“Of course you can’t, my darling deathbird.” Kian cuts me off. “That’s what makes this exquisite. You’ll break your promise to my son, and he’ll watch you do it, knowing it’s all his fault.” The dagger hovers over Dom’s heart. “If only he’d kept his mouth shut; stopped filling your head with rebellion and sentiment . . .” He presses down, just enough to pierce fabric and flesh, a dark spot blooms beneath the blade. “We could’ve avoided all this unpleasantness.”
“Let him go,” I demand, rising from my chair. “We can negotiateterms—”
“Oh, Aria.” Kian chuckles cruelly. “We’re past the negotiation phase. You flinched and showed your hand.” He draws the blade downward, a strip of Dom’s skin peels away from his chest like parchment, blood cascading over muscle. “Oops. A bit deeper than I meant.” He dangles the gore in front of my face, crimson dripping in slow, deliberate drops onto the carpet. “Fascinating, isn’t it? The way the layers come apart. Your parents used to write about this. The truth hidden beneath the surface.”
My stomach heaves. I’d seen Dom’s scars, traced them in the dark, but watching them being carved into his flesh is different. This is nightmare made real.
“Oh, don’t go green on me now, sweetheart.” Kian tosses the strip of flesh over his shoulder with a wet smack. “We’re just getting started. Did you know there are precisely forty-seven ways to nick an artery without hitting anything fatal?” He carves again methodically. Another bright arc spatters the desk. “Forty-eight, if you count that one. Though I suppose that was an accident. My hand slipped.”
Dom’s breath comes ragged and wet, blood soaking through his trousers, staining the marble beneath his chair. Still, his eyes never leave mine.
“Aria,” he grits out. “Don’t let him win.”
“Win?” Kian hums as he carves another crimson line. “Oh, my sweet children. I’ve already won. The only question is how much more our little deathbird can watch before she signs.” His smile turns savage. “Tick tock, Aria.” Another incision. “Time bleeds faster than you think.”
The copper stench in the air chokes me. Blood coats everything—Dom’s skin, the chair, the floor, my lungs. It’s inescapable. Every cut is a symphony of agony, and Kian moves through it like a conductor, gleeful and obscene.
“You’re a fucking monster,” I whisper.
“No, no.” Kian presses a blood-slick finger to his lips, faux thoughtful. “I’m a father, teaching a lesson about consequences.”He smiles at the twitch in Dom’s arm. “Every choice has a cost, and every defiance draws blood.”
The next stroke carves from collarbone to sternum, splitting flesh wide enough to flash white bone through the shredded tissue. Kian actually squeals with delight as blood spatters upward, a grotesque constellation across the ceiling. Dom’s head droops forward, eyelids fluttering and skin waxen.
“Oh no, no, no.” Kian slaps his cheeks with crimson-soaked palms, coaxing him back. “Stay with us, darling. You’re the canvas. Daddy’s not done painting.”
Through my tears, I watch another strip of Dom’s skin curl away from muscle. The wet, fibrous sound of flesh separating breaks something in me. I double over, bile scorching up my throat, and vomit hits the rug with a retch I can’t suppress.
“Oh dear, are we feeling squeamish?” Kian’s laughter rings, sharp and delighted. “And here I thought you’d have a stronger stomach, given your parents’ work. All those creature experiments, all that blood.” He tsks. “Tragic.”
I wipe my mouth with a shaking hand, fighting another wave of nausea as Dom’s blood soaks into my vomit, turning it pink.
“How disappointing.” Kian sighs dramatically. “I had such high hopes for your artistic appreciation. But look,” he gestures at the growing puddle. “Now you’ve gone and ruined the composition. Vomit is such an ugly color against arterial spray.”
Dom’s chest is a massacre of torn skin and exposed muscle, trembling with every shallow breath. Blood pools beneath his chair, now a lake of loss. His eyes flutter, fighting to stay open, struggling to hold on to me. Through gritted teeth, he manages a pained smile. “Don’t . . . sign.”
Kian sighs, drawing another blade and bringing it to Dom’s throat. “Stubborn, stubborn boy. Still clinging to valor with your lungs half collapsed. Should we take a look at that voice box? I’ve always been curious about the structure.”
“STOP!” The word tears from my throat. “I’ll sign. Just . . . stop.”
Kian’s smile breaks wide, gleaming red under the light. “Excellent choice.” His voice drips with satisfaction. “See how easy that was?”
My hands won’t stop shaking as I reach for the pen. Blood and vomit stain my sleeves, and I can barely see through the tears burning my eyes. The moment the nib touches paper, magic crackles through the contract.
“Your signature here,” Kian croons, dragging blood from the raw muscle of Dom’s chest with a single, deliberate finger. “Let’s make it official, shall we? Family blood for a family contract.” He smears the crimson across the line. “And here. And . . . here.”
I write my name with a hand that no longer feels like mine, watching in horror as each letter spills red and sears into the parchment. The ink pulses once, golden and shimmering, before fading to the color of congealed blood.
“Perfect,” Kian breathes, eyes alight with reverence as the contract seals itself in a flash of dark magic. “Preliminary binding complete. Once the marriage bond is performed . . .” His grin turns ravenous. “Then we’ll see what your signature’s really worth.”
“The daggers,” I choke out, barely recognizing my own voice. “You said—”
“Did I?” Kian tilts his head. “I don’t recall promising anything, darling. You offered your signature. I simply encouraged efficiency.” He gestures lazily at the blades still pinning Dom to the chair. “Perhaps next time you’ll remember to negotiate before offering your soul on a platter.”
Horror claws its way up my throat as I stumble forward, slipping in the blood pooled under the chair. Dom’s skin is gray now, clammy and cold as a corpse. Dark circles bruise below his eyes, which have rolled back, showing only whites. The pristine white shirt hangs in tatters, revealing the ruin underneath. Torn flesh, exposed sinew, trembling muscle. I drop to my knees beside him.
“Dom?” My fingers brush his cheek, the cold of his skin near unbearable. “Dom, please look at me.”
His eyelids twitch. His eyes, when they finally open, are dull, swimming in pain and delirium. A wet rattle escapes his lips.
