Aurelia stepped back.
Then again. One more—
Until the cold wall struck her spine, stopping her breath, holding her like stone does a prisoner.
He approached slowly, deliberately, each stride silent but weighted with the kind of threat that tasted like sin. His hand found her waist—not forceful, not rushed—only slow, circling, as though claiming territory no one had touched before. He had no shame. Not even here, in the sacred dining hall of the imperial estate, beneath the ever-watching gods carved into marble.
She didn't flinch, but her face betrayed her—she remembered.
She remembered the last time he touched her like this: wicked, possessive, as though her body had never belonged to her in the first place.
And yet… something inside her shattered. Cracked.
This time, the revulsion twisted with something more dangerous. Heat. Longing. A treacherous hunger blooming beneath her ribs.
She wanted him.
She hated herself for it.
He leaned in—closer now—and with a flick of his fingers, adjusted the lower part of his mask until only his lips showed. Full. Pale. Almost bloodless.
But she saw more.
The line of his jaw, sculpted like it had been carved in rage by a vengeful god. The subtle dip of his chin. The faint shadow above his collarbone.
It was too much.
She trembled, eyes wide with confusion—desire? Shame? Madness? She didn't know. The world had folded in on itself, and all that remained was this man, this monster, this immortal furnace standing before her, melting her every thought with just his presence.
Her fingers itched.
She wanted to see his whole face now. Needed it. As if unveiling it would grant her truth—or damn her forever.
Just as his hand began to rise—sliding slowly from her waist toward the curve beneath her ribs—
A voice.
"My lord," the soldier said trembling, his boots thudding against the mosaic tiles like a sword dropped on stone. "You're needed. Urgently."
Silence sliced the room in two.
His hand froze.
His jaw clenched.
And for a moment, she saw it—that flicker of fury beneath the mask, the kind that could command a thousand men to their death with one word. But he did not turn. His lips hovered still near hers, their breath mingling.
Then, reluctantly, he pulled back.
His palm slid from her body—slowly, almost reverently—but it left behind a coldness, as if he'd carved the heat out of her skin. He adjusted the mask with a single sharp gesture, the lower half snapping into place again like a gate being slammed shut.
He didn't say a word to her.
He turned to the soldier. "Leave."
As he moved past her, she caught his scent—spice, blood, and something darkly sweet. A scent that clung to memory like bruises to skin.
But now her hands were free.
Her lungs expanded again, letting her breath freely.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
And just like that—something returned to her. Not strength, perhaps. But clarity.
She stared at the shattered plate on the floor—the blood still fresh in her palm from earlier. She didn't move toward it again.
Not this time.
He was the flame. But she wasn't kindling.
Not anymore.
-------------------
Aurelia was escorted back to her chamber. She kept looking over her shoulder, as if the room behind her still held something she hadn't understood. But the pain in her hand refused to fade—it burned, throbbed, almost scolded her.
Why did I do that?
The thought wasn't just guilt. It was disbelief. It didn't even feel like something she would do. Not anymore.
"My lady," the maid said, her voice unnervingly gentle. She took Aurelia's hand, and something about the way she smiled made her stomach twist.
"Why are you smiling like that?" Aurelia asked, voice low.
The maid's eyes flicked up. "It was madness, wasn't it? The way Sir Tenebrarum carried you. And now—"
"Stop." Aurelia snatched her hand away. The pain returned instantly, but she didn't flinch this time.
Aurelia flinched as the maid stepped closer, the hem of the woman's skirt brushing the blood-specked tiles. She cradled her injured hand to her chest, the linen wrap already soaked with red.
"You shouldn't be afraid," the maid said gently, her tone almost motherly. "I'm the only one you can trust. I'm your personal help."
Aurelia's spine straightened. She took a step back, her heel hitting the edge of a low bench.
"I don't need you," she said flatly, eyes cold, but her fingers trembled against the bandage.
The maid's smile deepened—not kind, not cruel, just... knowing.
She folded her hands neatly before her and tilted her head.
"Of course. You've got everything under control, don't you?" Her gaze flicked down to the bloodstained cloth. "You got him, after all."
Aurelia's jaw clenched. Her breathing slowed.
The maid lowered her voice to a whisper, leaning just enough that Aurelia could smell rosemary and copper.
"But be careful." Her eyes darkened.
"He's not anywhere near an angel."
Aurelia's brows furrowed. She didn't move.
The maid's lips barely moved now.
"At his worst..." she paused, voice thin as thread, "you're just another piece of living meat to him."
Aurelia's breath caught in her throat. Her injured hand throbbed. Her legs stiffened, but she didn't back away this time.
Instead, she lifted her chin slowly—defiant, but shaken—and stared directly into the maid's too-human smile.
Aurelia's lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Her throat felt dry. The maid's words echoed in her skull like a bell tolling in a crypt.
Then finally—barely louder than a breath—she asked,
"Another meat… are there others?"
The maid's smile didn't falter. If anything, it grew softer—pitying.
She took a step closer, close enough that Aurelia instinctively pulled her injured hand tighter against her chest.
"Yes," the maid whispered, voice silken with something bitter beneath. "There were others."
Aurelia's brows drew together. Her body tensed.
The maid leaned in, her tone flat now—eerily final:
"All humans. Just like you."
Her eyes flicked once to Aurelia's mouth, her hand, her heart.
"But now... they're all dead."
A silence followed—thick, suffocating.
Aurelia didn't move.
Couldn't.
Her back met the chamber wall, but she barely felt it.
The only thing she could feel was the cold certainty crawling up her spine.
And then—
crack.
The door swung open with a sharp sound that sliced through the silence.
Aurelia jerked her head toward it, heart leaping to her throat.
Standing in the threshold was Matrona. Her presence filled the room like a storm front—veil swept back, hands clenched tightly at her sides.
Her voice cracked like a whip:
"Fira. Leave."
The maid didn't flinch—but her smile vanished.
She gave one last look at Aurelia—slow, deliberate—and then curtsied low, the fabric of her skirts brushing the cold marble floor.
"Of course, my lady."
She rose without looking at Aurelia again, and glided out like a shadow retreating before the flame.
The door shut behind her with a click that sounded far too final.
---
To be continued...