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I came to with a sharp jolt of pain.

Every nerve in my body screamed in protest, each breath a shallow rasp against the cold stone floor beneath me. The tattered remains of my nightgown clung to me like a mockery of warmth, only emphasizing the chill seeping into my bones. My wrists ached under the brutal weight of iron shackles, their chains anchored to a massive slab of stone at the foot of some grotesque sculpture. With effort, I dragged myself into a sitting position, eyes straining to adjust to the dim, flickering light.

The space I was trapped in resembled ancient ruins fragments of broken columns scattered across a vast, circular hall with a domed ceiling that loomed high above me like a tomb.

I turned, studying the sculpture behind me. It towered over me at least seven feet of carved menace, its body shaped like a monstrous man with gnarled horns spiraling from its head. Its arms ended in jagged stone claws, while its feet seemed to melt into the podium at its base. The slab I was chained to formed part of a stone ring encircling the statue, no more than three feet in radius.

"It used to be a fountain," came a voice like ice cracking across glass.

I snapped my head toward the far end of the hall. Aronne stood there, a smug smirk twisting his mouth as he approached with the deliberate gait of a man savoring his moment. He was dressed for ceremony black tuxedo with satin lapels, black shirt, and an ascot fastened with a blood-red crystal that pulsed ominously. As he drew closer, the crystal’s glow intensified, stabbing at my temples and worsening the ache behind my eyes.

He crouched, careful not to step inside the ring.

"You're sitting in what was once a fountain of blood, filled with sacrifices for Beliale." He nodded at the monstrous statue, then let his gaze sweep down my body with slow, deliberate cruelty.

I recoiled, jerking my chains as I instinctively tried to distance myself from the glowing crystal.

"Planning to bleed me out to fill it again?" I spat, my voice raw.

His laugh was sharp and cold. In a blink, his hand shot forward, fisting in my hair. His nails bit into my scalp as he dragged my face close to his.

A strangled cry tore from my throat.

"Oh, I wouldn’t waste your blood on that," he murmured, breath hot against my cheek. "No, sweet Domitilla. I intend to savor it myself." He released me, and I crumpled to the floor, trembling.

As I lifted my head, my eyes locked on the crystal at his throat. The pulsing inside it was alive breathing, watching.

"What is that?" I whispered, my hand trembling as I pointed.

"This?" He tapped it lightly. "The soul of Beliale. It grants me his power, and I, in turn, can feed it mine."

He stepped inside the ring.

"You feel it, don’t you? The weakness it draws out of you?"

I glared at him, jaw tight, even as my limbs trembled from the energy draining out of me. He knew. He enjoyed it.

"Want to know why it affects you like this?" he asked, though he clearly didn’t care whether I answered. "Your powers were forged for life, not death. Beliale’s essence is death. To you, it’s poison."

His cold fingers brushed my cheek. I flinched, but I couldn’t pull away. His gaze darkened, tracing the line of my body.

"You were never meant to kill, Domitilla. That’s why it costs you every time you do."

He tilted my chin up, his grip iron.

"That’s why I knew your blood could give Beliale form. I’ll drain you, and your strength will birth him into this world."

A tremor rippled through my chest.

"I was never... a weapon," I murmured.

He laughed. "A weapon? No, darling. You're a vessel. Fuel for resurrection. The Nephilim were hunted for centuries not to be slain, but harvested. Their blood holds the key."

His expression twisted with rage.

"For years, the world believed your kind extinct. Until my father" he spat the word "decided to save one. A mistake that destroyed our family and gave your ancestors a chance to survive."

He bared his teeth in a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

"Now you’ll pay the price for that mercy."

I clenched my fists. "How does resurrecting a demon serve you?"

"Because it’s the cost of my survival," he said, voice low and deadly. "I offered Beliale the blood of a Nephilim. And now, I’ll bleed you dry to fulfill that pact and be reborn in his strength."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Do you really believe he’ll let you live once he returns? The same demon who wants to raze the entire world?"

His grin only widened.

"He’ll destroy everything. Including my brother. That’s the part I savor most."

My laugh was hollow. "You think you've suffered? You have no idea what happened to your brother while you were in exile."

"Nothing happened," he snapped. "He lost a title. Big deal. He still lived as Lord Santini."

"You really don’t know," I said softly, disbelief sinking in. "Gualtiero tortured him. For decades. Drained his blood. Replaced it with silver. He suffered more than you ever have."

His hand struck my face so fast I didn’t see it coming. Blood filled my mouth as I hit the floor again.

He crouched over me, seething. "Lies won’t save you. Or him."

My cheek throbbed, the cut refusing to heal. He dragged a finger down it, then licked my blood with a satisfied hum.

"I’ll enjoy every drop of you. Even this mark won’t protect you." His claws flashed, slashing across my throat.

Agony ripped through me. I screamed, tears spilling as a strange venom spread through my veins. My limbs gave out. I collapsed, powerless.

He dipped his fingers into the open wound.

"Ripe," he murmured. "I waited until you matured, Domitilla."

"What... do you mean?" I gasped, barely able to form the words.

"I knew your lineage. You were easy to track." His tone was almost tender. "But you were just a child."

My blood turned to ice.

"You killed my parents," I whispered.

He chuckled. "One of my men did. He betrayed me, and you were the one who punished him. Fitting, isn’t it? He thought he could take what was mine."

"I'm not yours," I rasped.

He leaned in, lips brushing my ear.

"You think you belong to my brother? Don’t worry. The mark will fade after tonight."

"Tonight?" I choked out, trembling.

He smiled darkly. "I won’t kill you yet. Beliale needs three days to fully manifest, and that requires a ritual."

His fingers trailed down my throat to my chest.

"Don’t touch me," I snarled, summoning the last flicker of strength.

He grabbed my chin, forcing my gaze up. "I’ll do what I please. At first, I thought I’d make you moan from my bite watch you betray my brother with your body. But now? I prefer the agony twisting your angelic face."

He stood, then yanked my chain hard enough to drag me to my feet. I stumbled, back slamming against the statue. My breath hitched as I saw the hunger in his eyes.

"The full moon rises in two days," he whispered. "That’s when Beliale will be reborn. And you will die. But you’ll beg for death long before then… because your real torment begins now."

And with that, he sank his teeth into my throat plunging me into a living nightmare of fire and blood.