The door to Merrick's private dining chamber clicked softly shut behind her, the sound barely registering in Caralee's ears before she felt herself swept into his arms. His presence swallowed the space between them like a storm cloud descending upon a meadow. His lips crashed down onto hers with such fervor, such undeniable longing, that for one blissful moment she forgot herself entirely.
There were no walls between them then—no titles, no thrones, no whispered fears. Just two souls clinging to one another like drowning men to a single plank of driftwood. His kiss deepened, desperate and consuming, as though he were trying to pull the very breath from her body. If she still needed air, she might have succumbed to breathless ruin in his embrace. But they had long since crossed the boundary of mortality. No breath, no heartbeat, no human frailty remained to hinder them.
And yet— something did.
The phantom image of Donovan's hollow face seared itself into her mind, tearing through the veil of ecstasy like a jagged shard of glass. She stiffened beneath Merrick's hands. The gentle surrender of her body faltered, and the invisible fortress around her heart rose once more, swift and impenetrable.
Merrick felt it instantly. The shift was like ice water doused upon a roaring flame. His lips froze against hers, confusion rippling through him as he leaned back slightly, his crimson eyes searching hers with growing alarm. His hand lifted to brush her cheek, tender as always, but her gaze did not meet his.
The distance between them yawned wider with every heartbeat they did not have.
Not again, his mind whispered in cruel realization. Not after everything—
He had spent every moment since his return clinging to the hope that her heart still belonged to him. That perhaps the words of the head maid, spoken in nervous faith, had not been a lie—that Caralee truly had surrendered herself to him. That her love for him was real. But now— now it slipped through his fingers like ash.
She was closing herself off. And it cut him deeper than he dared admit.
Merrick swallowed the ache clawing at his chest, retreating a step as though physical distance might protect him from the spreading rot of doubt. He turned on his heel and circled the long dining table with a grace that belied the chaos seething just beneath his skin. With deliberate slowness, he reached for the goblet of bloodwine waiting at his place.
He took a slow, measured sip, his crimson gaze flicking toward her over the rim.
When he finally spoke, his voice was like silk drawn over the blade of a dagger.
"Come now, mon coeur— what weighs on your mind?"
Caralee bit down on her lower lip, the taste of anxiety bitter on her tongue. She hadn't meant to bring this here—not tonight, not when she had longed to fall into him, to let herself forget the ache gnawing at her from within. But the truth pressed against her throat, begging to be voiced.
"I—" She faltered, her words catching. Careful, Caralee. One wrong step, and you'll shatter what little trust remains.
Her mind grasped for safer footing. "I've been wondering— for some time now. How did you know to find me at the inn that night?"
The air in the room shifted. Thickened.
Merrick's jaw clenched so tightly it seemed as though his teeth might splinter. Slowly, he set the goblet down, the sound of its base meeting the polished wood echoing like a death knell in the tense silence.
"Upon returning to your— former master," he said softly, voice deceptively even, "we discovered you were missing. I was permitted to acquire some personal belongings of yours. Then you were tracked you by your scent."
A practiced lie. One he delivered with the ease of a man who had worn deception like a second skin for centuries.
But she knew better.
Her brow furrowed, the delicate lines of her face tightening with barely restrained frustration. She knew who had led him there. She had seen Donovan in the dungeon. She had fed from him. And yet, here she stood, afraid to utter the truth aloud. Afraid to expose her own betrayal.
Merrick saw it—the hesitation, the turmoil warring within her—and something inside him snapped. His lips curved into a smile so cold, so sharp, it could have slit her throat.
"Does my answer not satisfy your curiosity, ma belle?" he asked, voice dripping with venomous sweetness. "Do you not trust me?"
The accusation stung like a lash. Her throat tightened, tears burning at the edges of her vision. Still, she could not meet his gaze.
With a trembling breath, she whispered, "You're lying to me."
The air cracked.
Merrick's composure shattered like glass beneath a hammer. His face twisted into something savage, something terrible. His eyes flared crimson, burning with a fury so raw it stole the breath she no longer possessed.
"I will keep whatever secrets I please!" he roared, slamming his fists against the table with such force the goblet toppled, bloodwine spilling like fresh blood across the pristine cloth.
Caralee flinched, instinctively stepping back, heart pounding in terror. She had never seen him like this—not even on the night he first took her.
"You are mine," he hissed, stalking toward her like a predator cornering prey. "By blood, as your sire. By decree, as your king. And soon—soon—by marriage, as your husband."
He raised his hand, his power curling around her mind like a noose.
"Bow your head before your lord."
The command struck like a blow to the chest. Her knees buckled beneath her before she could resist, her body collapsing to the floor in a trembling heap. Tears streamed down her cheeks, silent and unrelenting, as she bowed her head in submission.
Merrick loomed over her, chest heaving, fists trembling at his sides.
He had sworn never to use this power against her. Sworn to honor her will. And yet here he stood, a monster in fine silk, lording over the only creature who had ever dared to touch his heart.
She was nothing but a child, shaking beneath him. A frightened, broken girl who had once trusted him. Who now looked up at him with eyes full of terror, betrayal— and hatred.
His breath hitched.
Gods, what had he done?
The weight of his actions crushed him, ice spreading through his veins. She would never forgive him for this. Any fragile hope he had of earning her love— he had crushed it beneath his heel.
"Go," he choked out, voice raw with something that sounded far too much like despair. "Go, now."
Caralee didn't wait for a second command. She scrambled to her feet, her breath hitching in sobs as she fled the room like a hunted thing. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving Merrick standing alone in the wreckage of their love.
He sank to his knees, clutching his chest as though the emptiness might swallow him whole. How could it hurt like this, unless it truly was love? Love that he had just, thrown away.