Chapter 4

Emma

I leaned against the door frame to Elijah’s bedroom. He was in front of a full length mirror, fixing his black tie.

“What are you looking at?” Elijah asked.

“Watching to see which end of the tie you're going to hang yourself with.”

“Would it matter?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Not really. I just assumed you’re practicing.”

“Practicing for what exactly?”

“You know, testing out how much weight the wooden beams above us can hold.”

 Elijah chuckled, a dry, rustling sound. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Well, a girl can always hold out on some kind of hope that I can be the one to finally kick the chair out from under your feet.”

“Firefly.” He turned from the mirror, his movement a study in predatory grace. The word wasn’t an endearment. It was a label, a box. “I have no plans on taking my own life anytime soon, so you might want to hold off on kicking that chair”I whispered, repeating my earlier defense, but it sounded hollow now.

“If you’re not going to hang yourself for my pure enjoyment,” i said, echoing my own morbid joke with zero humor. “Then why are you dressed up like your going to your own funeral?” I asked, my fingers were deft, looping the silk. The room smelled of him—old books, cold stone, and a faint, metallic hint of blood. His reflection watched me, those ocean-blue eyes gone dark and still, his white shirt pristine but his expression tense.

“I’m short staffed on drivers, and I need to do a few pick-up and drop-offs tonight,” I muttered, watching Emma work her magic on my tie with practiced ease. Her hands moved with a confident flick, adjusting the knot as if she’d done it a thousand times before.

I spun him around gently and smoothed out the fabric on his chest with my hands. It was a small gesture, but it grounded me amidst the chaos of the hell Elijah put me in last night.

“Which reminds me, I got you something,”

 Elijah’s voice a low rumble that bypassed my ears and vibrated straight down my spine. He didn’t move to get it, just watched me, a predator offering a wrapped gift.

  I paused on my thoughts, my eyes studying his face. 

Elijah nodded towards the bed. where a garment bag rested.

I gripped his tie, pulling his face closer to mine. “I swear, if it’s another dead cat, I’m going to put a knife in your heart,” I threatened, a grin tugging at my lips despite the tension in my tone. He chuckled softly, a little nervous but amused.

“Relax, it’s not dead cats this time. Promise.”

The black silk of his tie felt cool against my palm as I let it go. It slid through my fingers like something alive. "I still don't understand what you were thinking, sending that damn thing to my house."

"I thought your bed needed some decorating."

"A skinned lion isn't a gift," I said, my voice flat. "It's a threat. Or you're just insane."

His smile was a white slash in the dark. "You say that now, but you loved it."

"I didn't." My jaw ached from clenching it.

"Then why is it still on your bed, firefly?"

I sighed, the fight draining out of me, replaced by a weary familiarity. "You seriously need to stay out of my room." I aimed for authority, but it came out like a plea.

His gaze didn't waver. "Just go look in the damn bag."

My eyes flicked toward the bed, then back to him. Curiosity and challenges warred inside me, a tired dance. The bag, sleek and black and foreign. I crossed the room, the floorboards were cold under my bare feet. I unzipped the bag slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room. Inside wasn’t fur or rot, but fabric in the color of a deep bruising purple

“A dress?” I pulled it out.

The fabric shimmered subtly under the dim light, holding it against my body. It was a deceptively simple, short summer dress. but what caught my attention was the strange, intricate pattern etched into the material—almost like a secret code or a faded memory.

“Do You like it?” Elijah asked.

"It’s pretty," I said softly.

"I’m glad you think so, the beading wasn’t my idea.”

I hesitated. "What’s the occasion?"

“You, my little firefly, have been bought.”

My brow furrowed. I tossed the dress onto the bed, feeling a prick of confusion. "What do you mean by bought?" I asked, voice edged with poison.

Elijah’s smile a cold slice in the gloom. “Your new contract is with the funeral home. The Owner Just so happen to purchase you from me this afternoon .” He took a slow step forward.

“You can’t Just sell a person.” The words sounded feeble even to me. He closed the distance, his scent of cold stone and mint washing over me.

“I can and did”

The silence in Elijah’s bedroom thickened, choked with the weight of his words.

“He bought your debt, your time, your presence.” His thumb brushed my lower lip. “The golden Honey that is swimming in your veins., belongs to him after midnight.” 

My eyes shifted back to the delicate beading on the fabric of the dress. Each tiny crystal felt like a chip of ice, a mocking glitter that laughed at me.. 

“He likes to mark what’s his,” Elijah said, his voice a low purr that vibrated in the spacious, dark room. He took a single step forward, and the sheer predatory grace of it pinned me in place. “It’s a family trait, you will get used to being owned.”

The ice water sensation crystallized into a sharp, cracking dread in my chest. My mind spun, connecting horrors. “You’re both…?” I couldn’t finish.

Elijah’s smile didn’t reach his cold, blue eyes.

“Your new master, my dear baby brother,  his name is Doc, the beading on your dress, it’s his subtle way of branding his new pet”

I shoved the garment bag, the sleek black fabric slithering to the floor. “You’re delivering me like a fucking meal.”

He closed the distance in a blink, his hand snapping up to cradle my jaw, his thumb pressing against my pulse. The pressure of his thumb against my carotid was a silent threat, a reminder of what flowed beneath the skin he considered his property. His smile was a blade, beautiful and cold.

 “An appetizer with a pulse is the only kind he’ll stomach tonight,” Elijah said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Be a good pet and calm the beast.”

“I’m not going.” The sentence sounded pathetically small, a child’s defiance against a coming storm.

“Remember Firefly, You signed yourself to me”

The memory of the contract’s jagged signature, Elijah’s hand cupped over mine, guiding the pen on the piece of paper,  signed in my own stupid, shaking hand, flickered behind my eyes as I finished the knot. It was a pretty noose of his own making “No, you remember, you forced me to sign that contract , to be your Blood paramour”

“You agreed to work for me the moment I saved your pretty ass, like it or not, You still belong to me, until I drop you off at Docs sanctuary doors at midnight”

“I was a fucking idiot to believe you” I tried to pull back, but his grip was stone. 

“That document isn’t just paper. It’s a vow in your own vital fluid.”

Elijah released me and stepped back, gesturing to the dress.

“Put it on.”

“Fuck no, I’m done with you and your shit.” My fists balled at my sides.

“Firefly,” he cooed.

Elijah caged me between his arms. My breath hitched, a sharp little sound swallowed by the quiet of the bedroom. 

“If you don’t put it on, the alternative is I drag you there naked, and neither of us wants that, I might be tempted to take your innocence before he does,” he said, his voice a low rumble. His eyes flashed with a cold amusement that made my stomach twist.

“Why?” The word was a dry scrape in my throat.

“He’s in one of his moods. The kind that ends with messes I have to clean up.” Elijah’s gaze drifted over my bare shoulders, my still-trembling legs. “You have to soothe his inner beast, firefly. It’s in your new job description.”

The hysterical laugh almost burst out of me. My new job description: beast-soother, blood bag. “I’m not a fucking parcel, Elijah.”

“Tonight you are.” His words weren’t a suggestion; they were a verdict. The cold finality of them stripped the air from my lungs. His hand slid from my jaw down to my throat, squeezing. Not hard, but in a threatening way. “Let me go,” I said, trying to fight him off.

His face leaned in closer to mine. 

“You got five minutes to get dressed.” He released me and stepped back. “Or don’t, it’s your choice, either way, It’s your innocence on the line right now, And let me tell you, I’m not a gentle beast when it comes to taking what is still mine for about another hour”

My defiance was a fragile shell. It cracked under the weight of the contract, his strength, the terrifying allure of his world. I picked up the dress. The silk was cold, expensive, a ghost against my skin.

“Good girl firefly”

I put it on. The fabric slithered over my hips, the neckline plunging deep.

 I felt branded.