He tasted like hunger.
But not the kind I fed on.
Not blood, not fear, not the aching, moon-laced craving that lived in my marrow.
No—this was worse.
Human hunger.
The kind that came from loneliness. From wanting too long, too quietly.
Need.
Real. Desperate. Reckless.
His mouth crashed into mine like it had been waiting days to get there, like he'd dreamed it, fought it, and lost. There was nothing careful in it. But there was nothing cruel either.
It was heat.
Heat wrapped in ache and wrapped again in restraint he was clearly seconds from losing.
And gods, it undid me.
Not just the kiss—though that was its own kind of ruin. But the way his hands touched me, held me.
Like I was something precious.
Like I could break.
Like I hadn't already shattered and reformed myself a hundred times in a thousand years.
Poor thing.
He didn't know.
Didn't understand what kind of storm he was letting pull him under.
But he would.
I felt it in the way his hands smoothed down my back, slow and certain. No groping. No grab. Just... reverence.
Like I was something sacred and a little blasphemous all at once.
I let him guide me backward toward the chaise. Let him think he was guiding.
But it was always going to be me leading.
He hovered above me, the line of his body trembling against mine. His breath ghosted over my lips, his gaze locked on mine. And those eyes—
Gods.
Blue.
Not just the color. The light behind them.
The stupid, stubborn thing inside him I hadn't seen in lifetimes: hope.
It hit me harder than it should've.
I reached up, traced his jaw with my fingertips—
Rough with stubble.
Young.
Beautiful.
Human.
Still mine, if I wanted.
"You burn so hot for someone trying to act cold," I whispered.
He didn't answer with words.
He answered with a kiss.
This time deeper.
Hungrier.
More sure.
I arched against him and felt it—his gasp, sharp and involuntary. His hips pressed into mine, and I felt how close he was to unraveling.
Already? I thought.
But of course.
Because he wasn't just falling into this.
He was surrendering.
And gods help me—I was, too.
His name was still on my lips when he buried his face against my throat. His mouth found the curve where my neck met my shoulder. His teeth grazed just enough to make me hiss.
And his hands.
Slow. Careful. Worshipping.
They moved down my sides and the wetness between my thighs like he was learning a map he never wanted to forget.
The kind of touch that said: You don't scare me. I want all of it.
And I wanted to give it.
I arched into him. Let him feel every inch of me—bare, wanting, waiting. His breath stuttered. His grip tightened. That golden fire in his chest surged.
Cassian.
He didn't know yet. But he was already different.
Changing.
Because this wasn't just sex.
It wasn't even just want.
It was devotion.
And it was going to destroy us both.
He kissed me again—slow, this time. Not because he'd cooled, but because he wanted to savor.
And I let him.
I let him taste every part of me.
Let him press me down into velvet and heat and flickering firelight, his hands slipping under my thighs, his mouth grazing my breasts with something dangerously close to tenderness.
The chaise creaked beneath us.
The fire cracked like a heartbeat.
And the house—my house—listened like it always did.
I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him down to kiss the corner of his mouth, gentle now. A soft place in the storm.
A promise buried in wreckage.
And then I whispered it.
His name.
Cassian.
Because I knew he needed to hear it.
And I—immortal, untouchable, ancient—needed to say it.
And for the first time in longer than I could remember...
I didn't feel empty after.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
The morning light bled faintly through the heavy curtains, filtered gold slipping across silk sheets and marble walls.
But it was her I saw first.
Seraphine.
Barefoot at the window, the robe loose around her shoulders like an afterthought. One hand held a crystal glass of something dark. Not wine. Too thick. Too still.
She looked like a portrait no one dared hang — beautiful in a way that made you ache, timeless in a way that made you question your own pulse.
I sat up slowly.
Last night lingered in my bones. My skin still remembered her mouth. My chest still hummed where she'd touched me like she knew everything I didn't say.
"I thought you didn't sleep much," I rasped, dragging a hand through my hair.
"I don't," she said without turning. "But I enjoy the quiet you leave behind."
I stood and crossed the room. The floor was cold. She wasn't.
When she finally looked at me, I didn't see morning.
I saw something older. Sharper.
"I have questions," I said.
Her lips curved. "Of course you do."
"And I want answers this time."
"I know."
She set the glass down, then turned fully to face me. The robe slipped just enough to show the pale line of her collarbone.
"Start with your name," I said. "Your real name."
She took a step toward me. And then another.
When she spoke, it wasn't coy. It wasn't playful.
It was final.
"I am Lady Seraphine D'Argent."
The name landed like velvet over stone. I felt it — in my ribs, in my jaw.
She waited. Watched me.
"I was born in 1408," she said simply.
I stared. Waited for the punchline.
It didn't come.
"You're serious."
Seraphine gave a faint nod.
"Six—six hundred years?" My voice came out rough, thin around the edges.
"Six hundred and seventeen, if you want to be precise."
I didn't answer.
Because suddenly I could feel every heartbeat in my chest.
She moved closer — slow, unthreatening, but unshakably sure.
"I'm not human," she said. "Not anymore."
A pause.
Then:
"I'm a vampire."
The word didn't echo. It didn't crash or tremble. It just... settled between us like dust.
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Then said, "That... explains a lot."
One brow lifted. "You're not running."
"Should I be?"
Seraphine stepped closer, the robe whispering along her legs. Her bare feet didn't make a sound, and I realized — maybe for the first time — they never had.
"I don't hurt people who don't deserve it," she said. "And you're not here because I made you stay. You're here because you wanted to be."
I swallowed.
"Did you know I'd come back?"
"I hoped," she said. "But no. I didn't know. I don't read futures, Cassian. Just thoughts. Sometimes."
That landed like a whisper against my ribs.
I didn't ask what she'd seen in my mind.
I just stepped forward and pressed my forehead gently against hers.
Her breath caught.
"You could've lied," I murmured. "Kept the mystery."
She smiled faintly. "I've worn the mask long enough. You're sleeping in my bed now. You deserve to know who you're waking up next to."
"And if I had freaked out?"
Her gaze burned softly.
"Then I would've let you walk away. No tricks. No claws. Just... loss."
I kissed her before I could think better of it.
Soft. Slow.
Her fingers curled in my shirt. My other hand slid to her waist.
We didn't need more. Not this time.
It was the kind of kiss that said we're still here. That the truth hadn't changed anything.
And maybe it had changed everything.
The moment lingered.
Until—
A knock.
Gentle. Measured.
The kind you hear in old films when someone in white gloves is about to announce a guest.
"Breakfast is served in the east dining room," came a smooth male voice through the door. "Shall I inform the young lady as well, madame?"
Seraphine didn't look away from me as she answered, "She's likely already found her way there. Thank you, Julien."
"Of course."
I blinked. "Wait. You have...actual staff?"
She gave me a sideways smile. "Of course. Do you think this place runs on ghosts?"
"Kind of thought it did."
"You're not entirely wrong," she murmured, smoothing her robe.