The chains weren't tight.
That's what made them worse.
Ariana lay in the center of a massive canopy bed draped in black velvet, wrists bound by silver clasps connected to the bedposts. Her ankles were free, but what did it matter? There was nowhere to run. The stone walls of the chamber loomed around her like a dungeon masquerading as luxury.
She had been bathed—scrubbed, more like it—by silent vampire servants with eyes that never met hers. They had dressed her in something sheer, soft, and humiliating. A nightgown that clung to her curves like it was painted on. No underwear. No modesty.
Damien's scent clung to everything in the room—leather, spice, and something darker. Her body still buzzed from his touch earlier. Shame curled in her stomach.
She shouldn't have wanted it.
She shouldn't still want it.
But her thighs were pressed tight together, and her nipples wouldn't stop aching.
The door creaked.
She tensed, expecting him.
But it wasn't Damien.
It was a woman.
Tall. Pale. Fangs visible even when she smiled. She wore a blood-red corset and long black gloves that looked more like weapons than accessories. Her eyes glowed with subtle power, and her heels clicked with sharp elegance as she circled the bed.
Drusilla.
Ariana didn't know her name yet. But she would.
"Is this what he chose?" the vampire sneered, looking Ariana over like a bug under glass. "A trembling virgin girl with a pulse?"
"Go to hell," Ariana snapped.
The vampire chuckled. "Oh, sweetheart, I've lived there. Damien was my first lover. Did he tell you that?" She leaned in close. Her breath smelled like blood and roses. "I've had his fangs in my throat and his cock in places you've never even touched. But you?" She spat the word. "You're a joke. A human joke."
Ariana didn't flinch. "If he's yours, why are you so scared of me?"
That made Drusilla pause.
Only for a second.
But it was enough.
She hissed, low and animalistic. "You think you've won him? You're a toy. A distraction. He'll fuck the soul right out of you, and when he's bored, he'll hand you over to the rest of the clan."
Ariana clenched her fists in the restraints. "Let him try."
The vampire tilted her head, amused now. "You have fire. I see why he likes you." She straightened. "But don't mistake his interest for love, girl. Damien doesn't love. He conquers. He consumes. He marks."
With a final icy glare, Drusilla turned and left, the door slamming behind her.
Ariana lay there, breathing hard. Her heart thundered. Not from fear. From rage. From the sting of truth in the vampire's words.
Damien wasn't here to romance her. He wasn't going to fall in love. This wasn't some twisted fairy tale.
He wanted her.
And he would take her.
She just didn't know how long she could survive it.
---
An hour later
The door creaked open again.
She didn't have to look.
She knew it was him.
The air changed when he entered. Heavy. Possessive.
Damien walked in slowly, eyes sweeping over her body, bound and displayed like a gift. His jaw clenched. He didn't speak. Didn't need to.
His silence screamed ownership.
He sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at her.
Ariana met his eyes. "Is this what you do? Chain girls up and wait for them to beg?"
His gaze darkened. "No," he said. "You're the first one I've ever restrained. Because you make me want to do things I haven't done in centuries."
He reached for her.
Her breath caught.
His hand landed on her ankle. Traced slowly up her calf. Her thigh. Under the sheer fabric. Paused at the heat between her legs.
She gasped.
He didn't move further.
"Your scent drives me mad," he said roughly. "I could take you right now. You're soaked for me, and we both know it."
She shook her head, lips trembling. "Then do it. If you're so strong. So powerful. What are you waiting for?"
Damien's hand tightened just slightly.
"I don't want a broken doll," he said, voice low. "I want a woman who knows she belongs to me. Heart. Body. Soul."
He leaned down. Brushed his lips over hers—softly. Unexpectedly tender. Then he bit her lower lip. Hard enough to make her gasp again. Blood welled. He licked it clean with a groan.
"I'm not going to break you," he whispered. "I'm going to make you crave your chains."
Then he vanished again.
Left her alone.
Shaking.
Soaked.
And terrified that he might already be winning.