Chapter 12

I stared into a sea of cold, pale faces, their expressions blank but their whispers vicious. The way their eyes sliced through me mocking, dissecting made my skin crawl. Whatever I’d done to deserve such contempt was a mystery, but it didn’t matter. I stood alone in the center of the arena, fully exposed under the scrutiny of the Night Council. This place wasn’t built for justice. It was designed to strip a soul bare.

The man in red folded his hands, and like a spell had been cast, the noise around us fell into dead silence. A smile, brittle and devoid of warmth, curled on his lips as he gestured for me to step forward. My limbs moved before I could argue with them fear made obedience instinctual. As I approached, his grin widened, revealing fangs that glinted like knives under moonlight.

The man seated beside him stood slowly and surveyed the court with a calculated gaze. “By the authority of the Head of the Night Council, Romeo Pirozzi,” he declared, “we now open the session. The mortal in the arena shall be tested… and judged.”

My throat clenched. I didn’t know what “testing” entailed, but the gleam in their eyes told me all I needed to know it wouldn’t be merciful. Four of them stood three men and one woman—and moved toward me. I instinctively stepped back, but they closed in before I could flee.

“P-please…” I whispered, barely able to hear myself over the thundering of my heart. Their eyes gleamed with something dark ancient and cruel.

“Do not resist,” one said icily.

“Don’t even blink,” another added.

The threat in their voices was unmistakable. I didn’t dare test it.

The first man grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his stare. His icy blue eyes burned red, but while I felt a flicker of fear, there was nothing else no pull, no compulsion. His frustration showed in the deepening lines on his brow. He clicked his tongue in irritation and released me with a rough tug.

The second stepped in. His eyes were voids bottomless and bleak. I couldn’t breathe under their weight. He stayed longer, as if trying to drill into my soul, and when he stepped away, I felt emptied, drained. He huffed, dissatisfied, and shook his head.

Then came the third. His smile was twisted. “We’re not done yet,” he said, pressing his hands against the sides of my head. Pain lanced through my skull as if he meant to crush it between his palms. I screamed, the sound ripping raw from my throat. Though he said nothing, I could feel his will scraping against mine, trying to force me to yield. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. But that didn’t make it hurt less.

When he finally stepped back, I was trembling. My limbs felt heavy. My body older.

The woman approached next. Her elegance only made her more terrifying. Slender hands with crimson-tipped nails reached toward me.

“I beg you… I can’t” I started.

“Silence.” One word, but it hit like a lash. I shut my mouth, swallowing the surge of fury rising inside me.

Her red eyes locked onto mine. Pain exploded in my core like fire threading through every nerve. I collapsed, knees hitting stone, palms bracing me from the fall. My scream echoed around the room. The agony wasn’t physical it was something deeper, something that gnawed at my sanity. I would have agreed to anything, said anything, just to make it stop.

But she wasn’t done.

She smiled through my cries. She relished them.

“Enough, Tullia,” Romeo’s voice cut through the fog. Instantly, the pain vanished, snuffed out like a candle. But it left me broken, barely able to lift my head.

“What’s your verdict?” Romeo asked the four.

Each of the men shook their heads. Tullia only shrugged.

“Can she be compelled?” he pressed.

She laughed. “There’s something… wrong in her mind. Something guarding it. But perhaps with more time”

“No,” Romeo said curtly.

For a heartbeat, I almost thanked him. Almost. Because what came next shattered me.

“The mortal known as Domitilla Crivelli is found guilty of crimes against the vampire race and is hereby sentenced to death.”

The declaration struck something deep inside me. Not fear. Not despair. Something darker. A bitter laugh spilled from my lips, dry and jagged.

Murmurs erupted. I didn’t care.

“Don’t I deserve to know what crime I’ve committed?” I asked, voice shaking, hands clenched.

Romeo scoffed. “You know of our existence… and cannot be compelled.”

“How is that my fault?” I demanded.

His face twisted in revulsion. “Humans like you are a mistake. You should feel honored we gave you a trial.”

Anger surged inside me hot, sharp, undeniable. Something ancient stirred in my blood. I barely registered the order to restrain me. Two guards stepped forward.

Then the courtroom doors slammed open.

Everything stilled.

A man descended the stairs, flanked by Ermes and Fosco. Tall, draped in black, he moved with predatory grace.

Gosto.

He entered the arena, and the guards froze mid-step. I looked for his eyes, desperate for a glimpse, but he didn’t look at me. Not yet.

Then he turned, placing himself between me and Romeo. His voice, when he spoke, rang through the chamber like silk over steel. “There’s no need to kill her.”

Relief warred with dread.

“You have a different suggestion, Lord Santini?” Romeo asked, amused.

“She suits my needs,” Gosto said, glancing over his shoulder at me. “I will take her as my blood slave.”

Air fled my lungs. My skin broke into gooseflesh. A slave?

Romeo laughed. “She cannot be compelled. You won’t even enjoy her blood unless she’s willing.”

The court erupted in laughter.

Shame replaced my fury. Gosto still didn’t look at me.

“I believe that is not your concern, Sir Pirozzi,” Gosto said. His voice was calm, but there was a dark undercurrent—powerful enough to silence the room. Even Romeo swallowed hard.

“I want her. I’m taking her. Now.”

A beat of silence passed before Romeo responded. “Then she must be branded.”

“What?” I choked.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Gosto said, signaling to Ermes and Fosco.

“I insist,” Romeo said smugly. “Only a brand with your crest will make it legal. Unless you wish to defy our law.”

I looked at Gosto. His jaw clenched. Finally, he met my gaze and something flickered behind his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, voice cold. “Burn my crest into her back.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “No, no, no…”

Fosco leaned close. “You’ll survive. It’s better than dying.”

Maybe. But my body betrayed me, trembling uncontrollably.

A branding iron was plunged into an urn of red-hot coal. The scent of burning embers filled the room. My heart pounded like war drums.

“Please,” I mouthed to Gosto.

He looked away.

Fosco and Ermes pulled me to my knees, tearing my dress. I was exposed, shaking.

“Close your eyes,” Fosco whispered. “Go somewhere else.”

I did. I let the tears fall and braced myself.

But nothing could prepare me.

When the iron touched my skin, my scream didn’t sound human. The pain swallowed everything sight, sound, breath. It got worse when the brand tore away with part of my skin. My nerves burned. My mind frayed.

I collapsed. Couldn’t even shiver. Consciousness slipped.

Then warmth.

Arms wrapped around me careful, reverent.

“Forgive me, Domitilla,” Gosto murmured, lips brushing my temple.

“This was the only way I could take you home.”