7. The Taste of Submission

The Lien de Sang hadn’t just changed my mind; it had rewired my very existence.

    I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the master suite, staring out at the olive groves that bled into the Mediterranean. Before the Rite, the world was a collection of sights and sounds. Now, it was a symphony of vibrations. I could hear the rhythmic thrum-thrum of a honeybee three rooms away. I could smell the ozone of a distant storm, but most of all, I could feel him.

    Girard was a low-frequency hum at the base of my spine. Even though he was downstairs in the study, I knew he was pacing. I knew his jaw was tight. I knew he was hungry—and not for food.

    The blackened silver ring on my finger felt like it was glowing. It didn’t just sit on my skin; it pulsed against my bone.

    “It’s called the Lien de Sang,” Girard’s voice drifted from the doorway.

    I didn’t jump. I had heard his footsteps a mile away—heavy, purposeful, the gait of a king. I turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, his white dress shirt unbuttoned to the navel, his skin still flushed with the heat of the morning shift.

    “The Blood Link,” he continued, crossing the room with that silent, predatory glide. He didn’t stop until his chest was inches from my face. “You aren’t just a guest in this house anymore, Arielle. You are the house. My pack can feel you. They know you are the tether that keeps their Alpha from the abyss.”

    “I feel… crowded,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I can hear your heart, Girard. It’s too loud. It’s beating in my own chest.”

    He reached out, his large hand cupping the back of my neck. His thumb traced the sensitive skin behind my ear, sending a jolt of pure, white-hot electricity down my spine. My knees weakened. It wasn’t just physical attraction; it was a biological command. My body was screaming at me to surrender, to sink into him and let the world disappear.

    “That’s the bond trying to settle,” he growled, his amber eyes darkening to a burnt, molten orange. “You’ve spent your life being a Monet—cold, calculated, guarded. The beast doesn’t recognize those walls. He wants to tear them down and build a throne in the ruins.”

    He leaned down, his lips ghosting over the pulse point at my throat. I let out a jagged breath, my head falling back. Then, he did something that made my world tilt. He didn’t kiss me; he nipped the skin with his teeth—a sharp, stinging claim.

    A wave of dizzying pleasure crashed over me, far more intense than anything I had ever felt in my previous life. It was as if his touch had unlocked a hidden chamber of my nervous system. I reached out, my fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders, pulling him closer, demanding the friction.

    “See?” Girard whispered against my skin, his voice a vibrating rumble. “Your mind says no, but your blood… your blood is singing for me. You’re learning to enjoy the cage, Arielle.”

    “I’m learning to survive the monster,” I countered, though my body told a different story.

    He lifted me effortlessly, pinning me against the wall. The silk of my robe slid down my shoulders, leaving me exposed to his burning gaze. For the first time, I didn’t feel like a victim. I felt like a storm. I reached out and raked my nails down his back, mimicking the scars I had seen.

    Girard let out a low, guttural groan, his eyes flashing pure, brilliant gold. The “Devil” was surfacing, and for the first time, I wasn’t afraid. I was the one holding the flame to the fuse.

    But just as the tension reached a breaking point—just as the air seemed to catch fire—a sharp, frantic knocking at the door shattered the moment.

    “Don Roux!” a voice called from the hallway. It was Bastien. “The sensors at the perimeter… they’ve been bypassed. It’s not a rival pack. It’s the Monet Syndicate. They’re here, and they brought silver.”