Chapter 7 The Battle Beneath the Moon
Darian's private chamber was bathed in blue light as he prepared for the blood sharing ritual. He moved with practiced precision, arranging crystal vials and silver instruments on a small table between us.
"The ritual is simple but powerful," he explained, his voice low and steady. "Blood freely given, blood freely taken. The exchange will strengthen the contract markings and deepen our connection."
I watched him carefully pour a clear liquid into a silver chalice. "What is that?"
"An elixir to ensure your safety," he replied. "Blood-born saliva contains properties that can be... overwhelming for humans. This will moderate the effect."
The clinical description did little to calm my nerves. This was real vampire territory—blood drinking, ancient rituals, magic I couldn't begin to comprehend. Yet here I was, willingly offering my vein to the creature I'd accidentally bound to me just days ago.
"Are you certain about this?" Darian asked, sensing my hesitation. "There is still time to choose another path."
I met his gaze steadily. "I'm certain. Ashryn forced this timeline, but I'm making this choice freely."
Something flickered in his crimson eyes—respect, perhaps. He nodded once and extended his hand. "Your arm, then."
I placed my wrist in his cool palm, surprised by the gentleness of his touch. He turned my arm to expose the delicate blue veins beneath my skin, where the contract markings seemed to pulse in anticipation.
"This will hurt," he warned, "but only briefly."
Before I could tense up, he brought my wrist to his mouth. I felt the sharp prick of his fangs, followed by an odd sensation—not pain exactly, but a strange pulling that seemed to connect directly to my core. The contract markings flared to brilliant life, spreading up my arm in intricate patterns I hadn't seen before.
Darian drank sparingly, his eyes closed in what appeared to be either concentration or reverence. After several moments, he withdrew, passing his tongue once over the small wounds which—to my amazement—sealed immediately, leaving only tiny red marks.
"Now me," he said, his voice slightly rougher than before. He picked up a small silver blade and drew it across his own wrist in one fluid motion. Dark blood welled up, thicker than human blood and with an almost luminescent quality.
He held his wrist over the chalice, allowing several drops to fall into the clear liquid, which immediately began to swirl with crimson and gold. After adding the elixir he'd prepared earlier, he offered me the chalice.
"Drink," he instructed. "Not too much—just enough to complete the binding."
I hesitated only briefly before taking the chalice and bringing it to my lips. The liquid was surprisingly warm, with a taste that defied description—metallic yet sweet, ancient yet vibrant. As it slid down my throat, heat bloomed in my chest and radiated outward to my extremities.
The contract markings on my skin ignited like fire, no longer just red lines but glowing symbols that seemed to shift and move with a life of their own. Across from me, matching patterns appeared on Darian's exposed skin, crawling up his neck and across his cheekbones in an ethereal display.
"The binding strengthens," he murmured, watching me with intensity. "Can you feel it?"
I could. Beyond the physical sensations, there was something else—a connection that hadn't been there before, a thread linking my consciousness to his. Not mind reading exactly, but a heightened awareness of his presence, his emotions.
"Yes," I breathed. "It's... incredible."
His lips curved slightly. "The true power of the contract—what it was meant to be before politics and fear corrupted its purpose."
The moment was interrupted by a soft knock. Mira entered, her eyes widening at the sight of our glowing markings.
"My prince, it's time," she said quietly. "The court has assembled in the Moon Chamber."
Darian rose, offering me his hand. "Are you ready?"
As I took his hand, I noticed the markings on our skin seemed to reach for each other, creating intricate patterns where our flesh met. "As ready as I'll ever be to watch someone fight for my life."
The Moon Chamber was aptly named. Unlike the rest of the underground palace, this massive circular room opened directly to the night sky above through a vast crystalline dome. The full moon hung directly overhead, bathing the chamber in silver light that reflected off polished obsidian walls.
The blood-born court had assembled in full, standing in concentric circles around a central fighting arena marked with ancient symbols. Elder Thorne and the Council occupied a raised platform to one side, their expressions grave.
As we entered, a hush fell over the assembly. The glowing markings on our skin were visible to all, prompting whispers and wide-eyed stares.
"They've completed a blood bond," someone murmured.
"The contract is fully awakened," another voice added with something like awe.
Ashryn stood at the far side of the chamber, dressed in formal fighting attire—black leather armor etched with silver runes. His expression darkened as he took in our appearance, eyes narrowing at the visible evidence of our strengthened bond.
"How touching," he called across the chamber, his voice carrying effortlessly. "My brother embraces his chains with such enthusiasm."
Darian's posture remained relaxed, but I could feel tension coiling within him through our new connection. "The only chains here are the ones you've forged through deception, brother."
Elder Thorne stepped forward, raising his staff for silence. "We gather under the full moon to witness the Trial of Blood—a verification of binding through combat, as our ancient laws decree." His eyes swept over the assembly. "Lord Ashryn has challenged the legitimacy of the contract between Prince Darian and Lady Elira. By our traditions, the bound must fight as champion for the contract holder."
Ashryn moved into the central arena with fluid grace. "I call upon the laws of our ancestors," he announced. "If the binding is true, let it be proven through blood and skill. If false, let it be severed forever."
Darian turned to me, taking both my hands in his. Through our strengthened connection, I could sense what he wasn't saying aloud—his concern, his determination, and beneath it all, a protectiveness that surprised me.
"Whatever happens," he said quietly, "stay with Mira. Do not approach the arena, no matter what you see."
"Be careful," I whispered. "He doesn't fight fair, remember?"
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Neither do I."
He released my hands and stepped into the arena, shedding his outer garments to reveal similar fighting attire beneath. The contrast between the brothers was striking—both tall and imposing, both inhumanly beautiful, but where Ashryn's beauty was cold and calculated, Darian's held an ancient power that seemed to resonate with the moonlight itself.
"The rules are simple," Elder Thorne proclaimed. "Combat continues until submission or incapacitation. Death is not the goal, but..." he hesitated, "it remains a possibility under ancient law."
Mira moved to my side, her face tense. "The prince is stronger," she whispered reassuringly. "But Ashryn has been active while Darian slept."
"In whose name do you fight?" Elder Thorne asked, addressing Darian formally.
Darian's eyes found mine across the chamber. "I fight in the name of my contract holder, Elira Hamilton, by the ancient binding that joins us."
The markings on my skin flared in response to his words, sending a wave of warmth through my body. Several of the watching blood-born gasped at the visible reaction.
"The binding acknowledges his claim," Elder Thorne announced. "Let the trial begin."
The brothers circled each other with predatory grace, centuries of rivalry evident in every movement. Ashryn struck first—a lightning-fast attack that would have been invisible to normal human eyes. But with my senses heightened by the blood bond, I could track their movements as blurs of supernatural speed.
Darian deflected the attack with practiced ease, countering with a strike of his own that sent Ashryn skidding backward. They exchanged blows with increasing intensity, moving so quickly the air crackled around them.
"They're holding back," Mira observed tensely. "Testing each other's defenses."
The preliminary exchange ended abruptly when Ashryn leapt impossibly high, rebounding off the domed ceiling to attack from above. Darian rolled aside at the last second, the floor cracking where Ashryn landed.
"Still quick for someone who's been asleep so long," Ashryn taunted. "But you're rusty, brother. And I've grown stronger in your absence."
"Strength without wisdom is merely brutality," Darian replied evenly. "Something you never understood."
Ashryn's face darkened. "Wisdom? Is that what you call kneeling before humans?"
He attacked again, this time with redoubled ferocity. A blade appeared in his hand—a violation of the traditional rules—gleaming with some dark substance along its edge.
"Poison," Mira hissed. "He cheats already."
The fight escalated rapidly, becoming a deadly dance of attacks and counterattacks. Though Darian avoided the poisoned blade, Ashryn managed to land several powerful blows that sent him reeling. Each impact resonated through our bond, and I found myself wincing in shared pain.
"Something's wrong," I whispered to Mira. "Darian's movements are slowing."
Mira's expression grew alarmed. "The arena—look at the markings."
I focused on the floor beneath their feet, where the ancient symbols were glowing with a sickly green light rather than the expected silver of moonlight.
"The arena has been tampered with," Mira confirmed, her voice tight with anger. "Those runes are draining his strength."
Ashryn pressed his advantage, driving Darian toward the center of the arena where the malevolent symbols glowed brightest. Through our bond, I could feel Darian's growing realization that the fight had been rigged from the start.
"You see, brother," Ashryn called out, circling like a predator, "some of us studied the old ways while you slept. The very stones beneath your feet recognize me as the rightful heir now."
Darian was visibly weakening, his movements becoming less fluid as the corrupted arena sapped his strength. Blood trickled from several wounds that weren't healing as they should.
Panic rose within me. Without thinking, I stepped forward, only to be restrained by Mira's firm grip.
"You cannot interfere," she warned. "It would invalidate the trial immediately."
"But he's cheating!" I protested.
"And the Council sees it," she assured me, nodding toward Elder Thorne, whose face had darkened with anger. "But they cannot stop the trial once begun—it's forbidden by the same ancient laws Ashryn invoked."
Desperation clawed at my chest as I watched Darian struggle. Through our bond, I could feel his pain, his determination, and—most alarmingly—his acceptance that he might lose this fight.
The contract markings on my skin burned in response to my emotions. Instinctively, I pressed my hand over my heart, focusing on the connection between us.
"There must be something I can do," I whispered.
As if in answer, the markings flared brighter, and knowledge suddenly flooded my mind—not my own, but ancient wisdom carried within the contract itself. The binding wasn't just about command and obedience; it was about shared strength, shared power.
Acting on instinct, I closed my eyes and concentrated on the thread connecting us, mentally pushing my strength, my energy toward Darian. The markings on my skin blazed like fire, drawing gasps from those nearby.
In the arena, Darian stumbled, then straightened suddenly, his head snapping up to look at me with amazement. The contract markings on his skin answered mine, glowing with renewed intensity.
"Impossible," Ashryn hissed, his confidence faltering for the first time.
Darian's movements regained their fluid grace, his strength visibly returning despite the corrupted arena. He advanced on his brother with renewed purpose, no longer affected by the draining symbols beneath his feet.
"You forget what the contract truly is, brother," Darian said, his voice carrying clearly through the chamber. "Not chains, but connection. Not servitude, but symbiosis."
He moved with blinding speed, disarming Ashryn with a precise strike that sent the poisoned blade skittering across the floor. Before Ashryn could recover, Darian delivered a devastating series of blows that drove his brother to his knees.
The final strike left Ashryn kneeling in the center of the arena, blood streaming from his nose and mouth, Darian standing over him with grim triumph.
"I fight for my contract holder," Darian declared, loud enough for all to hear. "Not because I must, but because she has earned my loyalty through her own strength." His eyes found mine across the chamber. "I bleed for you, Elira Hamilton, not just because of the contract... perhaps, for more than that."
The formal words, spoken in the ancient tradition, sealed the trial's outcome. Elder Thorne stepped forward, staff raised.
"The Trial of Blood is complete," he announced. "The binding stands verified through combat, as our laws decree. Let none question it henceforth."
As Darian walked away from his defeated brother, I rushed to meet him, heedless of protocol or watching eyes. He was bloody and battered, but the wounds were already beginning to heal.
"You saved me," he said quietly when I reached him, wonder in his voice. "Through the bond—you gave me your strength."
"I didn't know I could," I admitted. "It just... happened."
His hand rose to brush my cheek, leaving a smear of blood that should have repulsed me but somehow didn't. "In a thousand years of bindings, I've never experienced such a connection."
Behind us, Ashryn rose shakily to his feet, his silver eyes burning with hatred. "This changes nothing," he spat. "A parlor trick with the contract doesn't make her worthy of our world."
"Be silent, brother," Darian replied without turning. "You've lost. Accept it with what little dignity remains to you."
As Mira and others surrounded us, leading us away from the arena, I glanced back to see Ashryn watching us with calculating eyes. Despite Darian's victory, I knew with chilling certainty that this battle was merely the first in a war that had only just begun.
