he watches. When I eat, he observes, yammering on about things I don’t care about with every morsel I bring to my mouth. When I bathe, he sits perched on the edge of the tub, commenting on my body as if appraising livestock.
He’s learned from my previous escape, leaving no opportunity for me to slip away or communicate with anyone who might help. My only solace is knowing my family lives.
Each morning, Cain brings me what he calls proof of life: a lock of my mother’s hair, a scrap of sweat-drenched cloth from my brother’s shirt, and once, even a piece of fresh wound that had me retching until my stomach was empty—small mercies that feel more like cruelty.
On the fifth day, Lucien arrives with an armful of black silk and lace. “For tomorrow night,” he explains, laying out what I now realize is a wedding dress. “The blue moon rises at midnight.”
“So soon?” I ask, unable to keep the tremor from my voice.
Cain, lounging nearby with his legs draped over the armrest, laughs. “As much as I love watching you squirm, my darling, time’s a luxury a busy man like me cannot afford.”
That night, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, knowing exactly what awaits me. Not just a ceremony, but what comes after.
The consummation.
The child that will be born from Cain’s daywalking ambitions.
My body, used as a mere vessel for it all.
I think of my mother, who chose love over duty, and wonder if I’m betraying her by choosing duty over defiance.
I think of my brother, who spent years protecting me from Cain, and wonder if he understands my surrender.
I even think of Ace, who I thought I hated most, and wonder if he ever discovered Lexa’s betrayal.
Morning comes too quickly.
Servants arrive to prepare me, bathing me in scented oils, brushing my hair until it shines, and painting my face with colors that make me look ethereal and untouchable.
The dress they put me into is beautiful in its simplicity, the silk cool against my skin, the lace gossamer at my throat and wrists.
I look like a bride from a fairy tale, but feel like a sacrifice on an altar.
When dusk falls, Lexa appears at my door. She’s dressed formally, her Redmoore uniform exchanged for a dark gown that makes her look like a complete stranger.
“It’s time,” she says, not quite meeting my eyes.
There are so many things I want to ask her, to confront her about, to know, but the words die in my throat.
I follow her through the winding corridors of Cain’s underground stronghold, each step bringing me closer to my fiendish fate.
I hope the Ravens burst in to save me. I’d go on my knees to thank them, ask for their forgiveness for all the times I took it for granted.
And I somehow start feeling like this is my fault.
Like I could’ve done things differently.
We eventually emerge into a vast chamber, its ceiling open to the night sky, where the full moon hangs low and bright.
The room is filled with vampires dressed in their finest, their faces turned toward me with hungry anticipation.
At the center stands an altar of black stone, carved with strange symbols.
Lucien waits there, a grimoire open before him, his face solemn.
And beside him, resplendent in black and gold, stands Cain.
His eyes find mine across the chamber, and the possessive heat in them makes my skin crawl. This is really happening. There is no escape, no rescue coming, no last-minute reprieve.
I walk toward him as slowly as I can, as if liberation is still possible, my head high despite the terror clawing at my insides.
I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me broken. Not yet.
As I reach the altar, Cain takes my hand in his, the touch cold and proprietary. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, for my ears alone. “Worth every moment of the wait.”
Lucien begins the ceremony promptly, his voice rising and falling in an ancient language.
The symbols on the altar begin to glow faintly, responding to his incantation.
I feel a strange energy building in the air, crackling with potential.
Through my anxiety, I hear Cain recite his vows—promises of power, dominion, and a new world order with him at its center.
There is no talk of love, devotion, or partnership.
Instead, his words are more of a ruler’s oath than a lover’s pledge.
They’re not for us, not for the bond we’re supposed to share. They’re for his people.
And I’m just a piece in a game he had already begun.
The crowd watches with rapt attention, their expressions ranging from elation to hunger. I scan their faces, convincing myself that I’ll memorize each and every one of them when my vengeance comes due.
When the final words leave Cain’s lips, the symbols on the altar flare brightly. His smile is triumphant as he leans in to kiss me, claiming my lips with bruising force. The congregated vampires cheer, the raucous sound echoing off the stone walls and reverberating through my bones.
Lucien closes his grimoire. “The chamber has been sealed.”
The celebration that follows is a blur of diabolical festivity.
Blood flows freely from feeble humans in display cages, their chains adorned with decorations as vampires feed from their wrists, necks, anywhere they can sink their fangs.
Music plays, wild and discordant, driving the revelers into a frenzy.
All the while, Cain keeps me at his side, his hand a constant presence at the small of my back—a reminder of his ownership.
He accepts congratulations, makes toasts, plays the gracious host while I stand mute beside him, a trophy on display.
My gaze wanders across the space, landing on a familiar figure near the entrance. Standing perfectly still amidst the chaotic revelry, like a statue among writhing bodies, is Max.
My heart stops, then thunders back to life. He’s here. Max is here.
He looks thinner, paler, his eyes hollow with exhaustion. The sight of him sends a surge of conflicting emotions through me: relief, hope, fear, and beneath it all, a desperate longing that I thought I’d buried.
Our eyes lock across the chamber, and in that single, suspended moment, everything falls away—the ceremony, the vampires, even Cain’s possessive grip on my waist.
Max’s expression shifts from blank to recognition, then to horror as he takes in my wedding attire and the man beside me. I want to run to him, embrace him, but my body won’t move. Can’t move. I’m frozen, caught between the nightmare I’m living and the faint glimmer of hope his presence represents.
His lips part, forming what might be my name, and he takes a single step forward.
Cain’s fingers dig painfully into my side, jerking me back to reality.
“Well, isn’t this a touching surprise?” His other hand rises in a sharp gesture, and two of his guards immediately flank Max, gripping both of his arms. “Looks like your daily dose of self-righteousness decided to show up,” he announces.
“I know, I know. How generous of me to give him the choice.”
The music falters, rowdy conversations dying as attention shifts to the disruption. I try to pull away from Cain, but his grip only tightens, bruising.
“Please,” I whimper, hating the pleading note in my voice. “Don’t hurt him.”
Cain’s smile is all teeth, as usual. “Hurt him? My dear bride, I would not dream of it. Not when he has traveled so far to witness our union. The walk from his cell must have taken at least an hour. Quite the pilgrimage, really. Most prisoners don’t get such scenic routes.
” He raises his voice, beckoning. “Bring him closer! Let him see the happy couple properly.”
The guards drag Max forward, his feet barely touching the ground as he struggles against their strength. When they stop a few feet away, the confusion on his face becomes apparent.
He has no idea what’s going on.
“Max,” I breathe, eager to explain. To beg for help. But even I know there’s nothing he could do.
“Seraph,” he manages, his voice hoarse. “What are you doing here?”
Cain releases me only to step between us, blocking my view of Max. “Nothing she didn’t agree to,” he says, his tone mockingly pleasant. He casts a glance over his shoulder, as though daring me to contradict him. “Isn’t that right, my love?”
I say nothing, my silence damning me more than any words could.
Cain turns back to Max, circling him slowly.
I watch helplessly as Max’s gaze shifts between us, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing.
“Whatever he’s told you, Seraph,” he says, his voice gaining strength despite his obvious exhaustion, “whatever he’s forced you to do—”
Cain backhands him with such force that Max’s head snaps to the side, blood spattering from his split lip. I lunge forward instinctively, but Lexa’s hand lands firm on my shoulder, her gaze resigned.
She doesn’t say anything, but the gesture is weighted with memory, stopping me—not because I want it to, but because once, it always did.
Max spits blood onto the stone floor, then straightens as much as his captors allow. “You can’t have her,” he says to Cain, blood staining his teeth red.
Cain’s laugh comes out in fits. “Can’t I? Look at her.” He gestures toward me with a showman’s pride. “She’s already mine.”
“You’re lying,” Max spits, but I can see the doubt creeping into his expression. He looks at me, searching for any confirmation or denial. “Seraph?”
I want to tell him everything: about my mother, my brother, the torture, the threats, the betrayal. About how I have no choice. But the words lodge in my throat. If I speak or show any sign of resistance, what will happen to them? To him?
This is me sparing his life—the last kindness I can offer.