The silence of the manor was haunting.
Ethan sat on the edge of the enormous bed, eyes scanning the room's crimson-lit walls. Every piece of furniture looked ancient, cursed, or both. A fire crackled in the marble hearth, but its warmth never reached him.
He was alone.
Or so he thought.
She appeared behind him without a sound—like smoke slipping through shadows.
"You're restless," her voice purred.
Ethan flinched, turning to face the woman he had married hours ago. She had changed out of her gown into a robe of dark silk that clung to her like liquid night. Her long obsidian hair spilled over her shoulders, and those red eyes glowed softly in the dim firelight.
"I need to know who you really are," he said, his voice rough.
She smiled, not kindly.
"My name is Lilith Astarra," she said, walking toward him. "Queen of the Nine Abyssal Thrones. Bane of angels. Scourge of Heaven."
Ethan's blood ran cold.
"You're not human," he breathed.
She laughed. A low, melodic sound, like a song sung in the dark before a storm.
"I ruled worlds long before your kind learned to stand upright. I've slain kings, bargained with dragons, and danced with death under twin moons."
"Then why marry me?" Ethan's voice cracked.
She paused. "Because you were… desperate. Willing. And your bloodline is more ancient than you know."
He rose from the bed, heart racing. "I didn't sign up for this. I can't be your—"
Before he could finish, Lilith appeared in front of him. She didn't walk. She simply was there—like the air bent around her will.
She touched his cheek.
"Do not run from what's already inside you, Ethan Hale," she whispered. "You are mine now."
He tried to turn away. Tried to flee.
But her fingers brushed his neck, and suddenly, he couldn't move.
Not out of fear.
But desire. Terror. Something deeper.
Lilith leaned in, her lips a breath away from his throat.
And then she kissed his neck—slow, lingering, like claiming territory.
He shuddered.
Her voice curled into his ear, velvet and venom.
"I'm going to mark you," she said.
Ethan's knees buckled.
Not from weakness.
But from the overwhelming truth that there was no escape—not from her…
…not from himself.