The door opened suddenly, just as Eleanor was getting settled in. Lucien strode in with a mischievous smirk on his face. Before she could say anything, he moved closer.
"Scream for me."
Lucien’s voice was velvet-wrapped steel, a command, a promise, a warning. Eleanor barely had a second to react before his fingers curled under her chin, tilting her head to expose the delicate line of her throat.
Her pulse thundered.
"No—" She barely managed to choke out before fangs pierced her skin.
A sharp gasp tore from her lips as searing pain bloomed in her neck, only to be swallowed by an unbearable sensation that was something else entirely. It was wrong—too much, too intimate, too consuming.
Her body betrayed her, every nerve alight, caught between agony and a dark, sinful pleasure.
Lucien groaned against her skin, fingers tightening their grip. "Sweet," he murmured, taking another slow, deliberate sip. "Just as I expected."
Eleanor whimpered, her fingers clutching at his shirt. "P-Please—"
"Begging already?" His voice held amusement, but there was something darker beneath it. Satisfaction. Possession.
Her breath came in ragged gasps as he continued drinking, his grip keeping her pressed against him. She wanted to fight, to shove him away—but her limbs were weak, the room tilting slightly.
Then, the spell was broken.
"That’s enough."
Lucien’s fangs withdrew, his tongue flicking over the wound—a possessive, casual act that made Eleanor shudder. But before he could tighten his grip, a hand closed around his wrist.
Dorian.
"You should have waited," the second eldest said coolly, his usually indifferent expression sharpened with something dangerous. "We agreed the first taste would not be yours alone."
Lucien didn’t let go. "And yet, here we are."
Eleanor barely had the strength to move, but she felt the tension crackle between them like a storm ready to break.
Dorian’s fingers tightened. "You always do this, Lucien. You take before anyone else can decide. Before she can decide."
Lucien let out a low chuckle. "Decide? She’s ours."
Eleanor’s stomach twisted. Ours. Not mine. Not his. Ours.
Dorian’s gaze flicked to her. "Is that what you think?"
She was breathing too hard to respond, too lightheaded from the blood loss, but she forced herself to glare at him anyway.
"Don’t look at me like that," Dorian murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "I’m not the one who just sank my teeth into you."
Lucien scoffed. "You’re only upset because I got to her first."
Dorian didn’t deny it. His grip on Lucien’s wrist tightened, his usually calm demeanor shifting into something colder, more dangerous. "Release her."
A beat. A challenge.
Lucien exhaled sharply, then finally let go, stepping back as if this was nothing more than an amusing game.
"Fine." He licked a drop of blood from his lower lip. "I’ve had my fun—for now."
Eleanor swayed, and Dorian immediately caught her, one hand at her waist. His grip was steady, firm but careful.
"You’re burning up," he murmured, his fingers brushing against her wrist to check her pulse.
She jerked away from his touch. "Don’t pretend to care."
Something flickered in his eyes. "I don’t pretend, Eleanor."
A door slammed open before she could reply.
"Are we fighting over her already?" Cassius strolled in, his golden hair gleaming under the candlelight. His smile was lazy, playful—but his eyes held sharp amusement. "Lucien, you greedy bastard."
Lucien shrugged, not looking remotely guilty. "If she’s to be ours, might as well start early."
Cassius chuckled, striding toward Eleanor before leaning in just a little too close. "Did it hurt, darling?"
"Of course it hurt!" she snapped, her voice trembling with exhaustion and anger.
Cassius tilted his head. "And yet… you’re still standing. Impressive."
She tried to shove him away, but her body was too weak.
"Enough."
Viktor’s deep voice cut through the air as he entered, his crimson gaze sweeping the room. He took in the scene—Lucien’s smug expression, Dorian’s irritation, Eleanor’s barely concealed rage—before exhaling sharply.
"She’s not a toy."
Lucien smirked. "That’s debatable."
"She needs to rest," Viktor said, ignoring him. His eyes locked onto Eleanor’s, and for a brief second, she thought she saw something almost like concern.
Almost.
Before she could process it, another voice spoke from the shadows.
"You’re all acting like children."
Silas.
He was leaning against the far wall, half-hidden in the dim candlelight, arms crossed. Unlike the others, he hadn’t moved to touch her. Hadn’t made a claim. But his piercing gaze unsettled her just as much.
"Squabbling over the first taste," he mused. "Pathetic."
Cassius laughed. "I don’t see you stepping forward, Silas."
Silas’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Because I don’t fight over scraps."
The room fell into tense silence.
Eleanor should have been terrified.
She was.
But she was also furious.
"Scraps?" she hissed, fists clenching. "I am not—"
Her legs gave out.
Before she hit the floor, arms caught her.
Not Lucien’s. Not Dorian’s.
Silas’s
She barely processed being lifted before exhaustion finally swallowed her whole.
The last thing she heard was Silas’s voice, low and certain.
"If she belongs to anyone, it’s not because we decided it."
And then darkness.