The grand doors swung open, and all eyes turned toward the entrance, making Eleanor drift her eyes away from her father.
Silas walked in with effortless confidence, his long coat billowing behind him like a shadow. The room seemed to hold its breath, captivated by his presence. Eleanor’s pulse quickened, and to her horror, she realized she was smiling.
Stop that. She mentally slapped herself, forcing her expression to remain neutral.
But she was relieved. More than she should be.
For a moment, she had feared he wouldn’t come, and the thought had gnawed at her more than she cared to admit.
Now that he was here, standing tall and unwavering, a sense of calm settled over her. Whatever happened tonight, with him by her side, she knew she could endure it.
Silas met her gaze and smirked as he stepped next to her. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Eleanor let out a short laugh before she could stop herself.
Silas raised an eyebrow. “Was that a chuckle?”
“Maybe,” she admitted, still surprised by her own reaction.
“I like it.” His voice was quieter now, almost as if he wasn’t speaking to the room anymore—just to her. His smirk softened, but only for a second before he turned to the crowd. “Let’s begin.”
He moved toward the podium with slow, deliberate steps. Unlike his brothers, whose dark attire blended into the shadows, Silas stood out.
His deep crimson tunic was adorned with intricate silver embroidery, a stark contrast to the others. He was the youngest among them, yet his aura carried more authority than all of them combined.
Eleanor exhaled and turned toward the place where she had last seen her father. Gone.
Her stomach twisted. Where had he gone? Had she only imagined him?
Before she could dwell on it further, Silas’s voice rang out, cutting through her thoughts.
“Eleanor.”
She turned sharply, her heart pounding. He extended a hand toward her.
For a moment, she hesitated. But there was no turning back now.
Placing her hand in his, she felt the warmth of his skin—a stark contrast to the chilling reality of what was about to happen. He led her to the center of the room, where the other vampire kings stood waiting.
Lucian smirked. Cassius looked bored. Viktor’s golden eyes were unreadable. Dorian offered her the smallest nod of reassurance.
Silas, however, didn’t let go of her hand right away. His grip lingered for a moment longer than necessary before he finally released her.
The officiant, an elderly vampire dressed in ceremonial robes, stepped forward. His voice boomed through the hall.
“Tonight, we bear witness to the binding. A ritual of blood, of fate, of eternity.”
Eleanor’s throat went dry.
Eternity.
The weight of the word settled over her like a heavy cloak.
“Let us begin,” the officiant declared. “Lucian, step forward.”
Lucian grinned as he took a step toward her. “Ladies first,” he murmured, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.
Eleanor tensed.
His fingers trailed down her neck before he tilted her head slightly to the side. Then—pain.
His fangs pierced her skin, sharp and swift. She inhaled sharply, her nails digging into her palms. The sting burned for a moment before something else spread through her veins—heat, control, power.
Lucian pulled away slowly, licking his lips. His red eyes locked onto hers, and for a brief moment, he didn’t move. Then, without a word, he stepped back.
“Cassius,” the officiant called.
Cassius didn’t waste time. He grabbed her wrist, lifted it to his lips, and sank his fangs in harder than Lucian had. The pain was immediate, searing. Eleanor bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to make a sound.
Cassius withdrew just as quickly as he had begun. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking disinterested. Like marking her was nothing more than a chore.
“Viktor.”
Viktor’s approach was slower, more methodical. He didn’t touch her anywhere other than the spot he needed. When he bit down, the pain was sharp but controlled—like he was measuring every second of it. Unlike Cassius, he took his time.
Eleanor felt something cold settle in her chest.
When Viktor finally stepped back, her breath was uneven.
“Dorian.”
Dorian hesitated for the briefest moment before moving forward. His fingers barely brushed against her skin before his bite came—quick and precise. He pulled away just as fast, as if not wanting to prolong her discomfort. Then, to her surprise, he whispered, “You’re stronger than you think.”
Her lips parted, but before she could react, he was already stepping away.
Her body ached, every bite leaving an imprint deeper than the one before.
And then—Silas.
He stepped toward her, slow and deliberate. The moment he reached her, something shifted in the air.
Her heart slammed against her ribcage.
Unlike the others, he didn’t go straight for the bite. He lifted his hand and gently brushed his thumb against the side of her neck. The touch sent fire through her veins, but there was no pain. Only warmth.
“I won’t hurt you,” he murmured.
And for some reason—she believed him.
Silas’s lips hovered just above her pulse. She shivered.
When he finally bit down, she expected pain. But there was none. Only pleasure.
A gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it. A wave of heat surged through her, curling deep into her core. Her fingers grasped his coat, desperate for something to hold onto as the sensation overwhelmed her.
Silas didn’t move away immediately. His mouth lingered against her skin for a heartbeat longer before he finally pulled back.
When she met his gaze, her breath caught.
His eyes—they weren’t red like the others had been after biting her. They were still that piercing, stormy gray.
He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear.
“You’re ours now,” he whispered.
Eleanor barely heard the officiant’s next words.
“It is done. The bond is sealed.”