“How long were you going to keep pretending you weren’t awake?”
Eleanor’s voice came out sharper than she intended, but she couldn’t help it.
Dorian sat up in bed, looking completely fine. His golden eyes gleamed with amusement as he ran a hand through his dark hair.
“Long enough to see you snooping through my things.”
Eleanor stiffened.
Heat rushed to her face. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
The silence stretched between them before Dorian let out a low chuckle. “Relax, Eleanor. If I didn’t want you to see it, I wouldn’t have left it in plain sight.”
She swallowed. “So… you don’t mind?”
Dorian tilted his head, studying her. “Not at all. In fact, I was expecting you to ask questions.” He gestured to the trays of food the maids had just brought in. “But first, eat.”
Eleanor crossed her arms. “I’d rather talk.”
Dorian smirked. “I’d rather you not starve yourself. You need the food for your strength.”
She knew why they all bothered about her feeding. Eating meant being able to give them the blood they all needed.
She narrowed her eyes. “Join me, then.”
His smirk faltered, amusement flickering into something unreadable. “You know I don’t eat this food.”
“I’ve been reading,” she said, lifting her chin. “I know you don’t need it, but that doesn’t mean you can’t eat it.”
Dorian arched a brow. “So now you’re an expert on vampire physiology?”
She shrugged, trying to suppress her own smile. “Just enough to know you should eat with me.”
A slow grin spread across his lips. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re avoiding my questions.”
Dorian let out a sigh, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe her audacity. But then, to her surprise, he reached for a piece of bread. He tore off a small bite and popped it into his mouth, chewing with an exaggerated expression.
“There,” he said after swallowing. “Happy?”
Eleanor rolled her eyes but grabbed her own plate, finally taking a bite.
For a while, they ate in silence. Dorian leaned back against the headboard, watching her. The room felt strangely… peaceful. Almost normal—except for the part where she was sitting in a vampire’s bedroom, discussing forbidden books and blood rituals.
When she set down her fork, she exhaled. “I want to know about the man who attacked earlier.”
Dorian wiped his mouth slowly with a napkin. “Why?”
“Because he seemed… personal.” She leaned forward. “Like he had a vendetta against you and your brothers.”
Dorian watched her carefully. “He did.”
Eleanor’s stomach twisted. “Then tell me.”
Dorian sighed, rubbing his temples. “Eleanor, I—”
She cut him off. “Don’t try to change the subject. You said you’d answer my questions.”
A long pause. Then, finally, he gave in.
“He was once an ally,” Dorian admitted. “But things changed. There was a betrayal, and let’s just say… we were on opposite ends of that war.”
Eleanor frowned. “A betrayal?”
Dorian nodded. “One that costs lives. Many lives.”
Her fingers curled into her lap. “Including… hers?”
Dorian stiffened.
Bingo.
Eleanor’s chest tightened. She had been dreading this part, but she had to ask. “Who was she?”
Dorian’s jaw clenched. He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stood abruptly and walked toward the bookshelf. His fingers skimmed over the spines until he pulled out a single, worn book.
He turned and held it out to her. “Read it.”
Eleanor stared at the book in his hand, suddenly hesitant.
She could feel the weight of it—not just physically, but the emotional weight it carried.
She swallowed hard. “Do I have to?”
Dorian’s expression softened. “No.”
She hesitated before asking the question that had been burning inside her. “Did she… die because of you?”
The room fell deathly silent.
Dorian’s eyes darkened. His fingers tightened around the book.
Then, after a long pause, he exhaled. “Yes. But we didn't kill her. My brother's and I didn't kill her.”
Eleanor felt something in her chest twist.
She didn’t know this girl. She didn’t know the details of what happened. But the way Dorian’s entire demeanor had shifted—the rigid way he stood, the storm brewing in his gaze—it was clear that this haunted him.
She almost didn’t want to ask the next question.
Almost.
“…Am I going to die, too?”
Dorian snapped his gaze to her.
His entire body went still, his golden eyes burning with an intensity she had never seen before.
Then, before she could react, he crossed the room in two strides.
He grabbed her hands, his grip firm but not painful. His voice was low, but there was something unshakable in it.
“No.”
Eleanor swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “But—”
“No, Eleanor.” His grip tightened. “You are not going to die. Not as long as I breathe. Not as long as my brothers live.”
Her vision blurred slightly. She wasn’t even sure why—maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was everything catching up to her—but a single tear slipped down her cheek.
Dorian’s expression softened.
And then, without warning, he pulled her into his arms. His embrace was warm, firm—like he was afraid if he let go, she’d vanish. Eleanor shut her eyes, letting herself lean into him. She didn’t realize how much she needed this. But then, as he pulled back, she felt it.
The shift. The change in the air. The way his eyes dropped to her lips. A shiver ran down her spine. Her heart pounded as she saw the raw hunger in his gaze—not just for blood, but for her.
“Dorian—”
He didn’t let her finish.
Before she could utter another word, he slammed his lips onto hers.
The kiss was fire.
Hot, consuming, desperate.
Eleanor barely had time to gasp before his hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer. Her body pressed against his, and she melted into him.
God, it was overwhelming. The taste of him, the way his lips moved with such possession, the way her body responded without hesitation.
Her fingers clutched at his shirt, nails digging into his skin. She wanted more. Needed more.
Dorian’s grip tightened on her waist, and in one swift motion, he pushed her back onto the bed.
A soft gasp escaped her lips, but it was swallowed by another bruising kiss.
Eleanor was drowning, lost in the sensation of him—his weight, his warmth, the undeniable hunger in his touch.
She barely registered the sound of fabric tearing.
Her dress.
He had yanked it off with zero hesitation. Her breath hitched as she met his gaze. There was fire in his eyes. But also something darker.
Something primal.
Eleanor shivered, her pulse thundering.
And then, before she could think—before she could stop herself—she let go of every fear, every doubt, every worry.
She let herself drown in him.