Chapter 89
The room sat in heavy silence.
Alaric trailed his fingers across the long table again, feeling every speck of dust gather beneath his nails. The table hadn't been there before—it was too new. His curiosity curled into something murderous the longer he stayed. He smiled ,he would find out who dared to change their house without permission.
And then he'd gut them for it.
Behind him, Eric lingered in the doorway, eyes burning with that dull, hungry red. Alaric didn't need to look to know they were fixed on him.
He smirked and turned his head just enough to let the glow catch his eye. "Are you ready to talk pet?"
Eric didn't respond right away. Instead, he crossed the threshold.
Alaric slid up onto the table without breaking eye contact, legs spread in that lazy, elegance. His shirt now hung open, exposing the marble lines of his chest and abdomen. The candlelight—faint and flickering from the wall sconces—drew soft shadows in the grooves of his body.
He tilted his head, mocking. "You're practically salivating."
Eric's lips twitched at the corners,amused. He pulled out a chair with a low scrape of wood against stone, dragging it right in front of the vampire. Then he sat, legs wide, taking Alaric's calves and placing them over his lap with surprising tenderness.
His hands rested on Alaric's legs, stroking the pale skin absently—almost reverently.
Alaric raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The black veins had begun to creep up Eric's throat, inching toward his face, but they stopped—arrested by sheer force of will.
"Look at you," Alaric murmured. "Almost civilized."
Eric's fingers paused. "I've had practice."
Eric's fingers resumed their slow path along his shin. "You don't know everything about me," he said quietly.
"You've never looked at me long enough to see, have you?" Eric's voice had dropped to a whisper now. "You took one look, saw what you wanted—what you could use—and stopped there."
Alaric narrowed his eyes.
Eric looked down, his thumbs pressing lightly into the sides of Alaric's leg, grounding himself.
"I'm not who you think I am. I never was."
Alaric's gaze sharpened. The teasing smile was gone now.
"I'm listening," he said.
And for once, there was no threat in his tone.
Just curiosity. And maybe, buried deep beneath the regal madness, a flicker of something resembling concern.
Eric's hands stilled again, and this time they didn't move.
He sat back slightly, his gaze fixed on Alaric's exposed chest but clearly seeing something far beyond it.
"There's something I need to tell you," he said, voice rough. "Since the beginning... I've felt something growing inside me. It was always there, curled up like a seed in the dark."
Alaric's eyes didn't leave his face. He didn't blink.
Eric swallowed, his thumbs beginning to trace small circles again, like he needed the contact to ground him.
"It started to wake up the first time I knew you were in danger," he said. "Like it could smell your pain. Like it was mine too."
Alaric's expression remained unreadable.
"I didn't understand it at first. Thought I was losing my mind. But it wasn't madness." Eric's eyes flickered, red deepening. "It was a presence. Massive. Hungry but it felt like me."
He looked down at his hands, still on Alaric's legs, and for a moment seemed afraid of them.
"A monster," he whispered. "That's what it feels like. That's what it is. Sometimes... it takes over. Sometimes I let it."
The silence stretched, heavy with expectation. Still, Alaric said nothing. He just watched.
Eric lifted his eyes again, haunted. "It wants you, Alaric. Desperately. Not just to touch or taste or possess you. It craves you like air, like blood. It says you belong to it to us."
Alaric's lips parted slightly, but he didn't speak.
Eric leaned forward now, the glow in his eyes intensifying. "And it helped us escape. That night. From that cursed prison. You remember?"
A faint nod from Alaric.
Eric's voice turned sharp—vicious. "When I saw what they did to you, something inside me broke. That thing... it roared. It screamed. It demanded blood."
His grip on Alaric's legs tightened—enough to bruise. But there was no fear in Alaric's face.
"Those filthy bastards," Eric hissed. "They should've never touched you. Never laid a hand on you. I wanted to peel their skin off while they begged."
His voice trembled at the edge of rage. "You were broken and bleeding. And all I could think was, kill them. Burn them. Make them suffer for even thinking they could defile you."
He breathed in sharply, chest rising and falling with something barely contained.
Alaric stared at him.
He leaned back in the chair, eyes glinting red beneath the candlelight. "There's more," he whispered, almost reverently. "The monster… it's not just rage. It's power. Real power. And it's mine."
Alaric's gaze sharpened slightly, but he still didn't speak.
Eric tilted his head, as though listening to something no one else could hear. " I thought it was your influence. I thought maybe it was the blood or the bond." He chuckled under his breath, a dry, hollow sound. "But it wasn't you. Not really. It was me."
He looked up again, something feral glinting in his smile. "When I killed the witch… I felt her magic pour into me. Like she was meant to die by my hand. Her screams didn't fade—they echoed, vibrating under my skin. Her magic twisted in my veins, clawed for freedom, but I devoured it."
His voice dipped, reverent and almost trembling with ecstasy. "And now it's mine. All of it. Her wards, her curses, her light—it's all in my blood."
The corners of his mouth twitched into something too wide, too strained to be fully sane.
"I didn't even try to control it at first. I thought it would break me. But it loved me. Bent to me like it had been waiting. I reached for more—and it gave."
Eric's breathing quickened, the madness creeping into the edges of his tone. "Do you know what it feels like to drain someone of everything they are? To make their magic scream as it changes shape in your hands? It's beautiful. It's mine."
He leaned in again, his voice barely a breath. "And I want more. I need more."
Alaric finally moved—just slightly. One hand braced behind him, the other curling slowly over the edge of the table. But he still didn't interrupt. His gaze was sharp now, calculating—but there was something else behind his eyes.
Recognition.
Eric's expression softened for the briefest second, but the madness never left. "I thought it was about you," he said. "But it isn't, not entirely. You woke it up. You gave it shape. But I am the one who will finish it."
He smiled, too calm now. "No one will touch you again, Alaric. I'll make sure of it. Because I'm not weak anymore."
Then, quieter, darker:
"And anyone who tries to take you from me… I'll tear the magic from their bones and drink it."
Eric's eyes flickered, the rush of words finally slowing as something quiet, almost mournful, slipped through the cracks.
"I have so much power," he admitted, voice low. "More than I ever thought possible. But I… I don't know how to control all of it yet. It slips through my fingers. Like a tide I can't hold back."
His hands fell to his lap, fingers twitching slightly.
"It hurts," he whispered. "Not knowing. Not being enough."
He paused, gaze turning distant.
There was more he could say. Should say. About the voice in his head. The one that called itself Killian. The one that woke up inside him with that horrible, intimate certainty.
The one the house seemed to recognize.
The walls didn't creak when he entered. The air didn't resist him. In fact, it welcomed him, as though he belonged—as though he always had. Doors unlocked. Shadows shifted. He hadn't dared tell Alaric that part.
Because deep in his marrow, past the blood and borrowed magic, he felt the truth like a curse:
If I tell him about Killian, he'll leave me.
Not with anger. Not with disgust.
But with that cold indifference Alaric wore like armor.
Eric couldn't bear it.
So he said nothing.
Alaric's voice finally cut through the silence.
"Is that how you broke the barrier?"
Eric blinked, startled—then nodded, slow and cautious. "Yes. I think so. It shouldn't have worked, but… it did."
Alaric stood. He stepped off the table and began to circle him, slow as a cat studying its prey.
Eric didn't flinch. He watched him like a worshipper at an altar.
Alaric stopped behind the chair, his fingers brushing over the carved wood as he leaned in.
"Tell me something," he said softly. "With all that power…"
His fingers ghosted across Eric's exposed nape, his own iron chain cool and heavy against his skin.
"…can you take this off?"
Eric froze.
Then his head turned slowly to meet Alaric's gaze.
"You want me to?" he asked, disbelieving.
Alaric's lips curved—not in a warm smile "You've proven you can be useful, pet. That counts for something."
A spark of joy, dark and furious, lit in Eric's chest.
He nodded, too quickly, unable to hide the sudden rush of belonging. Alaric wasn't afraid. He didn't recoil. He wanted Eric close. Wanted his power.
Not as a shield—but as a weapon.
Eric's voice cracked with barely-contained joy. "Yes. I can try. I will."
Alaric stepped around to face him again, eyes gleaming like twin daggers in the low light.
"Good," he murmured.
And for the first time since they'd begun this twisted dance, he reached out and placed his hand over Eric's chest—over the pulsing thrum of stolen magic beneath his skin.
The monster inside Eric stirred, pleased.
Alaric's smile bloomed slow and wicked—soft, almost tender, but it didn't reach his eyes.
He stepped closer, one leg sliding between Eric's knees.
Alaric lowered himself into Eric's lap.
Eric's breath caught. His hands fluttered, unsure where to rest until Alaric took them and guided them to his waist.
"I want to see," Alaric whispered, lips brushing the shell of Eric's ear. "Do it now."
Eric trembled—but with excitement, not fear.
He didn't see the red flags. Didn't want to. Not when Alaric was pressed against him, voice like a lullaby soaked in poison.
Alaric hummed—a soft tune.
Eric closed his eyes.
"I can feel it," he whispered. "The chain… it doesn't want to stay. It's screaming against me."
"Then take it," Alaric purred. "Rip it away. Let me see what you are, pet."
Eric's hands lifted, hovering just beneath the cold iron that circled Alaric's throat like a shackle.
The power inside him twisted eagerly. Hungry. It rose with a roar that wasn't a sound, but a sensation—a pulse in his blood, a pressure in his skull.
Something behind his eyes blinked awake.
His voice came out rough. "It's reacting to me."
Alaric didn't move, just let his fingers trace the side of Eric's throat like he was playing a note on an instrument.
"Then don't make it wait."
Eric opened his eyes—and they glowed now, faint and sickly gold. A wrongness curled behind his irises like smoke caught in a jar.
The monster was stirring. And Eric, so overwhelmed by Alaric's approval, didn't care.
Didn't notice.
Didn't want to notice.
He placed his palms on either side of the chain.
And began to pull.