The wound at my throat was likely bleeding less now, thanks to his hand firmly gripping my neck. Ironically, the venom coursing through my body dulled the sharp sting, leaving only a cold, numbing throb in its place. I almost laughed at its absurdity—a silver lining in the middle of this nightmare. Who knew vampire venom had its perks?
Zaydon likely didn't even know what he was doing. He was unpredictable in this state, a creature driven by primal urges that rendered him both fiercely potent and dangerously lethal. More beast than man. I couldn't help but wonder—if pushed far enough, could he transform into a full-blown dragon? The rumours said he could, but anyone who might confirm it was long dead.
His pupils had narrowed into sharp slits, his eyes beginning to look more and more reptilian. But, beneath the surface, they burned with an intensity unlike any she had seen before. It was a startling contrast to the warmth of his breath, brushing against my face in slow, measured waves. His closeness almost made my breath hitch, and the pounding in my chest betrayed my efforts to stay calm, my heart racing, erratic and unrelenting.
His forked tongue flickered out, a small but unmistakable reminder of the predatory nature his mind was trapped in. His lips, once soft and inviting, now twisted into a smirk that was entirely predatory.
He seemed indifferent to my suffering, though I knew it wasn't intentional. He didn't realise that the hand gripping my neck was exacerbating my condition, every ounce of pressure worsening the venom's effects. My life hung precariously in the balance, and he didn't even know it. In his eyes, there was no concern, only a cloudy, insatiable hunger and the need to dominate and control. This was the raw, primal beast within him, the one he kept on a leash until someone dared to provoke it. And those who had ever dared poke the beast likely never lived to regret it.
I tried not to respond to his gaze as it raked over my body, searching and analysing. Thankfully, the paralysis kept me from shivering, though I suspected he'd notice anyway if he was looking for it. Deep down, I knew that if I could shiver, it wouldn't just be out of fear. No, there was something darker, something more unsettling at play—a traitorous flicker of desire that had no business surfacing now.
It was always like this around him, this disturbing complexity that twisted my emotions further. My heart was caught in a perpetual dance with him, swaying violently between love and hate. It felt like we were trapped in a volatile Flamenco, the kind that left one partner shattered in its wake. And right now, I was the only one lying in pieces.
Despising him was easier when I focused on that, on how broken I was because of him. But the problem was, whenever he showed even a hint of gentleness, that hatred crumbled far too quickly. It was as though some stubborn shard of hope still lingered, buried deep inside me where I couldn't reach it.
A rogue strand of Zaydon's blue-black hair fell across his right eye as he took a deep, deliberate breath. My pulse spiked as I realised what he was doing. His heightened senses were meticulously assessing me, reading every injury and every weakness. His focus sharpened, leaving the air around us filled with tension so heavy it felt suffocating.
Don't focus. Don't piece it together. I pleaded to him within my thoughts.
If he had figured out what Prince Darrin had done, I would never hear the end of it. I didn't want his pity, and I didn't want his rage—not now. But I could only sit there, helpless, staring at his infuriatingly handsome face as his senses worked against me.
Every subtle shift in his posture, every breath he drew, seemed calculated, a testament to his control that he now seemed to have over his primal self in order to evaluate what I was keeping from him. I could almost feel his focus pressing down on me, stripping away every layer of protection I tried to cling to. He was reading me, peeling back my defences with a precision that felt almost surgical.
I wanted to hide from him. I wanted to bury my pain and shield what little dignity I had left. But it was futile. His dragon-like perception unravelled everything. He could smell the iron tang of my blood, tainted with venom, just as he had smelled poison on me once before. Back then, it had been a frightening display of his abilities. Now, it was a cruel reminder that no amount of effort on my part could hide the truth from him.
His unblinking gaze was like a blade, slicing through the veil of my paralysis. Every shift of his eyes and twitch of his lips betrayed how deeply he understood my condition. The knowledge that he could read me so thoroughly, so completely, made my situation feel even more hopeless—and kept me simmering in anger.
"Zaydon, leave me alone, you flying gecko!" I snarled, pouring every ounce of hatred I could muster into my glare. My words were an act of defiance, but they fell flat under the weight of my own helplessness.
He ignored me completely, his focus unshaken as his hands remained steady against me.
"You need better insults if you're going to rile me up or try to distract me, sweetheart." His voice was cold, his usual cockiness replaced by something uncharacteristically sombre. "Now, stay still so I can figure out what you're hiding from me."
A strand of my maroon-red hair fell into my face, clinging annoyingly to my lips as I tried to shift what little movement I had left. I pushed at it inefectively with my mouth, but the stubborn strand refused to budge. My limited protests felt ridiculous, completely undermined by a damn piece of hair.
Fuck sakes. I cursed internally, wishing for even an ounce of power to push him away. But I had none.
His frown deepened, and the muscles in his jaw ticked as he noticed I wasn't using my hands or legs to struggle or push him off me. Despite my continued insults and feeble attempts at resistance, he moved to straddle my lap, his focus sharpening as he leaned in to assess me more closely.
Once he had my legs firmly pinned between his, he reached out with a steady hand and gently tucked the errant strand of hair behind my ear. The tenderness of his touch flushed my face with a mixture of embarrassment and panic.
I craved—no, preferred—his harshness, the cold distance that usually defined our interactions. That made the burden of this connection we shared easier to bear. This gentleness, however, felt more dangerous than a blade pressed to my chest. It chipped away at my carefully built walls, and the difference between his usual demeanour and this unsettling softness made my heart race. Frustrated tears threatened to spill, but I bit them back, refusing to give him that satisfaction.
Even in my paralysed state, my traitorous mind recalled the memory of what his muscular body felt like when it was this close to mine. With Zaydon, my mind seemed able to remember every detail on its own—the way he felt, the way he moved. Looking down at his broad shoulders, slightly narrow hips, and thick legs pressing against mine was a visceral reminder of his raw strength.
The scent of smoky vampire blood clung to him, mingling with his musky, exotic aroma. Maybe it was the venom amplifying my senses, but his scent flooded my nose relentlessly.
Goddess, the smell of him… it was intoxicating and maddening all at once.
Before I could force myself back to reality or voice another protest, he moved with unnerving speed, giving me no time to react. In one fluid motion, he shifted his weight, his nose and lips hovering just inches from my neck. His movements were so deliberate, so precise, that it felt like every step had been carefully planned.
He released his grip on my neck and pressed one hand firmly against the wall behind me, anchoring himself. The sudden shift forced my head to rest against his thick forearm, tilting my neck back and leaving the vulnerable flesh of my throat completely exposed.
Fuck, he'd see it now.
The round teeth marks, the two deep punctures where Prince Darrin's fangs had pierced my neck, were impossible to miss. The positioning left me fully at his mercy, and the suffocating proximity of his breath against my skin sent shivers down my spine.
Each shift of his body created an unmistakable tension that wrapped around us like a physical force. The warmth of his breath on my neck combined with the faint pressure of his forearm against me, creating a chillingly intimate moment. I was acutely aware of every movement, every shift in his posture, as though the entire world had narrowed to the space between us.
He let out a long, deliberate sigh, signalling that he had found the source of my condition. The sound of his breathing, carefully controlled but heavy with frustration, was enough to make my stomach churn. Zaydon Icarus didn't panic. He wasn't the type.
As the High Commander of our kingdom's army, Zaydon had built his reputation on ruthless efficiency and unshakable control. He was the kind of leader who stood at the front lines and inspired unwavering loyalty in his soldiers. Not once in all the years I had known him had I seen him falter—not from fear, not from panic, and certainly not from love.
"That little leech got you good, didn't he, my poor little sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice low and raw, the words so soft they almost sounded accidental. His breath, warm and dangerously close to my skin, sent goosebumps racing down my arms. "I've failed you yet again." His tone shifted then, his frustration and regret unmistakable—a rare glimpse of vulnerability piercing through his usual stoic facade.
The heat of his breath mingled with the venom's icy chill coursing through my veins, and the pain in my throat faded into a dull echo. My heart pounded with a chaotic mix of fear, despair, and something else I couldn't name.
My gums tingled as my teeth began to grow and sharpen unnaturally, the early signs of my transformation. The maddening dryness in my throat burned like a fire, and a gnawing hunger stirred within me, dark and insatiable.
I wanted to scream, to lash out at the universe for this cruel fate. The thought of becoming a vampire, of losing control and turning into something I despised, gnawed at my insides. It wasn't just terrifying; it was soul-crushing. My dread hit me like a sledgehammer, leaving me gasping for air that I couldn't seem to draw.
The silence between us stretched unbearably, and for the first time, I couldn't stand it. It gave my thoughts too much room to spiral, to sink deeper into despair. The stillness felt like a cruel joke—Zaydon, the all-powerful dragon-shifter, was powerless to fix this.
"Well, now that you know," I managed to rasp, my voice weak but laced with bitter humour, "I'm sure you're just waiting for me to die so you can finally be free."
I felt his frown against my neck before I saw it. His body tensed, a subtle but unmistakable reaction to my words.
"You forget," he said, his voice cold and cutting, "that I took the Dragon's Bond willingly."
The weight of his words hit me like a physical blow.
"Trust me, Zaydon," I replied, my heart clenching painfully, "nothing could make me forget."
He hesitated, his body still but his tension visible. Then he pulled back slightly, just enough to meet my eyes. His expression was intense, his red-tinged gaze searching mine as though trying to find an answer.
"Let me save you from this fate," he said, his voice steady but laced with a barely concealed desperation. "I can take in the poison, stop the transformation. There aren't many poisons or venoms that can kill a dragon." His tone darkened, his gaze intense. "But it's risky. I would have to drink from you—like he did—taking more than is safe."
The fragile flicker of hope he had sparked within me died as quickly as it had ignited, extinguished by the weight of his words.
When I didn't respond immediately, he drew a slow, deliberate breath, the strain of his frustration visible in the tension of his jaw. "You know the alternative," he said, his voice a low, gravelly murmur edged with pain. "If you refuse, you'll be bound to him. But if you let me do this, you'll be bound to me. On a level deeper than I can explain right now."
I stared at him, my heart pounding as my mind raced. There was something he wasn't telling me, a truth hidden beneath the surface of his words. The Varagons were secretive by nature, guarding their lore with fierce devotion. Whatever "binding" he spoke of wasn't just some superficial mark or temporary connection. It felt ancient, primal—something that would alter me forever.
Feeling drained and overwhelmed, I forced myself to speak, my voice barely a whisper. "There's more to it, isn't there?"
He hesitated, the brief silence more telling than any words. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked, betraying the vulnerability beneath his resolve. "Yes," he admitted, his green eyes flashing with a fleeting brightness before the ominous red overtook them once again. "But we can worry about the cost later. At least if you're bound to me, it would be no different as we are now and you won't be a vampire's slave."
His voice hardened, his expression fierce as he leaned closer. "And that's better than the alternative, isn't it?"
The thought of being bound to Zaydon on a deeper, more intimate level was horrifying. It felt like trading one form of torment for another. But as time slipped away, I knew I couldn't avoid the choice much longer.
A bitter laugh bubbled up within me, only to be silenced by the crushing weight of my reality. If the gods existed, they must have taken a perverse pleasure in my suffering, orchestrating a cruel game of fate where every choice led me deeper into darkness. No matter which path I chose, horrors lay waiting at every turn. The more I considered my options, the more it felt as if I were trapped in an endless spiral of despair.
Each heartbeat stretched into eternity, a relentless reminder of the battle raging within me—the fight between life and a fate worse than death. Desperation clawed at me, raw and unfamiliar, but even more startling was the glimmer of that same desperation in Zaydon's eyes. It was a rare vulnerability piercing through the layers of his formidable exterior. For a fleeting moment, I saw the boy I once knew buried deep beneath the man he had become.
A sudden, sharp pain stabbed through my heart, a white-hot agony that made my chest seize. If I hadn't been paralysed, I would have curled in on myself, trying to escape the torment. The final phase of the venom was coming. I was out of time. If I died with the venom still in me, there would be no turning back. I would wake as one of them—a vampire, bound to Prince Darrin forever.
"Do it," I whispered, the words trembling on my lips. My voice was weak, but the gravity of my decision weighed heavier than ever. "Do what you must. Just… don't let me become one of those blood-sucking creatures."
Once I gave my consent, he didn't hesitate. Moving quickly to my neck, his lips hovered over the mark Prince Darrin had left, his sharp teeth barely grazing my skin. For a heartbeat, he paused as though finding the exact spot and then bit down.
His teeth slowly sank into my flesh, piercing over the wound that should had sealed my fate, and immediately, a strange sense of relief began to wash over me. The sensation spread slowly, starting from where his mouth met my skin, chasing away the venom's icy grip.
His mouth felt larger than Darrin's, his bite firm yet somehow controlled. Unlike Prince Darrin's greedy, punishing pulls, Zaydon's were deliberate, as though he were holding back the full force of his power. It was different. Everything about this was different.
At first, the pressure of his bite was steady and unyielding, but then, with a sudden shift, his grip on me tightened. His teeth sank deeper, and the pain spiked, sharp and unrelenting. Yet, beneath the pain, something dark stirred inside me.
Too weak to cry out, all I could manage was a soft, involuntary moan that slipped past my lips before I could stop it. The sound embarrassed me, but I was too far gone to care.
I had no idea why, but the sensation was starting to feel good—perhaps too good. It wasn't just the relief of the venom leaving my body; it was something deeper, darker, and infinitely more confusing.
The pleasure was disorienting, an unexpected and unwelcome addition to an already horrifying situation. I tried to convince myself it was a side effect of the venom being drawn out, nothing more. Surely, that was the only explanation for the way my body responded to him, the way it didn't care whether his touch was gentle or harsh, so long as he didn't stop.
My thoughts blurred, tangled in a storm of fear, pain, and yearning that I couldn't untangle. The truth loomed over me, undeniable and terrifying.
If I survive this, I am so fucked.