Chapter 17 · The Last Drop

The oath wasn't a suggestion. It was a living thing now, coiled tight around Lucas's chest, pulling him toward her like a chain.

Vivian felt it too. The air between them had gone thick, humming with something old and merciless. Lucas's pupils had blown wide, black swallowing gold, and his breath came short. His hands were fists at his sides.

"Don't fight it," Cyrus said from behind them, voice smooth as silk over a blade. "The blood oath doesn't care about your hesitation, Croft. It only cares that you obey."

Lucas's jaw worked. Vivian could see the war in him—the muscle ticking under his eye, the way his shoulders rolled like he was trying to shake off invisible hands. But the oath didn't let go. It squeezed.

She took a breath. Her pulse was hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat, her wrists, the hollow behind her knees. This was it. The moment Cyrus had engineered from the start. If Lucas didn't bite her, the oath would shred him from the inside out. And if he did—

Cyrus would know exactly what her blood could do.

She met Lucas's eyes. Gold flickering back now, desperate, furious.