章 4: The Honeymoon
The night seemed to stretch on forever as Asher remained in a daze, his thoughts swirling in a fog of confusion, anger, and an undercurrent of disgust. He could still feel the phantom sensation of the Judge's fangs sinking into his neck, the memory of her dominance, her power, eating away at him like a sickness that he couldn't shake. The cheers of the crowd had long since faded, but their hollow echoes lingered in his mind.
As the ball continued around him, Asher could hardly register anything—his family's concerned glances, the distant chatter, the laughter, all blending into a dull roar. He was like a puppet, his body moving on its own, dragged along by invisible strings. The weight of the bond that now tethered him to the Judge pressed heavily on him, and he couldn't focus long enough to even speak properly to his family, let alone try to explain himself.
Then, just as the night seemed to blur beyond recognition, he felt a sharp tug on his arm, a sudden, forceful pull that brought him to his feet.
A vampire guard, silent and unyielding, gripped him tightly. Asher didn't resist; there was no point. He had already seen enough of the Evergland clan's power to know that trying to fight back would be futile. His limbs felt heavy, like lead, and his head swam as he was guided away from the ballroom, through the lavish halls, and down a series of cold, stone corridors.
His family's worried voices reached his ears, but they were muffled by the distance, by the haze of the bond that now tugged at him like an invisible leash.
"Asher! No! Where are you going?!"
His mother's voice, full of desperation, pierced the fog. He wanted to turn, to call out to them, but he couldn't. He couldn't even form the words. The Judge's power was suffocating, keeping him silent, unable to act.
The guard's grip was unrelenting as they pushed him deeper into the estate, past the throngs of people, down darker corridors, where the faint glow of candles illuminated the way. The temperature seemed to drop with every step they took, the air heavy with an unsettling stillness.
Finally, they arrived at a dimly lit room, the flickering candles casting long, trembling shadows on the walls. The guard shoved Asher inside without a word, and the door slammed shut behind him with an echoing thud.
The room was sparsely furnished—just a bed draped in dark silks, a small table, and a few chairs. But none of it mattered to Asher. He barely registered it all. His mind was a storm of thoughts, too wild to tame.
He stumbled forward, his legs unsteady, and finally collapsed into the nearest chair, his hands gripping the arms like he might tear them off if it meant giving himself something to hold on to. He closed his eyes, trying to push the constant pull of the bond out of his mind, but it was no use. The Judge's presence was everywhere, like an invisible thread weaving through his thoughts, pulling him closer to her with every breath.
Then, a soft sound broke the silence.
The door creaked open again.
Asher's head jerked up instinctively, though he didn't have the energy to stand. The Judge entered, her presence filling the room like an oppressive shadow. She closed the door behind her with a deliberate, slow motion, sealing him in with her.
Her eyes, gleaming with satisfaction and dark amusement, met his. She looked almost predatory, the sharpness of her gaze sending a chill down his spine.
"You didn't think I'd just let you slip away, did you?" she asked, her voice smooth as silk, a playful edge to it that made his stomach twist. "You belong to me now, Asher. You can't hide from me. Not anymore."
She stepped closer, the sound of her heels clicking softly on the stone floor, like the slow beat of a drum marking his fate. Asher's pulse quickened, but he didn't rise from his seat. His defiance was all he had left.
"You may have sealed the bond, but you can't break me," he spat, though the words came out more ragged than he intended.
The Judge stopped just in front of him, her expression unreadable, her gaze locked onto him with terrifying intensity. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the tension thick in the air. Asher could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat a reminder of how utterly powerless he was now. She smiled then, a cruel, knowing smile that sent a wave of coldness through his body.
"I don't need to break you, Asher. Not yet. You're already mine. All I need is for you to accept it." Her hand reached out, fingertips brushing against his jaw, gently tilting his head back to meet her eyes. "This bond, this connection, it's not just physical. It's everything. Your thoughts, your desires, your very soul—they belong to me now. There's no escape."
His throat tightened, and he fought to push back the rising panic. He refused to let her see how deeply her words cut into him. Instead, he turned his face away from her hand, his voice low but laced with hatred.
"I'll never accept it."
She chuckled softly, almost affectionately, as though his resistance was nothing more than an amusing game to her.
"You will. Eventually."
Without another word, the Judge turned and moved toward the center of the room, as though making herself at home. Asher watched her, his heart heavy with the weight of what had happened. He was trapped in a web of power and control that had only just begun to tighten around him.
She reached the small table and picked up a goblet filled with dark, crimson liquid, her eyes never leaving him. Asher could feel his pulse race at the sight of it. Blood.
Her voice rang out, sharp and commanding, as she looked at him with an almost mocking smile.
"Drink, Asher. It's the only way to complete the bond. You don't have a choice."
He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up her hand, silencing him with a single, deliberate gesture.
"I'll make it easier for you," she purred. "Once you drink, you'll finally understand. What we are, what we've always been. No more running. No more resistance. You belong to me. And when you drink from this, you'll know it too."
Her gaze darkened with something possessive, something final, and Asher knew—deep in his gut—that this was only the beginning. He was bound, more than just in body, more than just by blood. He was tied to her, and there was nothing he could do to break free. Asher stared at the floor beneath him for a long moment, his mind racing, before he finally looked back up at her, a sharp glare in his eyes. Yes, he was bonded to her, but that didn't mean he had to bow to her will. Their connection was a double-edged sword. He was bound to her, but she couldn't kill him. Not unless they both wanted to. They were stuck with each other, whether they liked it or not.
Without a word, he reached out and slapped the goblet of blood out of her hands. It crashed to the floor, blood splattering across the marble with a sickening sound. For a brief, unnerving moment, there was nothing—no noise, no movement. The room seemed to hold its breath.
Asher's pulse hammered in his throat as he watched the judge, who stood frozen in place, her expression unreadable. But even if her face remained calm, Asher could feel the seething anger emanating from her—he didn't need to see it to know it was there. That, too, was part of the bond.
Seconds stretched into minutes in the suffocating silence. The tension between them was so thick that it felt like it could snap at any moment. Finally, the judge moved, and in one swift motion, she reached out, her hand closing around his throat with a strength that sent a shock of panic through his chest.
Asher gasped, his legs instinctively parting as her knee pressed between his thighs, pinning him in place. Her grip tightened, cutting off his air, but he didn't fight it. His hand found its way to her forearm, but he didn't try to pry her fingers from his neck. Instead, his brows furrowed in confusion, an unexpected sensation crawling up his spine.
His heart pounded, but it wasn't fear. No, this was something different. Something foreign. The bond between them was alive in that moment, thrumming through his veins. It was... strange. Too strange. He couldn't understand it. Was this power from the bond? Was it affecting him in ways he hadn't expected?
The judge seemed to notice his confusion. Her eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear as she whispered, a dark amusement in her voice.
"Oh?" she purred, her laughter soft but laced with something dangerous. "Wow... and you called me crazy."
She leaned even closer, her lips brushing his ear. Asher's breath hitched, and he couldn't suppress the chill that ran down his spine. Before he could process what was happening, she released him, her grip vanishing as quickly as it had come.
Asher collapsed forward, coughing violently, his hands instinctively gripping his own neck as he gasped for air. His throat burned, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the confusion that clouded his mind. He wasn't sure what had just happened—why her touch had affected him the way it did.
But one thing was clear: it had everything to do with the bond. It had to.
The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, the only sound in the room the harshness of Asher's breathing. His heart was still racing, his pulse pounding in his ears as he tried to process what had just happened.
Then, finally, the judge spoke, her voice softer now, almost... inviting. She knelt down in front of him, removing her mask once again, her eyes glinting with something dangerous—and yet, there was a strange sincerity to her gaze.
"Listen, Asher," she said, her voice low but unmistakably warm, "I like you. I really do. You're more entertaining than anyone I've met in a long time." Her words, unexpected and almost... gentle, caught him off guard. "I don't want our relationship to be like this. I don't want to hurt you. I won't do something like that again... unless, of course, you ask for it." She leaned in closer, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "Then I'd be more than happy to oblige."
Asher's eyes narrowed. He didn't know if she was being sincere or if this was just another part of her game, another way to manipulate him. But her tone, the way her fingers rested on the floor beside her, told a different story. There was something almost apologetic there. Something... human. He hated how it made him feel.
Despite her past actions, there was something in her demeanor now that made her seem almost vulnerable. The judge apologized—at least, in her own twisted way—and that was a first.
She tilted her head, as if studying him, before speaking again, her voice softening even further.
"Like it or not, you're a part of our world now. Our 'game'." She gave him a small smile, her red eyes still intense, still predatory. "As my bonded partner, I'm not just going to throw you to the wolves. I'll protect you. I'll be there for you."
Her words hit him harder than he expected. He could feel the weight of them, and it made something inside him tighten in a mix of wariness and reluctant acknowledgment. The bond was real, undeniable, and now he had to face the consequences of it.
Her hand reached up, gently resting on his thigh, and he stiffened. His body tensed instinctively, but he didn't pull away. She was careful, almost deliberate, in the way she touched him—her fingers warm against his skin. It was a strange sensation, that touch, not quite comforting but not entirely threatening either.
"I'm also willing to do things for you," she continued, her voice soft yet still with that dangerous edge. "I can give you anything you wish for... except freedom from me." Her bright red eyes watched him carefully, assessing his every reaction.
Asher's mind raced, caught between distrust and the undeniable truth that he was stuck here, bound to her, whether he liked it or not. He didn't want to trust her. He couldn't trust her. She was a vampire, a creature of darkness, bound by rules he could barely understand. But in the silence that followed, as his gaze met hers, he couldn't ignore the nagging thought at the back of his mind. Could he really keep fighting this? Could he keep being this stubborn when there was so little left for him to do?
His initial plan had been to manipulate her, to use his wits and cunning to escape. But that plan had gone completely off course when they were bonded—married, even—and now... now he didn't know what to do.
"Anything?" His voice was slow, guarded, as he slowly began to sit up in the chair. His eyes flicked down to her hand on his thigh, and then back to her face, the primal hunger still burning in her gaze. It unsettled him, and yet it also made him question—what exactly was she offering?
"Anything." The judge's smile widened, but there was something more to it now—a kind of amusement, even satisfaction. "But of course... the favors won't be completely free. You'll have to pay." She leaned in a little closer, her breath warm against his skin. "But don't worry. The payment won't harm you or your family. Not unless you want it to." Her smile turned devious, and the glint in her eyes became sharper, more dangerous.
Asher's stomach twisted. He hated the idea of owing her anything, of being tied to her in any way, but the reality of his situation was settling in like a weight he couldn't shake. And, deep down, he knew this wasn't a choice he could easily escape from.
Asher sat in the dimly lit room, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the stone walls, and he felt as though he was trapped in the center of some dark web, with every thread tightening around him. The judge's words—so calm, so inviting—cut through his defenses like a blade. He hated her. He had to hate her. She was everything he despised about this world, this monstrous vampire society that had stolen his sister's future. And yet, the way she spoke to him now, with an unexpected softness, made him feel something else entirely—something dangerously close to confusion.
He swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing, trying to push away the nagging doubt creeping into his chest. She had offered him anything. Anything. The idea of taking advantage of that felt... wrong, but the temptation was undeniable. And her final words—about payment—kept echoing in his mind, sending a shiver of dread down his spine. What kind of price would he have to pay? What was her game? What was she really after?
For a long moment, he didn't respond. He just stared at her, as if trying to decipher the meaning behind her cryptic words, her seductive, dangerous smile. She had made herself vulnerable—at least, that's what it felt like. She had shown him a side of herself that was almost... human. And for a brief second, he thought he saw something more than just a predator in her eyes. But then he reminded himself—he couldn't afford to forget who she was.
"You think I'd trust you, after everything?" His voice was rough, his throat tight with the weight of his emotions. "After what you've done?"
The judge didn't flinch at his harsh tone. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "No, of course not. Trust takes time. But I'm not asking for your trust, Asher." Her fingers tightened just slightly on his thigh, a gesture that felt far too possessive, but he couldn't pull away. Her touch seemed to root him in place, as though she had some hold on him he couldn't quite understand. "I'm offering you a choice."
His lips parted, but he didn't say anything immediately. The words felt like a trap, like the very air in the room was thickening, suffocating him. There was something in her tone—something insidious—that made him feel like he was standing at the edge of a precipice, staring down into an abyss.
"What choice?" His voice was bitter. He didn't want to admit it, but the thought of power, of a way to control the situation, even for a brief moment, made the anger inside him flare hotter.
The judge's smile widened at his tone, as though she could sense his inner turmoil. She lowered her hand slowly, trailing her fingers over the fabric of his trousers in a motion that was far too casual, far too intimate. "The choice is simple, Asher. You can fight me every step of the way. You can resist, you can hate me, and I will let you. But I won't make it easy for you. The game will get more... difficult for you, the longer you resist." She leaned in closer, her lips brushing the edge of his ear as she whispered, "Or you can accept the reality of our bond, accept the fact that we are bound together, and make the best of it."
He stiffened, every fiber of his being screaming at him to stand up, to fight back. But the truth was, he had no idea how to fight someone like her. He was trapped. And she knew it. She knew exactly how to play him.
She straightened up and gave him a more genuine smile now—still dangerous, but lacking the mocking tone she had used earlier. "I'm not asking for your soul, Asher. I'm asking you to stop fighting and let me take care of the rest. I'll protect you. I'll shield you from the worst of what this world has to offer. All you have to do is accept the terms." Her voice softened, almost coaxing now. "I know you hate this. I know you want to protect your family. But this... this is the way forward. For you. For your sister. For all of you."
Asher felt a cold chill run down his spine. She had hit the mark. His family. His sister. He thought about her, standing at the altar, bound to that prince. She would be a pawn in this deadly game. A pawn, just like him.
But there was something else, something more urgent in his chest. The bond.
The Judge was right—he couldn't escape it. The bond was real. And no matter how much he hated it, it was a part of him now, a part that he couldn't cut away. He would be tethered to her forever, bound by blood and power.
She had just given him a choice. And as much as it sickened him, there was no avoiding the reality that his only option was to *play along*. He had to survive. For his family's sake, for his sister's sake.
Slowly, painfully, Asher met her gaze. His eyes, burning with contempt, bore into hers. "What exactly do you expect from me?" he asked, his voice low and strained.
The judge's smile didn't fade. If anything, it grew even more confident, more satisfied. "I expect nothing from you, Asher. Not yet." She leaned back slightly, her eyes gleaming. "But in time... I expect you to join me in the game. And once you do... things will get much easier for you."
She gave him a look that spoke of secrets and power, of ancient rules that she was only beginning to share with him. "Until then, you'll remain here. With me. You'll learn the rules, and when the time comes, you'll know what to do."
The weight of her words sank into him, heavier than he wanted to admit. The judge, with all her cryptic promises, was pulling him deeper into her web. There was no escape now.
And as she reached forward again, her fingers brushing his jaw with a soft, almost affectionate motion, Asher felt the true extent of what he had become. A prisoner.
But he wouldn't give in easily. He couldn't. Even as the judge's cold touch pressed against his skin, a small part of him held onto that tiny spark of defiance. Even if it was all he had left.
But he didn't say it aloud. Not yet.
Not until he understood exactly what he was dealing with.
Asher's fingers hesitated for a moment, then he reached up slowly, carefully, his hand hovering near her wrist. If she wanted to play, he'd play along. But she wouldn't be the only one to call the shots. His fingers wrapped loosely around her wrist, the touch almost gentle, as though testing her. When she didn't pull away, he slid his hand upward, the weight of his movements deliberate, his touch shifting to rest over hers.
He was careful—measured. Of course, he still had his pride, but he knew how to play the role of a "loyal but spoiled dog" when it suited him. He could play her game, just as she was playing his. A subtle power struggle danced between them, and he wasn't about to let her win so easily.
He nuzzled his face into her hand, watching her closely. Her usually composed demeanor faltered for a second—her eyes widened in surprise, a fleeting expression of shock that was almost... satisfying.
"So… you'll take care of me?" His voice softened, the question lighter than he intended, but he couldn't resist. He leaned in closer, watching her carefully as he spoke, testing the waters to see if she would slip.
She didn't respond immediately, her gaze shifting as if weighing something unseen. Then, with a slow nod, she rose from her seat and positioned herself on his lap. The movement was deliberate, careful—as though any sudden motion might scare him away. It felt calculated, yet delicate.
"Yes..." she whispered, the word soft, almost intimate. Her voice was a contrast to the harshness of her actions, but there was an unmistakable certainty in her tone. "I'll take care of you..."
Her hands moved from his chest, gliding down to his neck, then slipping through his hair. Her nails grazed his scalp in a motion that was initially sharp, unsettling. Asher tensed, the memory of her nails slicing through flesh flashing across his mind. But as her fingers massaged his scalp, the tension in his body began to loosen. It felt... good. Too good.
His eyes fluttered closed, despite himself. The sensation was addicting, and for a moment, he forgot to guard himself. He had to remind himself this wasn't real. She was the enemy. Her touch, no matter how soothing, was just another form of manipulation.
But as she settled fully into his lap, the heat of her body pressing against him, the line between pretense and reality blurred. The connection between them was undeniable, the weight of their bond making everything feel more intense. He forced himself to focus—he didn't like this.
He couldn't afford to forget what she was.
Her nails continued to massage his scalp, a rhythm that slowly lulled him into a strange, unsettling calm. The tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his chest, began to ebb away. Even as his mind screamed at him to pull back, to resist, his body betrayed him, sinking further into the moment.
It wasn't just that she was a high-ranking noble, a vampire of unimaginable power—it was what she represented. She claimed him publicly, marking him in front of an entire room of witnesses, sinking her fangs deep into his neck. He couldn't forget that. He couldn't forget how brutal it had been, how helpless he had felt.
Yet here she was, this same woman, treating him like some kind of prize to be pampered. The contradiction gnawed at him. Every part of him resisted it, but the small part that craved her touch—the part of him that didn't want to be alone in this twisted world they now shared—was slowly starting to surface.
His eyes snapped open again, his gaze fixing on hers. She was watching him closely, her lips curling into that subtle, almost amused smile that made his skin crawl. It was the same smile she'd worn when she'd marked him. The same smile that told him she knew exactly what was happening.
She enjoyed this, he realized. She enjoyed the control she had over him, how easily she could draw him in, how easily she could make him forget.
But he wasn't going to let it happen. He wouldn't.
"I don't need you to take care of me," he muttered, his voice rough, though the words felt hollow even to him. He was still fighting it, trying to maintain some shred of his old resolve, but it was harder than he had ever imagined. He had to keep reminding himself: This wasn't real. She wasn't real.
She cocked her head slightly, as though she could read his thoughts. Her fingers stilled for a moment in his hair, and then, almost too gently, she leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear.
"Yes, you do," she whispered. The sound of her voice, soft and knowing, made his heart race in a way he didn't want to admit.
For a moment, he almost believed her.
The air between them thickened, charged with an intensity that sent Asher's pulse into overdrive. His mind screamed at him to break free, to throw her off, to resist the dangerous allure of her touch. But every instinct in his body betrayed him. Her presence, her proximity, was intoxicating. The feeling of her hands on him—gentle, possessive—was a constant reminder of the power she held over him. And yet, it was more than just power. It was control, pure and simple.
The whisper of her words lingered in the air, the weight of them pressing down on him like a promise, like a truth he didn't want to face.
"Yes, you do…"
Asher's breath hitched. The softness of her voice, that undeniable certainty—it sent a tremor through him. His hands clenched at his sides, the nails biting into his palms as he fought to stay focused. This was a game to her. A twisted, manipulative game. And he wasn't going to lose.
His mind was spinning, the lines between reality and his growing obsession blurring. He had to stay sharp, to outplay her. He couldn't let her win. Not again.
But as her hands slipped from his scalp to his jaw, tilting his face upward to meet hers, he felt something stir inside him—something dark, something dangerous. Her red eyes locked onto his with a predatory glint, and for the briefest of moments, Asher wondered if this was it. If this was where he lost himself.
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