Chapter 94: A Sliver of Hope
{IRIS}
"You are mine," he finished quietly. "For the entire night."
The words did not need to be spoken louder to crush the air from my lungs. They settled into me like a verdict, final and merciless.
My breath trembled in my chest as fear, anger, desperation, and a bitter sense of helplessness twisted together until I could no longer tell which emotion hurt the most.
"Are you... are you really serious?" I choked. My gaze betrayed me, sliding past his face to the wall at his side—to the neatly arranged instruments glinting faintly in the low light.
Metal caught the candle’s flame and reflected it back at me, cold and patient. I swallowed hard. "Are you really like that, Sol?"
He raised a brow. "Like that?"
"Like..." I hesitated, my voice wavering despite my effort to keep it steady. "Cold on the outside, but secretly harboring some strange, depraved hobby in the inside?"
For a heartbeat, he stared at me as if I had spoken in a foreign tongue. Then his eyes followed the direction of mine. He noticed the tools—noticed how my shoulders stiffened, how my fingers curled instinctively as if already bracing for pain.
A low chuckle left him.
"Don’t flatter yourself," he said, straightening. "Even if I did possess such desires, you are certainly not my type."
The insult landed cleanly and deep.
...Can I hit him?
I had no doubt—none at all—that I would have struck him without hesitation if my hands were free.
The thought alone brought a sharp, vindictive satisfaction that fizzled just as quickly when I remembered the restraints biting into my wrists.
Sol rose from the bed and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back as though we were merely discussing something dull and inconsequential. "In any case, I didn’t buy you because I wished to spend the night with you," he continued. "I bought you because I want to know something."
"Know what?" I asked, my throat dry.
"I want to know how you knew I have an illness."
The air changed.
My spine prickled as if brushed by ice. Something deep in my instincts screamed, warning me that one wrong word—one misplaced breath—would be enough to end my life.
He was no longer simply a man speaking out of curiosity. He was a predator who had scented vulnerability.
"I don’t know," I said slowly. "It’s just... I felt like there was something wrong with you when you touched me before."
"Just from that?"
I looked away. "Yes."
He sighed.
The sound was barely audible, but it carried a finality that made my heart slam violently against my ribs.
Before I could react, he lunged.
Pain exploded as his hand closed around my throat. His nails lengthened in an instant, sharpening into cruel points. His fangs descended, gleaming white as moonlit bone. The room seemed to contract around us, shadows thickening as if drawn to him.
"Then it seems I’ll have to dispose of you myself," he said calmly.
I grit my teeth, fighting for breath as his grip tightened. My lungs burned, each attempt to inhale turning into a useless gasp. I did not doubt him—not for a second. He would kill me here, now, without hesitation.
And yet, somehow, I smiled.
My mind raced, claws scraping against panic until it found something—anything—to hold onto.
"What?" I forced out between ragged breaths. "Did no one know you were sick? Is that why you bought me—to make others believe I died under your torture? When in truth, you only wanted to ensure no one would ever discover why you killed me."
His eyes flared, crimson igniting beneath the surface.
Understanding struck me with terrifying clarity.
Everything made sense.
His hold tightened further, and I felt a sharp, sickening pressure against my neck. Another moment—just one—and he could snap it cleanly.
"No one must know," he said, his voice low and burning. "But before I kill you, I will drink your blood dry. Even if you’re not my type, I intend to get my money’s worth."
This bastard.
Without warning, he bent his head, fangs descending toward my neck.
Shit.
The Bloodveil vial could mask my scent—but once he tasted my blood...
I braced for pain that never came.
The necklace at my throat flared with sudden warmth. A force surged outward, invisible but undeniable, and Sol was thrown back as if struck by an unseen hand. His grip vanished. Air rushed into my lungs in a violent, aching gasp.
It was my chance.
I rolled from the table and staggered to my feet, ignoring the dizziness threatening to pull me back down.
I ran for the door.
Foolish.
Pain tore through my scalp as Sol grabbed my hair, yanking me back with a hiss of fury.
"Looks like you have protection," he said.
My head snapped backward, and I caught a glimpse of his face—of what lay beneath it. His skin blistered and melted, revealing bone beneath, the illusion cracking under the strain of his rage. The horror lasted only a second before it healed, reforming seamlessly into the handsome visage he wore so easily.
When I blinked, he was handsome again.
"Looks like I’ll have to kill you some other way," he murmured, his gaze flicking to the necklace at my throat. "I can’t touch your necklace, and I can’t kill you directly—it repels me. But that doesn’t mean I lack alternatives."
"Let go of me!" I snarled, clawing uselessly at his wrist.
His eyes narrowed into thin slits as his grip tightened, forcing my head back. His other hand rose, hovering before my face.
"If I can’t kill you, I will just imprison you in darkness . . . for eternity."
Cold flooded the space between us.
I felt darkness fan across my skin, seeping into my pores.
This was no physical attack—it was arcane, pure and lethal.
Death itself brushed against me, and my vision began to dim, the edges blackening as if burned away.
Goddess. This is bad.
