Damon stood motionless.

Elizabeth’s neck was there, exposed, too pale to be real, too alive to be ignored. It wasn’t just skin. It wasn’t just blood. It was as if that smooth curve screamed directly at something primal within him, something that didn’t use words.

Bite.

He felt his canines ache, pressing from within, begging. His breathing became irregular, too short for a body that no longer needed air. Each passing second was a conscious effort not to move.

“Don’t look like that,” Elizabeth murmured, her voice low, unhurried. “You’ve already decided. Your body is just waiting for your mind to stop pretending it’s still in control.”

Damon closed his eyes for a moment.

“If I do this…” he began, but the sentence died before it could be born.

She moved closer.

Not abruptly. Not provocatively. She simply closed the distance, enough for the warmth of her presence to envelop everything. When she spoke again, her voice didn’t just come from his ears. It came from within. “The moment you drink my blood,” she said, “the world will make sense in a way it never has before. Everything will align. Everything will fit together.”

She touched his arm lightly, an almost innocent contact.

“And it will never be the same again.”

Damon opened his eyes.

For a second, a part of him wanted to ask more. Wanted to understand. Wanted to prepare himself.

But hunger had no patience for philosophy.

He lunged forward.

The movement was too quick to think. His face buried itself in her neck, and the world was reduced to a single point of contact. When his fangs pierced her skin, there was no resistance.

There was acceptance.

The blood came hot, thick, powerful. The instant it touched his tongue, something exploded inside him.

It wasn’t just pleasure.

It was understanding.

It was as if his senses, previously limited, had been ripped away and rebuilt. The room was no longer just a space—he felt every particle of air, every vibration of the house, every distant beat of the night outside. Colors deepened, sounds gained layers, time itself seemed to slow down to match him.

He felt Elizabeth.

Not her body—her existence.

Ancient. Immense. Contained by sheer choice.

Her blood didn’t just quench his thirst. It rearranged everything. Thoughts that were once confused now fit together like pieces that had always belonged in that place. Old fears dissolved, replaced by an almost frightening clarity.

Damon groaned softly, unable to contain the reaction.

His body responded too intensely. Every nerve felt like it was on fire, not with pain, but with energy. He felt a wave of raw, undirected, not exactly physical excitement—something deeper, more instinctive. An absolute response to the fact that he was, finally, complete.

It was living again.

Not as a human.

Like something better.

He clung to her, his fingers digging into the sheet to avoid completely losing control. The blood continued to flow, and each sip seemed to push him deeper into that surreal, almost sacred state.

Elizabeth let out a restrained sigh.

Not of pain.

Of recognition.

“Slowly,” she murmured finally, a hand touching his hair. “Or you’ll get lost in this faster than you think.”

Damon obeyed—not out of discipline, but because a newborn part of him was still able to hear.

When he pulled away, breathless, the world was still spinning. His vision trembled, not from weakness, but from overwhelm. He felt his own body pulsing with absurd force, as if every cell were waking up for the first time.

Elizabeth watched him in silence.

There was a small trace of blood trickling down his neck, but the wound was already slowly closing. Her red eyes were more intense now, reflecting something that wasn’t regret.

“Now you understand,” she said softly.

Damon ran a hand over his face, trying to anchor himself to something solid.

“This…” his voice faltered. He laughed humorlessly. “This shouldn’t be allowed.”

She tilted her head.

“It isn’t.” A slight smile appeared on her lips. “That’s why it’s dangerous.”

Damon clenched his teeth.

The echo of that sensation still reverberated within him, too hot, too alive. His whole body seemed to vibrate in a state he couldn’t name. He looked up at Elizabeth, and there was something new there—not hunger, not exactly.

“It’s unfair,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Only I feel this.”

Elizabeth frowned slightly.

“Damon…” He didn’t let her finish.

With a slow, deliberate gesture, he opened his own shirt. The fabric slid down his shoulders as if it had no weight at all. His skin was marked by subtle veins, pulsing with an inner glow, as if his blood had learned a new rhythm.

He tilted his head to the side.

Exposing his neck.

There was no provocation in the gesture. There was decisiveness.

“No,” Elizabeth said immediately, sitting up straighter on the bed. For the first time since she’d known him, her voice didn’t sound entirely certain. “I can’t.”

Damon took a step forward. Just one.

His presence changed the air in the room. It wasn’t aggressive, but it was… dominant. Like a silent tide that didn’t ask if it could advance.

“Just do it,” he said. His eyes were different now. Not red. Not human. Too clear. Too deep. “That’s an order.”

Elizabeth froze.

And then… she trembled.

It was almost imperceptible. A slight shudder that ran down her shoulders, down her spine. Something that had never happened before. In all her existence, in all the centuries of self-control, she had never reacted like this to anyone.

She swallowed hard.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” she murmured.

“I know exactly,” Damon replied. “And you know it too.”

The silence that followed was heavy, laden with an almost sacred tension. Elizabeth looked at his neck, and for a moment, the perfect mask shattered. Not in fear. In restrained desire. In recognition.

She approached.

Slowly.

Each movement was calculated, as if crossing an invisible line. When she touched his chest, it was with the tips of her fingers, light enough to be a test.

His blood sang.

It didn’t scream. It sang. A deep, powerful melody, unlike anything she had ever felt. It was new. Unstable. Dangerously alive.

“If I do this,” she said, her voice almost a whisper, “it won’t just be about you.”

“It never was,” he replied.

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a second.

Then she leaned in.

When her lips touched the skin of his neck, Damon shuddered. Not from pain. From anticipation. The contact was cold, but laden with a silent promise. His fangs emerged effortlessly, and as they pierced his skin, the world seemed to hold its breath.

His blood flowed.

And Elizabeth gasped.

There was no containing the reaction. The taste was too intense, too electric. His blood wasn’t just energy—it was transformation. It was like drinking something still in formation, something that carried chaos and potential in equal parts.

She felt the world expand.

Not with clarity—like vertigo.

Damon closed his eyes, feeling the bond tighten on a level he hadn’t imagined existed. It wasn’t submission. It wasn’t domination. It was exchange. Absolute. Profound.

Each sip she took seemed to pull something from him, not just blood, but presence. Awareness. He felt her touch not only on his skin, but inside, as if their existences were overlapping for brief seconds.

Elizabeth gripped his shoulders, her fingers pressing with restrained force, trying to anchor herself. His blood burned differently—not like hunger, but like excess.

She pulled away abruptly.

She breathed heavily.

Her red eyes gleamed with something new: instability.

“Damon…” she began, but stopped.

He watched her in silence, his chest rising and falling slowly. There were marks on his neck, already closing, but the bond remained there, pulsing between them like an invisible thread.

“Now we’re even,” he said, finally.

Elizabeth brought her hand to her lips, as if she could still taste it.

“No,” she replied, with an almost frightened honesty. “Now we’re connected.”

The room seemed smaller.

More dense.

…

The next day arrived without haste.

Damon awoke slowly, not because he needed to—vampires didn’t need sleep like that—but because something weighed pleasantly upon him. A warm weight. Too familiar to ignore.

Elizabeth slept on his body.

Not on her side. Not far away. She lay partially on top of him, her head resting on his chest, an arm draped across his abdomen as if she had claimed him even unconsciously. Her dark hair spread across his skin, and each strand seemed to amplify her presence.

For a moment, Damon simply lay there.

Feeling.

The world was… silent. Not the empty silence of the night, but a complete silence, as if something had finally fallen into place and there was no noise left. The blood in his veins was calm. Satisfied. For the first time since the transformation, there was no pain in his throat, nor that cruel urgency gnawing from within.

He looked at the ceiling, processing this.

Then, in the middle of his vision, something appeared. Not physical. Not illusory.

Too clear to ignore.

[Congratulations! You have completed the Vampire wedding ritual with Elizabeth Wykes!]

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep