The Mark of the Black Moon

Chapter III: The Morning Solstice Feast and the Alpha's Invisible Cage

🏛️ The Vampire's Great Hall

Ilara stopped at the entrance to the Vampire Blood Pact Ritual Hall. The robe she wore had been replaced by a black velvet gown, prepared by Julian, which was luxurious but infused with binding magic. She held Julian’s cold arm—a touch like grasping a piece of millennia-frozen ice.

“Remember, Ilara.” Julian’s voice was low and warning. “In the hall, every glance, every breath you take represents the honor of the Sterling Duke Family. Your bloodline is not yet fully purified; do not show any affinity for the canine musk.”

Ilara’s heart clenched, yet she nodded obediently. She only hoped that the bloodthirsty Alpha had returned to his domain or was tied up with the Wolf Clan Elders’ affairs.

The moment she stepped into the Hall, an aura of cold, pure oppression, far stronger than the night before, washed over her.

She looked up, her gaze rapidly searching the long banquet table, which was laden with crystal chalices and blood-red berries.

He was there.

Damon Volkov, under the massive stained-glass dome filtered by the morning light, his golden hair seemed like sacred fire activated by the sun. He sat at the table in a set of severely tailored black hunter’s attire, handsome as a statue of the Northern Warlord. His gaze, carrying the absolute declaration of Alpha Domain, instantly locked onto Ilara like two frigid arrows.

“Damn him!” Ilara’s inner self let out a cry of despair. The possessiveness burning in those golden eyes was so blatant, it was unbearable.

♟️ The Confrontation at the Ritual Table

“What is it, my bride?” Julian felt her body stiffen. His fingers tightened slightly on her arm, a subtly threatening punishment.

“I… I am slightly intimidated by the High-Tier Blood Clan’s psionic energy, Duke Julian.” Ilara whispered, not daring to meet Damon’s eyes.

Julian, mistaking her fear for shyness, casually stroked the stray strands of hair on her cheek. This gesture was solely for the benefit of the Blood Servants and Low-Tier Nobility present.

“Relax, my treasure. They are all merely our vassals.”

This scene, however, was like fire poured onto wolf blood in Damon’s eyes.

“Duke Julian is indeed very gentle and considerate toward his new bride,” a nearby Vampire Baron remarked, his words full of flattery toward Julian. “I’ve never seen you so tender with a mortal sacrifice before.”

“This is decorum, Baron.” Julian responded smoothly. His gentle demeanor formed a stark contrast to Damon’s wild arrogance.

With every step Ilara took toward the table, her heart pounded faster. She desperately wished to avoid Damon and sit in a corner obscured by candelabra and shadow.

As she reached the table, she found that the only remaining seats for her and Julian were precisely next to Damon, on his left-hand side.

Julian sat down. Ilara attempted to bypass Damon and sit further away. But the moment she passed his side, the runic floor tiles beneath her feet seemed to be disrupted by a burst of Alpha Psionic Energy.

Her body went weak, and she stumbled, about to fall!

A large hand, forged like steel, instantly clamped her slender waist, pulling her back and setting her down heavily on the man’s lap.

Damon’s lips were almost touching her earlobe. He whispered in a low, primal-seductive growl that only she could hear:

“So eager to return to my Sanctuary? My little companion.”

Ilara felt her blood run cold. She sprang up from his lap as if burned, standing bolt upright. To the surprise of everyone present, she performed a completely absurd act for a noble feast:

She executed a perfect ninety-degree bow toward Damon, her voice trembling as she swore: “Forgive me! I did not intend to challenge your domain!”

🐺 The Alpha's Discipline

A cold arc curved on Damon’s lips. This startled little deer had been forced to the point of collapse by his psionic pressure.

Julian stood up, pulling Ilara back to his seat with a hint of displeasure, but now only the empty seat beside Damon remained. Ilara could only sit down in the most rigid posture next to the Wolf King.

“Miss Vans, you need not be so constrained.” The Wolf Clan Elder’s voice carried gentle reassurance. “Volkov’s psionic suppression is strong, and it is normal for a mortal to feel uncomfortable.”

Ilara responded with a low “Yes.” She picked up the exquisite ritual dagger before her, preparing to cut the blood-red fruit pulp. However, the icy gaze from beside her made her fingers tremble, causing the dagger to scrape against the plate with a harsh sound.

Damon’s voice was cold and clear, carrying absolute judgment: “Just how terrified are you of my Alpha Force?”

“No, not terrified, Lord Volkov.” Her voice clearly trembled.

“Your dagger is begging for mercy from me.” Damon leaned closer; the concentrated musk of wilderness instantly wrapped around her, reminding her of the primal plundering of the night before.

The dagger in Ilara’s hand clattered onto the plate, her face instantly turning chalk-white.

Julian’s gaze grew darker. He pushed his own already-cut pulp toward Ilara: “Lord Damon, your psionic projection is powerful; please do not frighten my bride. Her bloodline needs tranquility.”

Damon merely sneered. He placed his portion of blood-glowing raw meat (which only the Wolf Clan consumed at such rituals) onto Ilara’s plate.

“Since the fault is mine, my little Susu, you must consume all of this Wolf Clan’s offering. Otherwise, you imply that you blame me for yesterday's roughness.”

Ilara looked at the offering, which was filled with a dense, wild scent, and felt she would vomit. But she knew she had to show "fearlessness" to appease this Alpha's fury. She trembled as she picked up the dagger, haphazardly shoving the raw meat into her mouth, cursing the perverted Wolf King in her heart.

“How is the taste, my little Susu?” Damon asked with a teasing smile.

“Delicious,” she answered against her will, feeling her throat tighten.

Everyone around was shocked; Damon Volkov initiating interaction with a mortal bride was nothing short of a supernatural tale.

🕊️ Escape and the New Cage

Julian finally spoke, announcing their itinerary: “Grandfather, Elder, Ilara and I must return to the Black Forest New Lair immediately. I hope she can adapt to the Blood Clan life as soon as possible.”

A Vampire Elder chuckled, “I hope you bring the Sterling family a half-blood child soon, Duke.”

“A newborn?” Ilara suddenly opened her eyes wide, and a mouthful of fruit wine sprayed from her lips, staining her chest.

Damon’s eyes instantly deepened, a look of absolute, undeniable possessiveness.

Ilara frantically wiped herself, apologizing hurriedly: “Excuse me, I... I drank too fast and lost my composure.”

“It’s fine, we were too eager.” Julian said calmly. “Ilara, go upstairs and change out of that robe stained with filth. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

“Yes.” Ilara fled the table as if granted an amnesty.

She knew that although she had escaped the threat of the Blood Pact family, she was stepping inch by inch into another, stronger prison—a Wolf King’s cage woven by the Alpha’s brand and a fated bloodline.