The name hung in the air like a pronouncement of doom.
"Clan Ciro?" One of the other candidates whispered. "I've never heard of them."
"You wouldn't have," Cedric said, his voice heavy. "Clan Ciro is one of the rarest bloodlines among vampires. Their ability is unique. They can see memories through blood. When they consume someone's blood, they don't just gain sustenance. They gain knowledge. They experience everything you have. Everything that person has ever known becomes accessible to them."
Kain's head snapped toward Cedric. "Are you saying this blade can read Vlad's memories?"
"Yes," Cedric confirmed. "And he can see hers. That's what's happening right now. The blade is establishing the bond by sharing memories, allowing Vlad to experience who and what she was in life. It's how Clan Ciro blades form their connection with their wielder."
"But..." Kain's voice held something close to awe. "There's never been an executioner blade from Clan Ciro before. Not in the entire history of the Order. Their bloodline is too rare. Most of them are nobility, counts or higher. They're almost impossible to kill."
"Exactly," Cedric said quietly. His eyes remained fixed on Vlad's unconscious form. "Which is why this blade being here, hidden away, is so significant. And why the fact that it chose Vlad, that it called out to him..." He trailed off, shaking his head slowly.
"This boy was destined to be an executioner. There's no other explanation. Fate itself has marked him for this path."
The assembled candidates stared down at Vlad with a mixture of jealousy, fear, and grudging respect. Even Marius had gone silent, his face pale as he looked at the crimson blade.
"How long will he be unconscious?" Kain asked.
"As long as it takes," Cedric replied. "Memory sharing through blood is not a quick process. We'll have to wait."
-----
My eyes snapped open.
I was no longer in the vault. I wasn't surrounded by stone walls, torchlight, and the assembled crowd of candidates and executioners.
Instead, I was in a bedroom.
A massive bedroom.
The space was enormous, easily the size of the entire orphanage I'd grown up in.
The ceiling soared high above, supported by elegant arches that seemed to be carved from a single piece of black stone.
Massive windows lined one wall, their glass stained deep crimson and violet, filtering the moonlight into pools of colored shadow across the floor.
The furniture was all dark wood. It looked ornate and expensive. A wardrobe that could have housed ten people.
A vanity with a mirror framed in silver. Bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, packed with leather-bound volumes.
And the bed.
The bed was massive. Easily large enough for five people, with four posts carved into the shapes of twisted trees.
Black silk sheets covered the mattress, and crimson pillows were piled at the head of the bed.
I was lying on that bed.
I tried to sit up, but my body wouldn't respond. I could move his eyes, turn his head slightly, but my limbs felt like they were made of lead. Pinned to the mattress by invisible weight.
Where am I? What is this place?
The room had a Gothic beauty to it, dark and elegant, yet vaguely threatening. It felt old. Like it had stood for centuries, maybe longer.
Then I heard footsteps.
Sift skow footsteps approaching from somewhere beyond my line of sight. The click of heels grew louder with each second.
A figure emerged from the shadows near the door.
A woman.
I was speechless.
She was stunning. Absolutely, devastatingly beautiful in a way that seemed almost unreal.
Her hair was pure white, cascading down her back in thick waves that caught the moonlight and seemed to glow. It was the same shade as my own hair, though far longer and more lustrous.
Her eyes were a piercing, crystalline blue. The exact same color as mine. They seemed to glow faintly in the dim light, fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
But it was her body that truly captured my attention.
She wore a dress of deep crimson that clung to her figure. I thought her hips would bust out of her dress. The neckline plunged dramatically, revealing the generous swell of breasts that threatened to spill free with every breath she took.
They were massive, easily rivaling Luna's in size, perhaps even larger. The fabric strained across them, the outline of her nipples clearly visible through the thin material.
Her waist was impossibly narrow, creating an exaggerated hourglass figure that flowed into wide, curved hips. The dress hugged every inch of her body, the fabric so tight it left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
I could see the subtle flex of her muscles as she walked, the way her thighs moved beneath the clinging material.
She moved gracefully. Her hips swayed with each movement, drawing his eyes downward against my own will.
When she smiled, I saw her fangs. Sharp canines that glinted in the moonlight, just visible past her full, crimson-painted lips.
She licked those lips slowly, sensually, as she approached the bed. Her tongue traced along her lower lip, then across one fang, the gesture unmistakably sexual.
"I've awaited this moment forever," she purred, her voice the same seductive tone that had been calling to me through the blade. "Do you have any idea how long I've waited, darling? Centuries. Trapped in that blade, unable to move, unable to feel, unable to touch."
She reached the edge of the bed and stopped, looking down at me with those glowing blue eyes. Her smile widened, showing more of her fangs.
"You were promised to me at birth," she continued, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "A pact made before you were born. Your father swore you would be mine when the time came. And now..." She climbed onto the bed. "Now that time has finally arrived."
I tried to move, tried to push myself up, but my body refused to obey. I was completely paralyzed, able only to watch as she crawled toward me on hands and knees like a predator approaching cornered prey.
"What—" My voice came out rough and breathless. "What are you going to do?"
She straddled me in one smooth motion, settling her weight onto my hips. I could feel the warmth of her through his clothes; I could feel every curve of her body pressing against me.
Her hands moved to my chest, fingers splaying across the fabric of my shirt. Then, without warning, she grabbed the collar and ripped it apart.
The shirt tore like paper, buttons flying in every direction. She shredded the fabric like a piece of paper, exposing my bare chest to the cool air.
"What am I going to do?" She leaned down, her breasts pressing heavily against my chest as she brought her face close to mine. Her lips hovered just inches from my own, her breath hot against my skin. "Oh, my darling..."
She kissed my chest, her lips trailing down from my collarbone toward my sternum. Her tongue followed, leaving a wet trail across my skin.
When she reached my nipple, she bit down lightly with her fangs—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to send a jolt of sensation through me.
I felt my body responding despite the paralysis. Heat pooled in my lower body, my cock hardening rapidly beneath my pants.
She had to feel it pressing against her, had to know exactly what effect she was having on me.
She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with those glowing eyes. Her smile was pure sin.
"Darling," she purred, her voice dripping with lust and dark promise, "you need to be quiet."
Her hands moved lower, fingers trailing down his stomach toward his waistband.
"It's my turn now, darling."