CHAPTER 103: THE MAIN COURSE.

CLARE – POV

Lucas gave a half-smile, still holding my hair in that iron vice of his fingers.

"My apologies, Father," he said with mock grace. "I forgot... you like your meals fully undressed and seated properly before the feast begins."

Undressed?

That word hit me like a fist in the gut.

My stomach twisted.

My skin crawled.

Apparently, that ritual started with stripping the offering bare.

Like I was some sacrificial lamb laid out for gods long dead and forgotten.

I wasn’t trembling anymore—my body had gone cold.Still.

And then he looked at me—really looked at me—with that same gleam in his eye people get when they’re peeling back the wrapper of their favorite candy. Except this time, I was the candy.

His voice dipped into something darker. "We wouldn’t want to upset the host," he purred.

So that was it, then?

That was the etiquette?

Strip down, sit quietly, and let them bleed you like livestock while they drink their wine and toast each other with golden goblets full of your life?

What were the chances that not undressing would keep their fangs off me?

Slim. None. Hell, less than none.

These monsters didn’t care about my dignity. They didn’t care that I was human. The only thing they cared about was the ritual—the illusion of civility around a table soaked in blood.

A sick pretense.

A performance of manners while they tore people apart behind embroidered curtains and candlelight.

I looked at him.

And immediately regretted it.

Because he was already impatient.

The hunger on his face was no longer just about blood. It was about control.Dominance.Humiliation.

This wasn’t just feeding.

It was theater.And I was the main act—undressed, bled, and broken.

I felt Lucas’s grip tighten, like he could feel my resistance creeping into my shoulders. His fingers tangled deeper into my hair, forcing my neck to arch back painfully.

His voice slithered against my ear. "Don’t make me do it for you, blood bag. Trust me—it won’t be gentle."

He was impatient. I could feel it—radiating off him in waves. He didn’t want to wait for me to comply. He wanted to tear me out of my clothes like wrapping paper. Slowly. Cruelly.

My pulse thundered in my ears.

I stepped back.One small step.

Lucas’s grin widened.

Another step.He didn’t move—but his grip tightened on my hair, tugging me closer again like a leash.

"I wouldn’t," he whispered near my ear, voice smooth and awful. "Father may be a stickler for rules—but even he enjoys a little rebellion. Just so long as the punishment is entertaining."

Every eye at the table was on me.Hungry. Curious. Intrigued.

Not a single one saw me as human.

I wasn’t Clare.

I was dinner.

And somewhere deep in my chest, my heart pounded so hard I swore the sound echoed in the marble hall like a drumbeat.No one else heard it.But I did.

Boom. Boom. Boom.Survive.

Boom. Boom. Boom.Think.

Boom. Boom. Boom.Stall.

Because I knew now—

Whether I undressed or not...

Lucas was going to feed.

But if I gave him even one second of hesitation, of resistance, of refusal—

He would take it as an invitation to tear the clothes from my body with his claws and laugh while doing it.

And this whole room—the monsters in silk and velvet, cloaked in civility—would applaud.

So I stood very, very still.

And in my head, I screamed a name.

Blaze.

Where the hell are you?

Please... hurry.

Before I become the first course in a monster’s feast.

They were all watching now. The whole table. Vampires with blood still clinging to their lips. Some licking their fangs. Others just staring with that cold, inhuman stillness—like statues waiting for the moment they’d be told they could move again.

And their King—Blaze’s father—sat there on his throne of flesh and shadow, head slightly tilted, observing like I was a new wine being tested before pouring.

And me?

I was caught in the middle of their twisted dinner theater, my heartbeat the background music.

My only protection was Blaze—and he wasn’t here.

Would refusing to undress save me?

No.

It would provoke Lucas. And something in me knew—he’d enjoy it more if I fought. He was the kind of sadist who got off on breaking people piece by piece. The longer I resisted, the more delight he’d take in undoing me.

My breath hitched.

My throat tightened.

And for a heartbeat, I thought about doing what they wanted.

Playing along. Buying time. Hoping Blaze would come.

But then I remembered the look on Thelia’s face when she fed.

The glint in Marcus’s eye when he mentioned Blaze’s previous pet.

The raw lust for cruelty behind Lucas’s smile.

There was no safety here.

Not if I undressed.

Not if I obeyed.

Not if I begged.

They didn’t want compliance. They wanted to devour.

And I realized...

It wouldn’t matter what I did.

They’d still feast.

Unless—someone stopped them.

Unless Blaze came.

Or something inside me snapped loud enough to make even monsters pause.

"Faster, little bunny," Lucas hissed against my ear, jerking me closer as his fingers grazed the buttons of Blaze’s shirt.

"Everyone wants a taste before Blaze comes. We all know he doesn’t like sharing—that selfish bastard."

I heard it.

That crackling pause in the air.

The way the flames in the chandelier above flickered unnaturally.

Even Lucas stiffened just slightly under the weight of the silence.

It was Blaze’s father.

Still seated at the head of the table—half lounging, half watching like a serpent coiled in gold silk.

The glow that radiated from him wasn’t light—it was something ancient and oppressive, like the sun’s heat in a tomb.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t glare.

He just... glowed.

Blaze’s father—the terrifying older version seated at the head of the table—had stilled. His eyes narrowed like a coiled beast. Apparently, bad-mouthing his golden son was still a bigger sin than threatening to drink a girl dry at the dinner table.

And that alone made Lucas swallow his next insult, his grin shrinking by half.

But not his hunger.

I stared at the buttons of Blaze’s shirt, my fingers trembling violently as I fumbled. The fabric clung to me with the scent of him—like a memory. And somehow that made it harder. Like undressing meant peeling off my only shield. My only link to safety. To him.

I looked at Thelia—the red-haired demoness—was licking her lips, eyes heavy with anticipation.She looked at me like a child eyeing the first slice of birthday cake.And her smile promised she’d devour me piece by piece.

She wanted to drink from me.

She wanted to finish what she started in Blaze’s room.

And her brother?

Marcus.

He stood a little apart from the chaos, arms folded. His jaw was tight. His eyes flickered with something that wasn’t cruelty—but it wasn’t mercy either. Just... conflict.

The only one who looked remotely conflicted. I stared at him like maybe—just maybe—he’d see I was pleading with my eyes.But then he opened his mouth and my last thread of hope snapped.

"What about the prophecy, Father?" he said suddenly, voice cutting through the tension like a cold blade.

"Shouldn’t we just kill her already and get it over with—before Blaze comes?"

My hands froze mid-button.

What the actual fuck?

That was his solution?

Kill me?

To think for a second I thought Marcus might actually stop this madness—but no. He just wanted to fast-forward to my execution.

I thought he was the voice of reason.I thought he’d help me.

But his version of "mercy" was slaughter.Clean. Efficient.

Better than the slow, drawn-out, ritualistic feeding frenzy his sister and Lucas had in mind.

I didn’t know which death was worse.

I didn’t get to decide.

Because the monster at the head of the table—Blaze’s father, the one they all obeyed—was already speaking.

"Don’t worry, Marcus," the vampire king said, sipping casually from a chalice that gleamed dark red. "By the time everyone gets a share of her blood... we all know Blaze has a knack for finding exquisite taste—she won’t have enough left to sustain her pathetic life."

He smiled as if he was talking about fine cuisine. Not a girl. Not me.

"Why not kill two birds with one stone? Enjoy her now... and spare us the inconvenience of tomorrow’s thirst."

The table laughed.

Not in joy.

In hunger.

In cold, vicious, inhuman amusement.

I stood there, hands still on the buttons, paralyzed.

Every eye was on me.

Every fang, every sick fantasy.

I could almost feel their breaths at the nape of my neck, even if they were across the room.

I was the centerpiece now.

The main course.

And I realized something terrifying—

They weren’t going to stop.

Not because of Blaze.

Not because of a prophecy.

Not because I looked like someone or shared blood with someone.

They were going to drain me.

Piece by piece.

Until there was nothing left.