CH- 31

CH- 31

Aria POV

I wake up choking on blood.
Not someone else’s—mine.
It coats the back of my throat, warm and coppery, and I can taste him.
The one who isn’t Lorien.
Who isn’t Sebastian. The one with silver eyes and a voice like prophecy.

He’s in me now. Not just bonded—but rooted. A pulse I can’t shut out.
When I blink open my eyes, I’m not in my bed.
I’m not in the corridor either.
I’m in a place I’ve only heard about in whispered threats.
The Sanctum of Silence.

Chains line the walls.
The air is so cold, my breath fogs.
The light is red—no flame, no candles. Just… sigil glow.
And seated across from me, his shirt torn, his eyes sunken—
Lorien.

“You were screaming,” he says quietly, as if any louder might break me. “But it wasn’t your voice.”
“I know,” I whisper, my lips cracked. “I felt him again.”
Lorien’s fists clench. “He used your mouth.”
I nod slowly. “I didn’t let him.”
“You don’t have to. He’s already in.”

I try to sit up, but my spine screams. My sigil pulses like an open wound—silver-red-black, flashing like a dying star. There’s blood seeping from the mark. My chest aches like I’ve been burned from the inside.
“You were gone for hours,” Lorien says. “We couldn’t bring you back.”
“We?” I rasp.
He hesitates. “Sebastian tried first. He’s the one who got you out of the corridor. But something knocked him clear across the hall. He hasn’t woken up yet.”
That stops my heart.
“Is he—”
“He’ll survive,” Lorien cuts in. “Barely.”

I force myself upright.
The movement makes my skin crackle—like old porcelain.
Everything inside me is too hot and too cold at once.
And I can feel… something under my skin.
Not a heartbeat.
Not magic.
Something older.
Something watching.

Voss releases me that evening.
But not before delivering her warning in a voice as brittle as ice:
“If the third bond manifests fully before consent, the soul fractures. You risk becoming a vessel.”
“A vessel for what?” I demand.
She doesn’t answer.
Only traces her finger across my sigil and murmurs something in Old Bloodtongue.
The door seals behind me with a hiss.

\==============

Back in the dorms, the world feels different.
Muted.
Like someone pressed a hand over Blackthorn’s throat.
The halls are quiet. The fountains drained.
Most of the students are missing.
Even the walls seem to hold their breath.
And that’s when I notice it:
Blood Heat has stopped.
Too early.
Too suddenly.
And no one is talking about it.

I find Mireille in the east wing.
But not alone.
She’s leading a small group of students into a sealed chamber. I follow at a distance, unseen.
Until I smell the blood.

The door cracks open just enough for me to slip in.
Inside: four students—two girls, two boys—on their knees. A ritual circle painted in their blood. Their shirts are off, eyes dilated, breathing shallow.
Mireille stands at the center, her hands glowing faintly violet, chanting in a language I’ve never heard.
“What are you doing?” I ask, stepping into the glow.
She doesn’t even flinch.
“Fixing what the academy refuses to. You’re not the only one with a broken bond, Aria.”
“You’re experimenting—on students?”
“I’m freeing them. Every sigil is a shackle. This one”—she points to the girl at her feet—“was promised to a vampire she’s never touched. She wants out.”
“And this ritual will break the sigil?”
Mireille’s mouth twists. “That’s the theory.”

The girl begins to shake violently.
Her sigil pulses—and then fractures.
Not vanishes.
Fractures.
A line of black splits the design, and a strange wind kicks up inside the chamber, extinguishing every candle.
The girl lets out a strangled scream.
And suddenly—
She lifts off the floor.

Her limbs stretch unnaturally, eyes wide, veins darkening like ink.
Mireille stumbles back. “No—this isn’t—this shouldn’t—”
The girl’s mouth opens. A voice not hers rips through the space like a blade.
“She was not mine to take.
You interfered.
Now I will choose.”

Every student in the room falls to the ground.
My ears ring. My knees buckle.
And still the girl floats—spinning slowly, like a puppet.
Then—her back arches.
Her eyes roll white.
And she drops.
Hard.
Silent.
Dead.

Mireille stares, horrified, whispering the same phrase over and over: “It was supposed to work. It was supposed to work.”
I move forward, trying to reach the girl—
But the circle burns black and sears my ankle.

Suddenly, the door slams shut behind us—sealed by no one’s hand.
And from the circle of salt and blood, the dead girl sits up.
The room is chaos—screams, wind, blood.
But I’m frozen.
Because the girl isn’t dead.

Not yet.
She rises, pupils gone, her mouth torn open in a black grin.

Three voices speak at once—twisted versions of the ones I know:

“You tasted devotion…”
“You begged for desire…”
“But power… power will make you kneel.”

Her body collapses.
Smoke curls from her lips in the shape of a crown.
Mireille is shaking. I'm still kneeling. And no one says a word for nearly a minute.

\===========

When they finally drag me from the ritual chamber, I don’t fight them.
Later, in my room, I’m told the Headmistress has made a decision.

“Given the instability of your bond, you’ll remain on campus during Blood Moon Week. Under supervision.”

I nod.
But when night falls, a second letter appears on my bed.
Not handed to me.
Not delivered by staff.
It’s just there.

The envelope is sealed in wax.
Silver. Black. Etched with thorns.

Inside:

“You are hereby granted permission to leave Blackthorn for Blood Moon Week.
Your guardian awaits.”

I frown.
There’s no academy seal.

No Headmistress signature.

Just a new sigil…

One I’ve never seen.