The world narrowed to the single, horrifying point of her bleeding wrist. Her words, a declaration of love, were a siren's call to the monster, but the man inside him was screaming in terror.
"No," he rasped, his voice a broken, desperate plea. "Sienna, no. I can't. I can't hurt you. Not you."
He tried to pull away and scramble back into the safety of the corner, but his body was a traitor, weakened by the transformation and lingering hunger. He was as strong as a newborn kitten against the force of her will.
He watched, mesmerized and horrified, as she tilted his head back, her grip in his hair surprisingly firm. He saw her lick her own blood, a shocking, intimate act that sent a jolt of confused fear through him. And then her lips were on his.
Her tongue, slick with the coppery tang of her blood, pushed past his lips, and he had no choice but to taste. It was a violation, a profanation of the love he held for her. He whimpered, a sound of agonized protest, his hands coming up to push her away, but they felt like lead, heavy and useless.
The blood hit his tongue, and the monster roared to life. It was an explosion of pure, primal ecstasy, a wave of power and relief that was so intense it was agonizing. His body responded instinctively, his fangs aching, a low, involuntary groan rumbling in his chest. He hated himself for it. He hated the pleasure that coursed through him, the dark, exhilarating rush that came from feeding on the woman he loved.
She pulled back, her eyes shimmering with an unnerving blue light, a power he had never seen before. He stared at her, his own eyes wide with a new, dawning terror. This was not his Sienna. This was someone else.
She repeated the act, feeding him her blood again and again, and he was helpless to stop her. He was a vessel, a prisoner in his own body, forced to participate in this dark, twisted communion. He could feel the hunger receding, the pain in his veins easing, but the relief was tainted by a sense of violation and a deep, chilling fear of the woman who was supposed to be his salvation.
When she finally pulled back, her breath heavy, a triumphant smile on her face, he just stared at her, his body trembling, his mind a chaotic mess of fear, confusion, and a lingering, shameful pleasure.
"There... I think we both know, I eventually get my way darlin'."
He didn't answer. He couldn't. He just watched, speechless, as she took control of the room, her voice a ringing command that bent the will of the guards. He saw the power in her, the dark, authoritative force that was so different from the gentle, loving woman he thought he knew. Who was she? What was she?
When she knelt before him again, her touch gentle on his face, he flinched, a subtle, involuntary movement that he couldn't hide.
"My love... how are you feeling now?"
He looked at her, his eyes no longer just filled with terror, but with a deep, unsettling confusion. He slowly, shakily, pushed her hand away.
"Don't," he whispered, his voice hoarse and raw. "Don't touch me." He scrambled back, pressing himself into the corner, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. He looked from her face to the now clean spot on the floor, his mind reeling.
"What are you?" he asked, his voice a low, trembling whisper. It was a genuine, heartbroken question. The woman that he loved, the woman he had just married, was a stranger. He was trapped, alone, with two monsters in the room. And one of them was him.
