"Killing Harriet and winning the damn bloody tournant is already hard enough!" she spat, voice shaking with emotion. "You don’t have to shove it in my face and make it—"
She stopped.
Zyren had stepped closer again.
So close their faces were now only inches apart. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. Her heart leapt into her throat as her back stiffened.
And then he spoke.
His voice was low. Unhurried.
"What if I told you I could give you so sort of power?"
Aria’s breath caught.
Silence fell again, but this ti it was far more suffocating.
She stared at him, her throat tight. Her eyes scanned his face, searching for a smirk or so sign that he was joking.
But there was none.
His expression hadn’t changed at all. He looked completely calm.
Honest.
The kind of honesty that chilled her to the bone.
He ant it.
He wasn’t teasing.
He wasn’t playing.
He was offering her sothing.
And Aria couldn’t tell whether that made her more afraid—or more tempted.
Her heart pounded hard in her chest, a deep, rhythmic thump that she could feel all the way to her throat. No matter how hard she tried to steady herself—to breathe calmly and act unaffected—it didn’t work. She was shaking, subtly, but enough to feel it in her fingers.
Sweat had pooled in her palms, the warm dampness making her fists slippery, and though she tried not to draw attention to it, the way her arms remained rigid at her sides made her tension plain as day.
Still, she couldn’t hide the curiosity burning through her gaze. No matter how much fear clouded her mind, no matter how uncertain she was about him—about everything—those words had struck her.
Power.
The re suggestion of it had set her blood on fire.
Her lips parted like she was about to speak, then closed again as though the words had vanished from her tongue. Her mind scrambled for the right thing to say. For sothing to cling to. Sothing real.
She opened her mouth again, and this ti sound ca out, breathless and cautious.
"What..." she gasped softly, her voice strained as she tried to steady it. "What do you an? That’s impossible!"
The statent left her lips with force. She blinked rapidly, suddenly recalling sothing that made her eyes go wide—horrifying mories of whispered stories told in trembling voices.
Backing away, her tone turned more agitated, laced with rising panic.
"I refuse to be turned into a half-vampire!" she snapped, her voice almost shaking now as her thoughts spun faster and faster.
Her expression twisted into one of horror. The ntal image alone was enough to make her feel like she was suffocating.
She’d heard the stories—humans who had been turned, only to lose themselves entirely. Those who couldn’t resist the bloodlust. Who devolved into feral things. Worse still, the sun... the sun didn’t just weaken them—it burned them alive. The kind of burn that didn’t just scar. It tortured. Slowly. Painfully. Their bodies blistering and bubbling with every second they spent exposed.
And yet, in the face of her rising panic, Zyren didn’t so much as flinch.
He rely shook his head. Slowly. Calmly. His movents were steady, deliberate, like he had expected her to respond that way.
And without even using words, he told her she was mistaken.
That had never been his intention.
The sheer certainty in his body language forced her mouth to go dry.
He wasn’t talking about turning her into a vampire.
Then... what?
That unspoken possibility burned brighter than anything else now. She wanted to look away—to stop herself from thinking about it—but she couldn’t. The thought of power alone was now deeply lodged in her chest like a blade.
A little.
A smidgen of sothing.
Anything.
’Anything!’ she scread in her mind. Just sothing—enough so that she wouldn’t be prey. So that she wouldn’t constantly be looking over her shoulder, waiting for the next creature to lunge at her throat.
Even a crumb of power would an she wouldn’t always be on the bottom of the food chain.
She wouldn’t be strong enough to challenge Zyren... but maybe, just maybe, she’d be strong enough to keep his guards away. To hold her ground. To fight back a little.
Because deep down, no matter how much he toyed with her or showed a strange softness sotis—she didn’t believe for one second that she mattered enough to Zyren for him to chase after her if she ever ran.
Not truly.
Which was why her eyes snapped back to his when he spoke again, his voice smooth and matter-of-fact.
"It’s actually pretty simple. I need to know if you want it."
Just like that.
A single choice.
He wasn’t even explaining. He wasn’t begging. There was no pitch, no seduction, no salesmanship.
Just a question.
And it struck her again, hard and fast—how much she wanted to say yes.
She knew she should be asking how.
Or why.
Or even what it would cost her.
But she didn’t.
Her voice ca out before she could stop it, sharp and urgent.
"What power?" she asked, her tone more intense than she had ant it to be. There was too much desperation there, too much want. She hated how naked it made her feel.
But Zyren didn’t seem surprised.
He tilted his head slightly, that sa unreadable expression still carved onto his face.
"Does it matter?" he asked.
And it didn’t.
Aira knew the answer the mont he said it.
No. It didn’t.
She didn’t care if the power burned her hands or scarred her body or chained her soul. She didn’t care if it made her sothing twisted or unrecognizable.
All that mattered was that she wouldn’t be powerless anymore.
Still, her brows drew together tightly, suspicion and self-preservation clawing their way back into her chest as she forced herself to lift her head, to et his gaze fully.
His red eyes bore into her—heated, focused, dangerous.
She ignored the shiver running through her spine.
She couldn’t afford to lose her mind now.
"What do you get out of this?" she asked, her voice quieter now, but no less steady. Her fists clenched at her sides, not from fear, but from a deep, slow dread that was beginning to creep in.
Her heartbeat sped up again.
It wasn’t just about power anymore.
This was a deal.
And Zyren never did anything for free.
Her mind began to race, every possibility flashing before her like bolts of lightning.
He had to want sothing. Sothing big. Sothing that cost more than she was ready to give. And sohow, she knew... whatever she gained from this—Zyren would be getting far more.
He always did.
What made it worse was that he knew. He knew she wanted it more than he did.
And he was already using that to his advantage.
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