The golden light was warm, then too bright, too fast. It wasn't like flying. It was like being torn apart and stitched back together all at once. Aisling felt like a thread pulled taut, vibrating with a strange, deep hum that resonated with the word… Zurakai. The world spun, colours blurring into a dizzying, sickening mess.
Wheee! The sound was a drunk, startled squeal that might have come from her, or maybe the very air itself. She felt arms around her, strong and solid, but they felt… wrong. Like they were too big, moving too fast through the swirling chaos. She flailed, trying to find her feet.
Spider legs? The hazy thought surfaced. Had the sparkly spider grown extra legs? Or was this just… the afterlife? Was the afterlife made of dizzying colours and rude kidnappers?
Suddenly, the spinning stopped. Cold, solid impact. Whump! Aisling slammed back against something hard and unyielding. Air rushed from her lungs. She blinked, trying to clear the dizzying fog. This didn't look like heaven. Or hell, for that matter. It looked… dusty. And familiar. A hallway. A dark, silent hallway.
"Let go, you overgrown coat rack!" she yelled, twisting in the arms that held her. She swung a fist, aiming for the solid shape holding her. Her knuckles connected with something hard and sharp. A jaw?
A sharp intake of breath. "Ow! Witchling!"
That voice. That infuriating, familiar voice. Kylian. Not a coat rack. Definitely not a coat rack. She pushed away, stumbling back a step, still dizzy. "You!" she accused, pointing a wobbly finger. "You kidnapper! With your spider legs and your… your marital abductions!"
Kylian, rubbing his jaw, straightened up. Even in the dim light, she could see the annoyance on his face, quickly masked by that familiar, strained composure. "Spider legs?" he repeated flatly. He looked like he'd just found a particularly offensive bug in his perfect tea.
"Yes! Spider legs!" she insisted, gesturing wildly. "And you slammed me! Against the… the afterlife wall!"
He looked around the dusty hallway. Tapestries hung dimly on the walls – her family's tapestries. Faint moonlight filtered through a tall window. This wasn't the glittering hall of Hawkrige Manor. It was… Rutherford. "Afterlife wall?" Kylian scoffed, though his voice was a little tight. "Aisling, you're home. Rutherford Manor. I transported you."
Home? This wasn't the afterlife? She squinted, trying to make sense of it. It smelled like old dust and disappointment. Yes. Definitely home. Disappointment City, population: her. She giggled. "Oh. Right. Home. Not dead. Good."
Then the full weight of her situation, amplified by the bloodwine, crashed down on her. She was here. With him. In her home. After he forced her into marriage. Tears welled up. "But you still abducted me!" she wailed, sudden, drunken misery flooding her. "You didn't even ask! Just poof! Kidnapped by the sparkly spider!"
Kylian pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked utterly, magnificently out of his depth. "I didn't 'abduct' you, Aisling. You were incapacitated. Drunk. On vampire bloodwine. In my family's highly public hall. You were about to be discovered by my highly judgmental grandfather."
"So?" she sniffled. "At least he looks like he knows how to have a bad time properly. Not like you, all charming and then wham! Spider web!" She stumbled past him, down the hallway, mumbling. "And silk bedsheets! Probably made from the souls of… of disappointed ex-wives! I bet you are! A vampire-spider hybrid! With commitment issues! And soul-silk sheets!"
He followed her, his footsteps silent on the worn carpet. "Soul-silk sheets?" His voice held a dangerous edge, but also a hint of disbelief. "Aisling, you are drunk. You're making no sense."
"I make perfect sense!" she insisted, spinning around to face him, nearly tripping over her own feet. "You lure people in with your charm, you wrap them up in your… your contract! And then you discard them! Like… like empty husks!"
She started to sway, gesturing with dramatic flourish. "The Dance of the Witch Queens!" she announced grandly, flailing her arms in what she probably thought was an enchanting manner. It looked more like a bird caught in a chimney. Her hand smacked into a small table lamp. It wobbled precariously.
Kylian moved like lightning, grabbing the lamp before it crashed. He put it down firmly, his eyes narrowed. "Stop that, Aisling. You're going to break something."
"Break something?" she repeated, tilting her head. "Like hearts? Is that what you do, Baron? Collect broken hearts like… like dusty old books?" She giggled again, a watery, broken sound. "No one's ever kidnapped me so politely before, you know. It's… it's almost sweet. In a terrifying, life-ruining sort of way."
The laughter turned into quiet sobs. She slumped against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor, the scarlet dress pooling around her. "I didn't want to hate you, you know," she whispered, the sudden raw honesty cutting through the drunken haze. Tears tracked through the dust on her cheeks. "You just make it so easy."
Something shifted in Kylian's expression. The annoyance faded, replaced by… something else. A rare flicker of vulnerability? Or just stunned silence? He crouched down beside her, his gaze fixed on her tear-streaked face. He looked… lost.
He reached out, his cool fingers gently brushing dust from her cheek. The unexpected tenderness sent a shiver through her, a strange mix of comfort and confusion.
"Don't… don't do that," she mumbled, leaning into his touch for a second before pulling away. "It's confusing."
"Confusing?" His voice was low, almost hesitant.
"Yes! You're supposed to be the bad guy! The sparkly spider! You can't just… be nice! It ruins the whole narrative!" She hiccupped. "And I hate you! Remember? Haaaate you."
He didn't reply for a moment. He just watched her, his eyes unreadable pools of blue. Then, the hard edge returned, sharper than before. He stood up abruptly, pulling her up with him. "Enough, Aisling. You need to be in bed. Before you decide to set the manor on fire or declare war on the dust bunnies."
He half-carried, half-dragged her towards her room. She stumbled along beside him, still muttering about spiders and kidnappings.
Back in the washroom at Hawkrige Manor, the air still hummed faintly with leftover power. Valaric stared at the empty space where Kylian and Aisling had just been. "He actually did it," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "He used Zurakai. Over a drunk human."
Zharayah watched him, her golden eyes blazing. The slap mark stood red on his cheek. "He used it," she said, her voice cold and sharp. "Because he's reckless. Because he's a Hawkrige man. Just like you."
Valaric flinched. "Don't," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't compare me to him. And don't act like this is my fault."
"Isn't it?" she countered, stepping closer. "You knew. You always know. And you stand by. Just like you always do. Watching the chaos, never stepping in, until it suits you." Her voice trembled with a mixture of anger and the pain he constantly inflicted. "He forced her, Valaric. Your charming, roguish brother forced that girl into marriage. And your only reaction is 'coaxed'? Is that what you tell yourself? Does that make it easier to live with what we are?"
His face contorted with rage and bitterness. "Don't you dare bring that up!" he snarled, his voice a harsh whisper. "You trapped me! You stole my freedom with your desperate little scheme! Don't you talk to me about what's right!"
"Someone has to!" Zharayah shouted, the sound raw and broken in the small room. "Someone has to call you out on it! On him! On this entire rotten family!" She stepped back, breathing hard, the fury warring with the exhaustion of fighting him again, always fighting him. "He's gone. He took her. Kylian used something ancient and dangerous because his bride got drunk. And you stand here, arguing with me about the past."
She stared at him, her eyes filled with a devastating mix of hate and the love she desperately tried to hide. "Find him, Valaric," she commanded, her voice low and trembling. "Find Kylian. Make sure he hasn't broken anything irreplaceable with his little stunt. And if he has…" She didn't finish the threat. She didn't need to. The look in her eyes was enough.
Back in her bedroom, Aisling's world finally slowed. Kylian gently laid her down on the bed. The room was dark and quiet. Safe. She curled up under the covers, the bloodwine haze starting to lift, leaving behind a dull ache in her head and a lingering sense of bewildered confusion.
Kylian stood over her for a moment. His face was shadowed, unreadable. Then, he leaned down. He brushed a stray strand of auburn hair from her face, his touch surprisingly soft. His gaze dropped to her wrist, to the silver band that bound her to him.
He lowered his head and pressed a kiss, cool and firm, to the mark of the contract on her skin. It felt like a brand. A claim.
Just as he straightened, turning to leave, a thought surfaced from the receding fog. Half-asleep, she whispered the question that had tangled with spiders in her mind.
"Do spider husbands always kiss their prey goodnight?"
He froze. His face, visible for just a second in the faint light, was blank, completely unreadable.
And then, darkness.