Chapter 2

The rain began to fall the moment Elara stepped over the threshold of her family home, a cold, weeping drizzle that felt like the world mourning her departure. Waiting at the curb was a vehicle that looked more like a weapon than a car—a sleek, matte-black Rolls-Royce with windows so dark they reflected nothing but the flickering streetlamps.

Vane stood by the rear door, his umbrella held with effortless grace. He didn't offer to take her bag. He simply watched her with those predatory grey eyes, measuring the heaviness of her steps.

"The suitcase is a sentimental touch," he remarked, his voice cutting through the sound of the rain. "You won’t be needing anything from your old life. I find that ghosts travel best when they carry nothing."

"It’s all I have left," Elara snapped, her knuckles white as she gripped the handle.

"Incorrect," Vane said, stepping closer until she was forced to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. The heat radiating from him was a physical wall against the night’s chill. "You have your life. You have your sister’s heartbeat. And you have me. That is a great deal more than you had an hour ago."

He gestured for her to enter. Elara slid into the backseat, the smell of expensive leather and something sharp—like burnt ozone—filling her lungs. Vane sat beside her, the door closing with a heavy, pressurized thud that sounded like a tomb sealing.

*******

The drive was silent. Elara watched the familiar streets of the city blur and then vanish. They weren't just driving away; they were crossing a boundary. The sky outside shifted from a murky grey to a bruised, unnatural purple. The city skyline was replaced by jagged cliffs and a forest of trees that looked like skeletal hands reaching for the moon.

"Where are we?" Elara whispered, her hand instinctively flying to the brand on her neck. It was pulsing with a dull, rhythmic heat.

"We are where you belong now," Vane replied. He was looking at a digital tablet, his fingers tapping the screen with a rhythmic, hypnotic click. "Welcome to the Obsidian Manor, Elara. It sits on the edge of the Veil. Close enough to your world to be reachable, but far enough into mine to be... sovereign."

The car slowed as they approached a set of iron gates that didn't swing open so much as they dissolved into smoke to let the vehicle pass. Ahead, the manor rose out of the mist. It was a monolith of dark stone and sharp glass, sprawling across the cliffside like a sleeping beast. There were no warm lights in the windows, only a faint, eerie luminescence that seemed to come from the stone itself.

When the car stopped, a man appeared to open Elara’s door. He looked human, but his eyes were fixed and glassy, his movements too synchronized to be natural.

"This is Marcus," Vane said, stepping out of the car. "He is the head of the household staff. He is quite literally incapable of disobedience. You would do well to learn from him."

Elara ignored the jab, her eyes fixed on the towering entrance. "What is the word on my neck, Vane? I saw it in the mirror. It said Sacrifice."

Vane stopped at the base of the stairs. He turned, the wind whipping his charcoal coat around his legs. For a moment, the mask of the billionaire CEO vanished, replaced by something ancient and terrifyingly beautiful.

"Every contract has a title, Elara," he said, his voice dropping to a low hum that vibrated in her chest. "Yours is the Sacrifice Clause. You gave up your agency to save a life. In the eyes of the law—my law you are the lamb that offered its throat to the wolf. It is a mark of high status in the Seventh Circle. Very few have a soul worth sacrificing."

He turned and walked inside. Elara followed, her heart hammering.

The interior of the manor was a sensory assault. The floors were black marble polished to a mirror finish, reflecting the vaulted ceilings draped in velvet as red as fresh blood. There were no paintings on the walls, only massive, intricate tapestries depicting wars that never happened in human history—monsters with wings of shadow clashing against knights of gold.

"Marcus will show you to your quarters," Vane said, not looking back. "I have business to attend to. My absence does not mean you are unsupervised, Elara. The walls of this house have ears, and the shadows have teeth. Do not wander."

"Wait!" Elara called out, her voice echoing in the vast hall. "What am I supposed to do? You said I’m a Consort. What does that mean here?"

Vane paused, his hand on the banister of the grand staircase. He turned his head just enough for her to see the sharp line of his jaw. "It means you are the centerpiece of my collection. Tonight, you will bathe, you will eat, and you will sleep. Tomorrow, I will begin the process of stripping away the 'human' from your bones. You signed the blood, Elara. Now you must survive the ink."

He vanished into the darkness of the upper floors.

Marcus led Elara to a suite of rooms that felt more like a luxurious prison. The bedroom was dominated by a four-poster bed draped in black silk. A fire roared in the hearth, but it gave off no heat, only a pale green light. On the vanity sat a tray of food—dark fruits that bled purple juice and meat that smelled of spices she didn't recognize.

Beside the tray lay a single, heavy envelope.

Elara opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a card of thick, black cardstock with silver writing.

********

The First Three Rules of the Sacrifice Clause:

1. The Shadow's Reach: The Consort shall not cross the threshold of any exterior door without the Master’s hand upon her. To flee is to forfeit the life of the Saved (Mia Vance).

2. The Master’s Call: When the brand on the neck pulses thrice, the Consort has sixty seconds to find the Master's presence. Every second of delay is a minute of blood owed.

3. The Silent Tongue: The Consort shall not speak of the Master’s true form to any guest of the manor. In this house, he is God; outside, he is a ghost.

*********

Elara dropped the card. The "Sacrifice" wasn't just her life—it was a psychological cage. She walked to the window, looking out at the jagged landscape. She thought of Mia, breathing and healthy back in their crumbling home, and for a second, the weight of the contract felt worth it.

Then, her neck began to pulse.

One. A sharp, stinging heat.

Two. A throb that made her vision blur.

Three. A burning sensation that felt like a hot needle sinking into her spine.

Sixty seconds.

Panic surged through her. She scrambled for the door, tearing it open and running into the dark hallway. She didn't know where Vane was. She didn't know the layout of the manor.

"Vane!" she screamed, her voice breaking. "Where are you?"

She ran toward the grand staircase, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The shadows in the corners seemed to stretch toward her, whispering in languages that sounded like clicking insects. She reached the landing, her eyes darting left and right.

**********

Forty seconds left.

She remembered his office a door she had passed on the way in. She bolted down the stairs, nearly slipping on the polished marble. She reached the heavy oak door at the end of the corridor and threw it open without knocking.

The room was bathed in candlelight. Vane was sitting behind a desk of carved bone, a glass of dark liquid in his hand. He didn't look up as she burst in, disheveled and gasping for air. He simply tapped his watch.

"Fifty-eight seconds," he murmured. "You’re slow, Elara. If you had been two seconds later, I would have had to take a pint of your blood as interest. I do so hate collecting interest on the first night."

"You... you monster," she panted, clutching the doorframe. "You're playing with me."

Vane stood up, the light catching the silver of his rings. He walked toward her, his footsteps silent. He stopped so close she could feel the cold air coming off his suit. He reached out, his thumb stroking the brand on her neck. It stopped burning instantly, replaced by a soothing, electric chill.

"I am not playing, Elara," he whispered, his eyes glowing with that faint, demonic orange. "I am training you. You are a wild thing, and I am the hunter who caught you. Tonight, you sleep in my room."

Elara froze. "The contract said I have my own suite."

"The contract says you are mine," Vane corrected, his hand sliding from her neck to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her mahogany hair. He pulled her head back, forcing her to look into the abyss of his gaze. "And I find that I don't like sleeping alone in a house full of ghosts."

*********

He leaned in, his lips hovering an inch from hers, but he didn't kiss her. Instead, he whispered, "Besides, Elara, you haven't realized the most important part of the Sacrifice Clause yet."

"What?" she managed to gasp.

"Your sister is healthy because she is eating your life force," he smiled, a cruel, beautiful curve of his lips. "Every day you spend away from me, you wither. Every day you spend with me, I keep you alive. You aren't just my consort. You are my parasite."

He let her go, turning back to his desk. "Now, go to the bedroom behind that curtain. Strip. Wait for me. And pray I don't decide to collect my interest anyway."