Chapter 4 A Blood-bound Bride

The next morning, my brother drove me to school.

He was in his final year of med school-officially. In practice, he spent more time helping our father run the Duskgrave occult shop than attending rotations. Most hospitals didn't like dealing with families rumored to handle cursed artifacts and occult dead things, but one of Dad's clients happened to be the director of a major city hospital. That solved his internship problem.

He came today because of yesterday's incident. The one where a man had thrown himself from the sixth floor.

The one I may-or may not-have caused.

The police called this morning. One of the officers was a friend of my brother's and asked to meet on campus.

"If you ask me," my brother muttered, gripping the steering wheel, "your undead husband did nothing wrong. If someone put their hands on my wife, I'd kill them too."

"Since when do you have a wife?" I shot him a look.

He sighed dramatically. "Please. No one in our line of work gets to keep one. Women are naturally attuned to death, and we've been neck-deep in necrotic crap since birth. Look what happened to Mom. I've accepted my fate. I'll die single and fabulous."

"I'm going to die too," I said softly. "When I do, promise you'll take care of Dad."

His hand ruffled my hair like I was still a kid. "Don't talk like that. If your night-stalker wanted you dead, Clara, he would've buried you two years ago. He's got another agenda. Maybe once he gets what he wants, he'll disappear."

I tried to believe that.

But he'd said it himself. I belonged to him. Until death.

"Hey, Clara," my brother added, trying to lighten the mood. "What does your creepy husband look like? Is he hot?"

I shook my head. "I've never seen his face. He wears a mask."

"Classic. Is his voice hot, at least?"

"Why does that matter?"

He gave me a pointed look. "Because ninety percent of guys with sexy voices are trolls in real life. I'm just saying-brace yourself. He's probably a Victorian basement-dweller with fangs and a hunchback."

I blinked.

That voice of his-cool, deep, with an old-world lilt-had always seemed... intoxicating. Seductive, even when threatening.

Great. He probably was hideous.

My brother had always been the optimistic one. Even in a family of death-dealers and whispering artifacts, he made jokes, rolled his eyes at omens, and carried on like we weren't cursed to our bones. Just sitting beside him calmed me. I even smiled for the first time in days.

When we passed the pharmacy near campus, I suddenly asked him to pull over.

He raised a brow but didn't ask questions.

I slipped inside and bought emergency contraception.

No one blinked. The store sat across from a college campus. The cashier barely looked up, sliding the box toward me like she'd done it a thousand times.

Which, I guess, she had.

It had been four days since he first touched me.

I didn't even know if emergency contraception still worked this late.

I stood by the car, dry-swallowing the pill with a tight throat and tossing the box into the nearest trash bin like it burned my fingers.

My brother blinked at me, dumbfounded. "Wait-didn't use protection?!"

My face flushed hot.

Protection?

I was barely conscious half the time, pinned down by someone who didn't seem to understand-or care about-human boundaries.

You think a vampire who marked me like a beast would stop to roll on a condom?

I climbed back into the car in silence. My brother frowned, clearly unsettled.

"You can't keep taking emergency pills like that, Clara. That stuff wrecks your system."

I didn't respond. The tablet scratched down my throat like a pebble-tight, cold, lodged somewhere behind my sternum. I coughed, trying to force it down, but it wouldn't move.

When we reached campus, I spotted a water dispenser near the restrooms and told my brother I needed a drink before meeting the police officer.

He nodded and headed into the side room where the questioning would take place.

I bent to fill the paper cup. Just as the water hit my hand, a shadow fell over mine-followed by a chill that seemed to crawl through my spine.

"Brave of you," a familiar voice murmured behind me, dangerously soft.

I froze.

He was here.

I turned slowly.

He stood inches behind me, that grotesque black mask concealing everything but the glint of fury in his eyes. The air around him shimmered with restrained wrath, sharp and cold like the moment before a lightning strike.

He grabbed my collar and yanked me toward the nearest restroom stall.

"W-What are you doing?!" I gasped, trying to pull away.

He didn't answer. Just shoved me inside and slammed the door shut. His hand clamped the back of my neck as he forced two fingers into my mouth.

"Ghn-ugh-!"

Pain bloomed in my throat.

I choked, coughed-and the half-dissolved pill flew out, landing near the toilet.

"You dared to take that?" he said, voice laced with cruel amusement. "Good thing I followed you. Otherwise, you'd have gotten away with it."

I tried to shove him back. "You-you violate me nightly and now you want to control my body too?!"

I trembled, equal parts rage and helplessness.

The things he whispered when he thought I was too far gone to hear. The way I woke up was sore and stained with bruises. The way I couldn't tell if the blood on the sheets was mine or... something else.

"Violate?" His tone darkened, a cold, humorless laugh following. "Fine. If that's how you see it, I'll own it."

Before I could protest, he yanked at the hem of my skirt.

My breath hitched as cold air bit across exposed skin.

Here? Now?

No. No no no.

Not in a school bathroom. Not while people could walk by. This wasn't our home-my home-where shame could stay hidden in shadowed walls.

"P-Please don't," I whispered, trembling. "Not here. I won't take the pill again-I swear. Please... just stop..."

My voice cracked. The tears spilled without warning, blurring everything until all I could see was the white tile, the lock on the stall, and his silhouette looming over me.

His breath was harsh against my ear. But then-bit by bit-it slowed.

He didn't continue.

Instead, he crouched down in front of me, fingers curling beneath my jaw to lift my tear-streaked face.

"Clara," he said lowly, "you are bound to me by Crimson Rite. That makes you mine. My bonded wife. That means your body isn't just yours anymore-it's ours."

I closed my eyes.

And nodded.

Not because I agreed. Not because I understood.

But because I was too tired to keep resisting.