Eleanor’s eyes fluttered open.
“This isn’t my room.”
The thought hit Eleanor like a slap to the face the moment her eyes fluttered open.
Her head was pounding, her body aching in places that reminded her all too well of what had happened last night with Dorian. Heat rushed to her cheeks as flashes of his lips, his touch, his weight against her came crashing back.
But none of that explained where she was now.
She blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the dim lighting, and as she took in the familiar but unexpected surroundings, her stomach twisted.
Silas.
This was his room.
Panic set in, and she bolted upright in bed. What the hell was she doing here?
As if summoned by her thoughts, a deep voice sliced through the heavy silence.
"You're awake."
Eleanor's head snapped up, and her breath caught in her throat as she locked eyes with Silas.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, arms crossed over his broad chest, his icy-blue gaze burning into her like a blade.
And he did not look happy.
No, he looked livid.
His jaw was tight, his fingers curled into his palm, and every muscle in his body seemed coiled with restrained fury.
Eleanor swallowed hard.
"What—" Her voice cracked, and she had to clear her throat before trying again. "What am I doing here?"
Silas didn't answer.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning her with sharp precision, like he was piecing together a puzzle he didn't like.
Then, in a voice laced with barely controlled anger, he asked, "What happened between you and Dorian?"
Eleanor's breath hitched.
Her heart pounded against her ribs as guilt and panic swirled in her chest.
She should have expected this. Of course, Silas would know. Of course, he would demand answers. But that didn’t mean she was ready to say it.
She stayed silent.
His eyes darkened. "Don't make me ask again, Eleanor."
She bit her lip, gripping the sheets beneath her.
What was she supposed to say? That she had slept with his brother? That she had given herself to Dorian? That for one night, she had allowed herself to forget everything, to drown in the pleasure and heat of his touch?
Wouldn’t that make her exactly what she feared she was?
A pawn. A prize passed between them.
Silas exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching at his sides.
His patience was running thin.
"Eleanor," he said again, this time slower, colder. "Did you sleep with him?"
Her throat felt like sandpaper.
She finally found her voice, but instead of answering his question, she threw one back at him.
"Isn't that why I'm here?"
Silas’ expression shifted—sharp, dangerous.
She pushed on, her voice gaining strength. "Isn’t that what this bound is for? To satisfy all of you?"
Silas was on her in seconds.
His hands slammed onto the mattress on either side of her, caging her in. His face was so close to hers she could see the way his pupils expanded, the predatory gleam in his eyes.
"You think that’s all you are to us?" His voice was a low, dangerous growl.
Eleanor refused to back down. "Tell me I'm wrong."
Silas' expression flickered with something unreadable before rage took over again.
His voice dropped lower, sharper. "I had you first."
Eleanor's pulse spiked. "And what does that matter?"
Silas' nostrils flared.
Wrong answer.
Before she could react, his hand shot out, wrapping around the delicate column of her throat.
Not tight enough to hurt her—but enough to remind her of his strength. His dominance.
"You belong to me." His voice was ice, his breath hot against her skin.
She gasped, a mixture of fear and something darker swirling inside her.
"Then claim me," she whispered, her voice trembling, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Make me yours alone."
Silas' entire body tensed.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then, like a storm finally breaking, he acted.
His fangs sank into the nape of her neck.
Eleanor screamed, the sound torn from her chest as a wave of sensation flooded her body.
Pain. Pleasure.
Something ancient and primal surged through her veins, setting her entire body on fire. Her fingers dug into Silas’s shoulders, her back arching instinctively as the sharp sting of his bite transformed into something else—something exhilarating, intoxicating.
Her toes curled, her body trembling as the intensity of the moment consumed her.
Her head spun. It was unlike anything she’d felt before.
This was different from the other times he had taken her blood. This time, it was deeper. More final. It felt as if something was being carved into her very soul, something that could never be undone.
Marked.
Bound.
She could feel it, a connection solidifying between them, something beyond the physical, beyond the blood.
Silas growled softly against her skin, his grip tightening, pulling her closer, deeper into him. The world around her seemed to fade as he claimed her in a way she had never known.
Then—
The door slammed open.
A rush of cold air swept into the room, and before Eleanor could fully process it, she saw them. Four figures stood in the doorway, their eyes blazing with fury.
Lucian. Dorian. Cassius. Viktor.
They froze, staring at the scene before them, shocked and speechless. The tension in the room was so thick, it felt as though it might snap at any moment.
Dorian was the first to speak. His voice was sharp, laced with barely contained anger.
"What the hell are you doing, Silas?"
But Silas didn’t answer. He didn’t even look up.
He kept going, taking exactly what he wanted, unwilling to stop until he had claimed her completely, until Eleanor was entirely his.
When he finally pulled away, Eleanor’s body trembled with the aftershocks. Her breath was ragged, her skin flushed, and her pulse was erratic, as if her heart couldn’t keep up with the rush of sensations.
Silas’s lips were red with her blood. He ran his tongue over them slowly, the action deliberate, his eyes locked on hers with a gaze that was dark and possessive.
Then, without looking at his brothers, he spoke in a voice that was calm, but held a lethal edge.
“She is mine now. Only mine.”