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Chapter 17 - 16~ The Parting Vein

In her touch was worship; in her bite, devotion. We were altar and offering, predator and prayer. She offered me her throat the way queens offer kingdoms, with hunger, pride, and something far more dangerous than mercy."

🩸🌹🩸

Morning had peeled the darkness away, and with it, whatever fevered illusion the night had woven between the two women.

The Dark Empresses sat poised at the edge of the bed, her spine regal and her silence sharp. Her skin was as pale as the linen Amalia lay on, and her expression unreadable, carved from moonstone, untouched by sleep, by breath or by warmth.

🩸 "It's time for you to leave"

She said, her voice low and unhurried, as though speaking from a cathedral of moonlight.

The brunette blinked, propped on one elbow, the sheet barely clinging to her bare body. The words landed colder than the morning air. She stared at the Liliana, searching her marble face for something: warmth, hesitation or even regret. But she found none.

🌹 "So you're just… throwing me away?"

The question came harsher than she intended, raw at the edges, a wound hastily bandaged by sarcasm. She sat up, the sheets falling from her chest like a hush of silk. The bruised daylight caught the confusion in her eyes.

The Silken Predator looked at her with that same calm cruelty she wore as skin.

🩸 "I said nothing of the sort."

She replied, her tone calm, even indulgent.

🩸"But if you want to make it to your precious little job without smelling like sin and ruin, you should go now you'd better move now."

Her expression unreadable, a sculpture carved by centuries, lips painted in secrets.

🩸 "I'm merely reminding you of your own clock. It's not my world that turns."

The words stung, not because they were cruel but because they were casual. Dismissal disguised as indifference.

The brunette didn't move right away. Her hand drifted across the sheets to where the tte vampire lay still, barely more than a silhouette against the dim gold of morning.

Liliana hadn't even pulled the sheets around herself. She looked like a painting abandoned by its artist, limbs too still, breath barely there, the chill of eternity already settling back into her skin.

🩸"You're sulking."

The midnight sovereign murmured at last, her voice low, a smirk riding its edges like smoke curling around a blade.

Amalia didn't answer. But she didn't look away either. And that was all it took.

In a movement that felt effortless, as if the air itself carried her, the succubus slid closer. Her cold hand swept Amalia's hair away from her neck. And then her lips found the hollow just beneath her ear.

She leaned in and kissed the human's lips. It was unhurried and deep, as though she had all the time in the world and no intention of rushing through any part of her. Then she shifted, her lips trailing lower, and pressed a second kiss just beneath the brunette's jaw. It was slow, deliberate, and rich with a hunger that did not need to speak its name. It was the kind of kiss a shadow might give to light, just before it swallowed it whole.

Her body pressed to the brunette's back, all chill skin and quiet dominance, the weight of centuries coiled like velvet steel. Her arm slipped around the mortal's waist.

🩸"If I wanted you gone, you wouldn't still be in my bed."

The Lamia whispered against her throat.

Amalia barely had time to exhale before the bloodborne goddess parted her lips with ease, and then she was sucking on her tongue, slow and deep, until the world around them vanished into nothing but the wet rhythm between their mouths. And all the while, her fingers moved with exquisite purpose, trailing over the curve of the human's hip before sliding between her thighs without asking. As if she already knew the answer.

Two fingers slipped inside Amalia. It was slow, deliberate, and possessive. The vampire's thumb brushing against her clitoris with calculated cruelty, her lips still devouring Amalia's like it was her last taste of midnight.

🩸"I don't do sweetness."

She murmured against the brunette's lips, voice low and full of embers.

🩸 "But I don't lie either. My hands say more than I ever will."

Lialiana's lips descended again, this time to Amalia's neck, where she licked and sucked at the faint traces of earlier bruises, marking her anew without ever breaking the skin. Her fangs stayed hidden, but her intentions did not. Every motion was a confession disguised as lust. Her breath came slow, barely-there, but her fingers moved with purpose, curling inside Amalia like a secret she refused to say aloud.

The brunettens breath hitched, the slow burn of the blonde's fingers and lips unraveling every last thread of control she had left. Her body arched involuntarily, surrendering fully to the electric storm curling inside her: the mingling of sharp pleasure and sweet torment, the fierce pulse that drowned out reason and left her raw, exposed, and trembling.

Her hands gripped the sheets, nails digging into silk as desire threatened to consume her whole. The world contracted to the heat of those two cold fingers moving inside her, the wet press of lips trailing fire along her neck, the intoxicating scent of myrrh and cherry filling her senses like a spell.

She was drowning, and she didn't want to be saved.

Then, suddenly, a harsh, shrill sound cut through the charged air. It was a sharp alarm ripping her back from the edge of surrender. Her phone's glowing screen illuminated the darkened room, the bold numbers mocking her: it was already 7:43 a.m., and she was late.

Panic rushed in like cold water. Heart pounding, she fumbled to silence the noise, her mind spinning from the collision of lust and reality. She sat up, tangled in sheets and tangled emotions, feeling the weight of time slipping through her fingers.

From behind her, the Blood-Wreathed's low chuckle curled through the room like smoke.

🩸 "Exactly as I said."

The Scarlet Veil teased, her voice smooth and merciless.

🩸 "You'll be late. Because you can't quite leave what haunts your nights behind."

The brunette shot her a glare, half amused, half exasperated but beneath it, her skin still tingled with the lingering echo of those fingers and kisses.

🌹 "You're impossible." she murmured.

🩸 "I'm the Dead you chose. Impossible is my trademark."

She replied with a wicked grin.

Amalia let out a breathless laugh, half in defeat, half in amusement. Time, ruthless and unforgiving, cut through the lingering haze of their night like a blade. She glanced at the clock, seconds slipping away with cruel insistence.

Without another word, she sprang into motion, the tangled sheets falling away as urgency sharpened her movements. The warm glow of desire still clung to her skin, but now it mingled uneasily with the cold truth of dawn.

Liliana watched, her ocean gaze unblinking, a smirk playing on lips carved from midnight. When Amalia hesitated, fingers brushing at the tangled mess of hair falling into her face, the Blood-Wreathed's voice sliced through the quiet.

🩸 "Hurry, then. You'd better wash off whatever soul you still cling to."

The brunette moved toward the bathroom, her heart pounding with the rush of time and lingering need. The water hit her skin, barely warm but cleansing enough to dull the fire simmering beneath her flesh.

Wrapped in a towel, she returned to the room where the wight waited. Without a word, she extended a dark, silky blouse, cool and smooth as shadow against Amalia's heated skin.

🩸 "You'd be more appealing without clothes..."

The Blood-Wreathed murmured, voice thick with amused arrogance.

🩸 "But since you insist on being human, this will do."

Amalia accepted the garment, fingers trembling slightly as the scent of myrrh and cherry lingered on her skin, a secret reminder of the night she wished she could carry into the daylight.

Dressed and ready, she cast one last glance at the creature who both haunted and beckoned her.

With a quiet breath, she stepped into the waiting world beyond the room—carrying shadows and desire in her wake.

🩸🌹🩸🌑🩸🌹🩸

When the door closed behind Amalia, the chamber grew still again, still in that particular, bone-deep way that belonged only to ancient places and older things. The silk sheets had cooled. The scent of human warmth faded, replaced by the subtle perfume of old roses and shadow.

The immortal remained seated on the bed, untouched by the cooling sheets, her gaze lingering in the space where Amalia had just been. Her posture held its regal stillness, shaped by centuries, forged in elegance and command, a woman who had witnessed the rise and collapse of empires, who understood the fleeting nature of beauty and how to wield it.

Her fingers drifted slowly, deliberately, to her lips, those lips still bearing the faintest trace of Amalia's breath, a delicate echo suspended in time like a whispered secret caught between heartbeats. She did not summon a smile; the curves of her mouth remained statuesque, carved from alabaster and shadow, untouched by frivolity or regret. Instead, she closed her eyes, folding them shut as if to contain the fragile moment, to cradle the tenderness like a fragile bird nested in silence.

In that stillness, the world held its breath. The weight of centuries pressed gently against the thin veil between softness and steel. When she opened her eyes again, the transformation was complete. The quiet vulnerability dissolved. It folded away like silken curtains after the final act of a tragedy, elegant and irrevocable. What remained was the predator, the midnight sovereign cloaked in shadow and desire, poised with the lethal grace of a blade honed sharp and ready.

The softness had been exquisite, yes, but it belonged to the past now. It was a memory wrapped in moonlight and silk, brilliant yet no longer necessary. Her gaze pierced the room, cold and magnetic, a flawless mask behind which hunger and control whispered in tandem, promising that the night's song was far from over.

She stood with fluid grace.The room held its breath, a silent witness to the sacred ritual of her nakedness. Her spine aligned with the precision of a finely forged blade resting on silk: poised and unyielding.

A knock came. It was gentle, deliberate and respectful as a whispered summons from the depths of night.

Her head turned, her gaze sharpening like polished obsidian. Her voice unfurled, smooth and dark, like oil poured over marble.

🩸 "Enter."

The door opened with quiet ceremony. A young woman stepped inside, a flame of copper hair tied back with a ribbon the color of ash, a soft contrast to the porcelain glow of her skin. Her eyes, clear and wide as an open sky, held calm devotion. She moved with practiced elegance, the hem of her black dress trailing like liquid silk across the floor. She lowered herself at the edge of the bed with reverence, a sacred offering in the dim light.

🍷"Good morning, Madame von Eirenthal."

She said, her voice a clear note of respect.

The Midnight Sovereign approached without haste. Her gaze remained fixed, a velvet shadow pressing softly against the woman's throat. One hand rose slowly, settling behind the woman's neck with deliberate tenderness, drawing her closer.

Her lips descended to the curve of the woman's neck, lips parting to reveal fangs that sank like whispered secrets into warm flesh.

The woman inhaled softly, eyes fluttering closed as breathless moans spilled from parted lips. Her hands clenched the sheets, a quiet surrender to the exquisite torment.

Blood pulsed rich and alive, flowing steady. It was a sacred hymn offered at an altar of desire. Liliana drank with absolute control, each swallow precise, each moment stretched and savored like a prayer. Her hand anchored the girl's nape, sealing the intimacy with ritual devotion.

When the hunger eased, the undead withdrew, a thin gleam of red tracing her lower lip like a final blessing. Satisfaction shimmered in her eyes as she leaned forward, pressing a slow, indulgent kiss to the girl's lips.

The human responded with yearning, fingers gliding across Liliana's bare skin, inviting continuation. Her body arched forward, seeking more, daring more.

The immortal welcomed the invitation without hesitation. She straddled the girl's lap, cupping her jaw with both hands, their lips melding again in a kiss deepened by hunger and promise. Skin pressed skin; the air thickened with the intoxicating scent of blood and desire.

With sovereign authority, Liliana lowered the woman onto the sheets, guiding her body with a mastery born of ancient knowledge.

She gave with fierce intent, her touch sharp and commanding, her hunger undeniable and unwavering. Every movement spoke of power and purpose, every kiss and caress a testament to the fire burning within her. She gave fully, fiercely, and without hesitation, pouring all of herself into the moment.

The morning stretched endlessly before them, vast and unbroken, and within her surged a tempest of desire: wild, relentless, and utterly alive. The storm within her had no end, no quiet. It roared with unspent energy, compelling her to claim, to possess, to savor every breath and sigh until the dawn itself bowed to their shared fire.

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