Zareth's lips curled into that crooked smile that could strip the air from her lungs. Before Serenya could take another breath, he swept her up effortlessly, one arm cradling her like she weighed nothing. Her heart pounded so hard she was convinced the sound alone would make her pass out . Surely he could hear it—he probably enjoyed hearing it.
The Emperor didn't carry her so much as command the space around her, each step deliberate, as if the world bent for him. He set her down on his bed, the silken sheets cool against her overheated skin. He hovered above her, a shadow and a presence that made the rest of the room vanish.
Serenya's hands clenched the bedding until her knuckles turned pale, her face blooming with a heat she couldn't control.
"Relax, Serenya," Zareth murmured, voice dripping with smooth authority, a predator coaxing his prey. "I promise I won't hurt you."
"There's nothing relaxing about being bitten by a vampire," she shot back, the tremor in her voice betraying her. "What if I die in the process?" she asked worriedly. This is why she didn't want to be here!.
He didn't even blink. "I'll revive you." The answer was so matter-of-fact it almost stole her breath.
She bit her lip . "That's not—"
But her words faltered as his hand, gloved in dark leather, drifted to the first buttons of her dress. He unfastened two with a casualness that was anything but casual. She gasped, her hand instinctively flying to her collar.
"What are you doing?!"
"Making sure you don't suffocate in the process," he said in that maddeningly patient tone, as though explaining to a stubborn child. "All of this wouldn't be happening if you hadn't tried to run, little dove."
Her fingers curled tighter into the sheets. She bit down on her lip to stop herself from retorting back—because snapping at Zareth was like poking a sleeping beast. She was beginning to really reflect on what she did .
He leaned closer, the tip of his nose brushing her cheek, his breath warm against her skin. He inhaled slowly, and she froze. "Your scent," he murmured, almost to himself, "Lotus blush… sweet and untainted."
Her pulse skittered.
"I want you to reflect on what you did," he continued, his tone deceptively soft. "Now… close your eyes."
Her lashes lowered reluctantly. She didn't want him to think him to prolong it—she just wanted it over but who was she kidding.
A shiver jolted down her spine when his lips brushed the sensitive hollow of her neck. She almost passed out due to lack of oxygen.The spot tingled, his breath ghosting over where her artery beat wildly. She could feel the anticipation in his stillness—like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. Then his fangs slid into her skin.
She flinched, hands shooting up instinctively, gripping at his sleeve. Her breath caught, her lashes fluttering against her will.
Zareth drank slowly, deeply, his mouth firm yet unhurried against her skin. The pull of him was hypnotic, a strange mingling of fear and something else she didn't dare name. Her body was reacting in ways her mind refused to understand, her thoughts scattering like startled birds.
The warmth left her neck as he withdrew, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. His tongue traced away the last remnants of her blood before his fangs retracted. His eyes, crimson and unblinking, locked on hers.
"You taste divine, Serenya."
She didn't know where to look, didn't know how to respond. Her hands clutched the sheets as if they were the only solid thing left in the room. She pushed herself up slowly, her breath still uneven, her cheeks burning.
"I… I feel weird," she admitted softly, brows furrowing. "Like something else happened."
Zareth chuckled—a sound both amused and knowing. His gloved fingers pinched her cheek lightly, a gesture of tenderness. Then his expression sharpened.
"I've marked you."
Her frown deepened. "Marked? What's that supposed to mean?"
His smile returned—slow, curved, and wicked.
"It means I've claimed you as mine. Our souls are bonded now. I will feel you, even when I'm not in the room… even if you try to hide."
Her eyes widened, horror mixing with disbelief.
Zareth rose from the bed in one fluid motion and extended his hand. She stared at it for a heartbeat before taking it, her fingers hesitant against his. He guided her to the grand mirror across the room.
Her reflection looked almost foreign—hair tousled, lips parted, eyes wide and uncertain.
Zareth stepped behind her, one arm coiling around her waist like a steel band. His voice was a low command in her ear. "Look at your neck."
She did—and gasped.
Etched into her skin in dark, ink-like script was his name: Zareth. Beneath it, one possessive word: Mine. The mark pulsed faintly, almost like a heartbeat under her skin.
"You… you said you were only going to take my blood," she whispered, turning to glare at him through the mirror.
"Serenya," he said, turning her to face him fully. His eyes burned crimson, not with anger, but with certainty. "I want you to be my woman. No one can stop me—not the palace, not fate… not even you. So stop trying to run. You're mine now."
Before she could protest, he dipped his head, brushing his lips against hers—light, but deliberate enough to steal her breath.
Her hands trembled at her sides. "I want to return to my room."
He studied her for a beat, then nodded once. "For now."
The moment he released her, she darted to the door, the cool hallway air hitting her flushed skin. She slipped into her room—the one opposite his—and closed the door with a quiet thud.
Leaning against it, her hand pressed against her racing heart, she tried to steady herself. Her reflection in her own mirror showed the same mark—Zareth's name, permanent and inescapable.
"This man is insane," she whispered, closing her eyes for a moment. But when she opened them, the truth pressed down like a weight—her soul was bound to him now. Reality has really started to sink in and there was no way out.