I woke with the imprint of Sera's hand burned into my chest, like she'd branded me in her sleep, and the faint tang of last night's wine still coating my tongue.
The villa felt like a place that knew too much. The curtains filtered the dawn into a guilty gray, the grandfather clock downstairs ticked like it had sworn testimony, and Conrad's footsteps outside my door had the cadence of court procedure.
I'd been up half the night replaying every etiquette note she'd whispered into my head: collars, politeness, posture. I'm not polished. I'm historically a charming disaster. And yet, Conrad had booked the tailor for five. The ball was in two days. People who knew things like this said fittings were ritual. To me, it felt like trial by fire.
When I finally stepped into the hall, Conrad was already waiting, immaculate as ever, a suit draped across his arm. He held it like a priest with a relic. His expression carried the weight of business.
"Stand straight, Mr. Roan," he instructed, voice sharp enough to cut me into the right shape. "Chest out. Shoulders back. Don't smile until I say."
"Right," I muttered, nerves giving me the rhythm of a bad drummer.
The jacket slid onto me like it had been waiting. Heavy, exact. Too good for me. Conrad's fingers were quick and precise — buttons, lapels, hem. His corrections fell like scripture.
"When someone speaks to Lady Sera, you do not barge in. When someone addresses you, you nod once. Smile lightly. No hands in pockets. No chewing. No apologies. This is not an apology tour. You are to exist as her equal presence. Nothing more, nothing less."
I smirked weakly. "I don't apologize for what I do on the street."
"You will not need to tonight," he replied, brisk, tugging at my sleeve until it broke clean at the wrist.
I practiced the smile. It felt dental. Invasive. But when I caught a glimpse in the mirror — shoulders broader, chin higher — I saw a version of myself who might stand next to her without shame.
Then the knock. Clean, deliberate.
Conrad relaxed instantly, like a man who'd been holding breath for days.
And Sera arrived.
She moved like tide — silent, inevitable, pulling everything into her wake. Her robe shimmered faintly with candlelight caught in its folds. She never glanced at a mirror. Vampires don't. They don't need glass to tell them who they are.
Her smile was small, private, and it shifted the entire room.
"You look like a grown man," she said. A phrase that could be praise, or warning, or both.
My chest went weightless. Not because of the words alone, but because of how she meant them. The bond hummed alive, a current threading between us, steady and unbearable. Her unspoken voice curled through me: Good.
Heat climbed my throat. My pulse quickened when she closed the space between us, close enough that the air bent around her. She didn't touch, but the bond made it feel like she had. Don't fidget. Stand. Breathe. The command hit the exact weak point in my spine, steadying me from the inside out.
Conrad kept fussing, his hands busy at my shoulders, but all my focus was on Sera. On the way her gaze wrapped me.
"You will be visible," she said, though the words were angled at Conrad. "On my arm. No slipping away. Understand?"
"Yes, my lady," Conrad answered with the sharpness of a hammer striking steel.
Her eyes snapped to me. And I stopped breathing altogether. Her attention pressed down through the bond, bright, unrelenting.Stay visible. Be mine.The thought wasn't spoken, but it throbbed inside me.
I grinned before I could stop myself.
"What if I screw up?" I muttered. It was safer than pretending I had everything under control.
Her hand ghosted up, hovering near my jaw. My skin burned in anticipation of touch. She smelled like linen and bitter herbs, like old rituals clinging to her skin. Her lips curved with amusement, but her eyes didn't soften.
"Then I'll remind you," she said quietly. "Physically." The promise had teeth.
My breath stuttered. "You want them to remember me as yours, don't you?"
"No." She stepped closer, so close the robe brushed my thigh. "I wantyouto remember you're mine. The rest will follow."
The words scraped me raw. "More than I want to breathe," I admitted, stupid-honest.
Something flickered in her eyes — a dangerous softness. Then her mouth tilted into the faintest smile.
Conrad coughed, loud enough to break glass, like he'd just witnessed something he wasn't meant to. "We'll practice entrances," he said stiffly. "The car. The stairs. How to hold a glass. How to keep your body angled without seeming defensive."
So we practiced. Step, nod, glass, pause. Sera circled, voice precise as a blade, correcting tilt, pace, breath. But every time my eyes found hers, the bond hummed harder. Approval vibrated through me when I got it right, need when I didn't.
By the end, my pulse was hammering. Not from Conrad's drills, but from the way her presence had stripped me bare and dressed me new.
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The door clicked shut behind Conrad, and the silence that followed was thick. Heavy. I could still hear the faint echo of his shoes down the hall, but my attention had already shifted—dragged magnetically toward the man standing by my desk.
Cass.
Still in that goddamn suit.
My fangs pushed against my lips before I even moved. The bond was screaming, clawing at me, begging for more than polite distance, and I gave in the way I always did with him.
"Babe," I whispered, the word deliberate, tasting the heat that instantly spiked in his chest as his thoughts tumbled wild and loud into mine.
She called me babe. She called me babe. Fuck, I can't—
His brain short-circuited, and I smiled sharp and hungry before I slammed him against the desk, kissing him like I'd starve if I didn't. My tongue slid past his lips, dominating, claiming. He groaned—raw, desperate—grabbing my hips like he thought he could hold me still.
"Still in the suit," I growled against his mouth, grinding down against the bulge already straining his pants. "I like you like this. My perfect, pretty boy all dressed up for me."
His thoughts shot through me—holy fuck, she's going to wreck me, I'm not going to last—each one spurring me hotter.
I ripped his tie loose, not bothering with patience, yanking it so hard it burned his throat before I fisted it and pulled his head back. His throat bared beautifully, heartbeat hammering like music against my tongue. My fangs grazed his skin, and he whimpered, cock twitching hard against me.
"Say it," I demanded, my voice low, rough with need. "Tell me who you belong to."
"You—fuck, Sera—always you."
I bit down—not deep enough to drain, just enough to mark, to claim, to taste him while the bond lit up like fire, his pleasure crashing into me. He cried out, hips bucking up against me, and I ground down harder, dragging another desperate moan from his chest.
The suit was still on. His belt gave way under my hands, zipper down, and I shoved my hand inside, stroking him over his briefs until they were soaked with pre-cum. He gasped, clutching the desk for balance, but his thoughts betrayed him—don't stop, don't stop, don't ever stop—feeding me, making me ache with him.
I freed him with one rough pull, and he was thick, flushed, already dripping for me.
"Look at you," I whispered, stroking him slow just to watch his face twist, just to hear the choked sound leave his throat. "Hard for me in seconds. Hungry like I am."
His hands found my ass, pulling me closer, grinding me against him, and I rewarded him by fisting him faster, merciless, smearing his slick down the length of his c*ck.
"You gonna cum in your suit, babe?" I teased, biting his jaw, nipping hard enough to bruise. "Or do I tear it off and fuck you across this desk?"
His brain fractured in my head, thoughts tumbling raw and shameless—yes, yes, f*ck me, please don't stop, I need you so bad—and I shuddered at the echo of it.
I didn't wait for an answer. I bent him over the desk, pressing my body into his chest, and lined him up. No patience left, no need for it. When I sank down onto him, his voice broke, loud and desperate, echoing in the room as my walls clamped around him.
The bond burned. Our pleasure collided, doubled, vicious and perfect. I rode him hard, the desk groaning under the rhythm, my nails dragging bloody lines across his back through the ruined suit. His thoughts were gone—just flashes of my name, my mouth, my fangs—until he was nothing but raw sensation under me.
And still, I wanted more. Always more.