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The bedroom door shut behind them with a click that sounded way too final.
Vivian stood near the window, still in the ridiculous wedding dress her father had picked out—white silk, off-shoulder, like she was some virgin sacrifice in a period drama. Lucas hadn't said a word since they left the ceremony hall. He crossed the room now, slow, deliberate, and stopped in front of a carved mahogany cabinet. Pulled out a crystal decanter. Poured himself something dark that wasn't wine.
She watched his back. Broad shoulders under that tailored black suit. No tie anymore. Collar undone. He looked like money, old money, the kind that didn't need to prove anything. But she'd seen the signatures on the contract. She knew what he'd paid for her.
"You're not drinking," he said without turning around.
"I don't drink blood."
"It's whiskey."
She didn't answer. He turned then, glass in hand, and his eyes—god, those eyes—were still that unnatural shade of pale gray, almost silver in the dim light. Vampire eyes. She'd seen them before, at council functions, but never this close. Never locked on her like she was something he'd already decided about.
"You should sit," Lucas said. "This part's usually easier if you're not standing."
Her stomach dropped. Right. The binding. The ceremony was legal, but it wasn't done. Blood vow needed blood consummation. One bite. That's what the contract said. One bite to seal the marriage, let the magic recognize her as his.
"I'd rather stand," Vivian said.
He sighed, set the glass down. "Suit yourself."
He crossed the space between them in two steps. Fast. Not human fast. She flinched and hated herself for it. He stopped just short of touching her, close enough that she could smell him—cedar, smoke, something metallic underneath. Blood. Always blood with them.
"Left or right?" he asked.
She blinked. "What?"
"Your neck. Do you have a preference?"
Oh god. This was actually happening. Her pulse kicked up and she knew he could hear it, could probably feel it in the air between them. Vampires could do that. Sense heartbeats like dinner bells.
"Left," she said, because she had to say something.
He moved behind her. His hand came up, cold fingers brushing her hair aside, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep still. She would not shake. She would not give him that.
"It'll hurt," he said quietly. "But only for a second."
"Just do it."
His mouth touched her throat. She felt the scrape of fangs, the pressure building, and then—
"Wait," she said.
He stopped. Pulled back an inch. "Problem?"
Her mind was racing. This was it. After this, she'd be bound to him, blood to blood, and there'd be no walking away. But she needed to be here. Needed access to his world, his records, his contacts. The people who'd killed her mother. Her brother.
"I need to know something first," Vivian said.
Silence. Then: "You're stalling."
"I'm asking."
He stepped around to face her again, arms crossed. "Ask."
She met his eyes. "Three years ago. The Ashcroft estate massacre. Were you involved?"
Something flickered across his expression. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. It was gone too fast to read.
"Why would you think that?" he asked.
Not a denial. She filed that away.
"Because my father sold me to you," Vivian said. "And my father's a coward who only deals with people who already have leverage. So either you were involved, or you know who was. Which is it?"
Lucas stared at her for a long moment. The room was too quiet. She could hear her own heartbeat now, loud and stupid in her ears.
"Your brother," he said finally. "His name was Daniel."
The floor dropped out from under her. She took a step back, hit the wall. "How do you know that?"
"I know a lot of things."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the one you're getting."
Rage flared hot and bright in her chest. She shoved off the wall, got right up in his face. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to say his name and then—"
His hand caught her wrist. Fast. Gentle, but immovable. "Careful."
"Or what?" She was breathing hard now, too hard. "You'll kill me too? Add me to the list?"
"I didn't kill your brother," Lucas said.
The words hung there. She searched his face, looking for the lie, but his expression was unreadable. Vampires were good at that. Centuries of practice.
"But you know who did," she said.
He let go of her wrist. Stepped back. "We're done talking."
"No. We're not."
"Yes," he said, and there was an edge in his voice now, something cold and final. "We are. You want answers? Fine. Stay alive long enough to earn them. But right now, we finish the binding, or this marriage is void and your father's debt comes due in full. Your choice."
She wanted to scream. Wanted to claw that calm expression off his face. But he was right. She knew he was right. If the binding didn't happen tonight, the contract collapsed. Her father would be ruined. And she'd lose her only way into the vampire council's inner circle.
"Fine," Vivian said. "Do it."
Lucas moved behind her again. No warning this time. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against him, and his mouth found her throat before she could tense up.
The bite was sharp and bright and wrong. Pain lanced down her spine and her knees buckled, but he held her up, one hand splayed across her stomach. She felt the pull as he drank, felt something inside her shift and latch onto him like a hook sinking deep.
Then it was over. He let go. She stumbled forward, hand flying to her neck. It came away wet. Red.
"Bathroom's through there," Lucas said, nodding toward a door on the left. His voice was rougher now. "Clean up. I'll have someone bring you something to wear."
She turned to look at him. There was blood on his mouth. Her blood. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, not looking at her.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
He was already halfway to the door. "My study. Don't wait up."
And then he was gone.
Vivian stood there, shaking, one hand still pressed to the bite on her neck. The bond hummed under her skin, foreign and invasive, like something alive. She could feel him on the other side of it. Distant, but there.
She waited five minutes. Then ten. When she was sure he wasn't coming back, she crossed to the bedroom door and cracked it open.
Empty hallway. Low lights. She knew the layout from the contract files—study was two floors down, west wing. If she was fast, if she was quiet...
She slipped out of the room. Barefoot. The marble was cold under her feet. She took the servants' staircase, the one the maids had used earlier, and found the west wing by following the smell of old paper and tobacco.
The study door was cracked. Light spilled out into the hallway. She pressed herself against the wall, peered through the gap.
Lucas stood at his desk, back to the door, flipping through a file folder. The desk was covered in papers, maps, legal documents. And there, in the corner, half-hidden under a stack of letters—
A land deed. Old parchment. Ashcroft family crest in the corner, red wax seal broken.
Her heart stopped.
She pushed the door open wider, just enough to see. More deeds. Three, four, maybe more. All Ashcroft property. All signed over to Lucas Croft, dated three years ago. The month her mother and brother died.
And at the bottom of the stack, a contract. Handwritten. Two signatures.
Hers was too far away to read. But the other one—
Lucas Croft.
Her hands started shaking. She backed away from the door, pulse hammering, the bond under her skin suddenly too tight, too close. He'd lied. He said he didn't kill Daniel. But he'd been there. He'd taken their land. He'd signed something the same month her family burned.
She turned to run—
And slammed straight into a body.
Hands caught her shoulders. She looked up.
Lucas.
He stared down at her, eyes cold. "You should be in bed."
"I was—"
"You were snooping."
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The bond twisted, sharp and ugly, and she realized he'd felt her. Felt her in the hallway. Known she was there the whole time.
"Let me go," she said.
"No." His grip tightened. Not painful. But not gentle either. "We need to talk."
"I saw the deeds," Vivian said. "I saw your name. You took our land. The month they died. You—"
"I did," Lucas said.
The confirmation hit like a slap. She tried to pull away but he held her still, his face unreadable.
"I took the land," he said slowly. "But I didn't kill your family. And if you're smart, you'll stop looking for whoever did. Because the people who wanted the Ashcrofts gone are still in power. And they don't leave witnesses."
"Then why did you marry me?" she demanded.
His jaw tightened. For the first time, she saw something crack in that perfect control. Anger. Fear. She couldn't tell.
"Because," Lucas said quietly, "you weren't supposed to survive either."