Chapter 4
1161 Words
CHAPTER FOUR
Aurora’s POV
The sky above me was cruelly bright. Morning sunlight spread across the square as though it had been waiting for this moment—my end.
Chains bit into my wrists as the guards shoved me up the stone steps. My feet dragged, but I forced my chin high, refusing to let them see me broken.
The square was overflowing. Vampires of every clan had gathered, their pale faces pressed close, their eyes glinting with hunger, curiosity, or simply boredom. I was entertainment to them, nothing more.
"Thief."
"Traitor."
"Human filth."
The words lashed me from all sides. Each insult was another reminder that I had no allies here.
At the center stood the raised platform. The execution block.
My stomach clenched.
Don’t flinch, Aurora. If you’re going to die, die standing.
The guards forced me onto the platform. I heard the chains rattle as they tightened them around the post. The rough wood scraped against my back, splinters catching on my skin.
The executioner waited a few feet away, axe glinting in the light. His expression was blank, professional. To him, I was nothing more than a task.
I lowered my gaze to the pendant that hung against my chest. The relic pulsed faintly, catching the sunlight. Or maybe it wasn’t sunlight at all. My mind told me it was just nerves, just reflection—but deep down, I wasn’t so sure anymore.
A loud voice rang out. "Aurora Wells, accused of theft, infiltration, and treason. For crimes against the Dominion, you are sentenced to death at dawn."
The crowd roared, bloodthirsty. My heart hammered, but I refused to let fear win.
Then something shifted.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ressler. The fiery prince, the one who had accused me with such venom. He stood with his brothers near the front. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched, and suddenly—he winced. His whole body jerked like someone had stabbed him.
He pressed a hand to his chest, his breath catching in a choked sound.
I frowned. What…?
Before I could process it, Daemon staggered too. His usually mocking face twisted in confusion and pain, his hand clutching at his ribs.
"What in the hells is that?" Daemon hissed, his voice audible even over the rising noise of the crowd.
And then Jessiel. A sharp inhale, his cold mask cracking as his knees nearly buckled. He struggled to stay upright, his entire focus consumed by the internal agony.
Even Aregon, the silent one, trembled, his teeth bared as though resisting a force none of us could see.
"What’s happening to them?" I whispered before I could stop myself.
The pendant on my chest flared. Not faintly this time—bright. So bright that even those in the back of the crowd squinted and shielded their eyes.
Gasps echoed through the square.
The Elders shouted, "Continue! End it now!" Their robes flapped as they gestured furiously at the executioner.
The axe-man lifted his weapon. My pulse spiked, my breath caught—
"STOP!" Ressler’s voice thundered across the square. It was a command laced with absolute, desperate pain.
Every head snapped toward him. His chest heaved, sweat dripping down his temple, his hand still pressed over his heart. His eyes—furious, burning—were locked on me.
The executioner hesitated.
The Elders barked again. "Do it! She is a danger to us all! Your duty, executioner!"
Ressler staggered forward, his hand tearing away from his chest as he shoved a guard aside.
"A danger?" His voice broke with something rawer than rage. "She’s killing us!"
Before anyone could react, a guard lunged toward me, sword raised high.
The pendant burned against my skin, but before I could scream, Ressler blurred. One second he was halfway across the platform, the next his blade sliced through the guard’s neck. Blood sprayed, the crowd shrieked, and the body crumpled.
The executioner dropped his axe in shock.
"Touch her again," Ressler snarled, his voice shaking with both fury and pain. "And you’ll answer to me."
Chaos erupted.
Vampires in the crowd shouted in confusion. Some demanded my death, others shouted to stop. Guards rushed forward but faltered at the sight of not just Ressler, but Daemon, Jessiel, and Aregon—all of them now doubled over, breathing hard, staring at me with wide, bewildered eyes.
The Elders looked horrified.
"What is this?!" one bellowed. "Why are the Princes reacting?!"
My own chest rose and fell too quickly. My pulse was erratic, and my thoughts were tangled. What was happening? Why were they… tied to me like this?
I tugged weakly at my chains, whispering, "I don’t understand…"
"Ressler, what are you doing?" Daemon yelled, gripping the edge of the platform to pull himself upright. "Stop defending her! It’s her fault! Tell them to kill her!"
Ressler rounded on him, his teeth bared. "And die? Is that your plan, Daemon? We felt the pain when they raised the axe! We felt the wound when she was threatened!"
The crowd was on the verge of panic. Shouts turned into frantic waves of fear. Some tried to push forward for a better view, others backed away as though I was diseased.
The pendant glowed even brighter, heat radiating from it, and I gasped.
The princes groaned in unison. It wasn’t just pain anymore—I felt it. A strange pull in my chest, a tether connecting me to them, tugging hard. Their emotions slammed into me—fear, anger, confusion, hunger. Too much. Too strong.
"Silence!" an Elder shrieked. "Enough! Kill her before it’s too late!"
"NO!" Ressler barked, standing protectively in front of me, his blade raised.
Daemon joined him without hesitation, his mocking smirk replaced by something unsettled, almost desperate. "The moment the blade drops, we fall, Elder. I won’t risk my life for your pride."
Jessiel moved slower, but his icy eyes flickered with the same resistance as he stepped forward. Aregon said nothing, but he too shifted closer, his fists clenched, his chest still heaving.
The Elders froze. For the first time, their control was slipping.
And then…
A figure stepped from the crowd.
Her robes were black, lined with crimson thread, her silver hair gleaming under the sun. Whispers erupted instantly. "Katarina," some gasped her name, others fell silent in dread.
A witch.
Her eyes glowed faintly as she studied me, studied the princes writhing in pain, studied the pendant still blazing on my chest. She stepped deliberately onto the platform, dismissing the dead guard as irrelevant.
Her voice cut through the chaos, sharp and certain.
"If she dies," she said, fixing her unsettling gaze on the terrified Elders, "so do they. She is not merely bound to the relic. She is bound to your Princes. A life bond."
The entire square went silent.
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
I stared at her, my blood turning cold.
What did she just say?
- Writer
