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Her attacks came without warning, every movement fluid, lethal, and precise. Knife flashes, horns angled with deadly intent, and the sheer force of her strikes had me on high alert. I ducked, twisted, and dodged, countering where I could, but it was like trying to catch lightning in my hands.
Finally, I saw an opening. Using my momentum, I grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her, and pinned her to the bed. My hands pressed firmly against her upper arms as I straddled her, eyes blazing.
"Enough!" I growled, voice low and commanding. "Who are you? Why are you trying to kill me?"
Her eyes flashed with hatred, dark and unrelenting. "You don't deserve to live! You're supposed to die!"
I narrowed my eyes, pressing harder, pinning her hands above her head. "I'm very patient," I said, "but I do like answers."
Instead of yielding, she wrapped her legs around my waist, muscles coiling like a viper. With a sudden twist, she shifted, spinning me so that now I was beneath her. Her body pressed against mine, fully bare, curves flush with the heat of her movement. Every inch of her was a deliberate distraction, her chest rising and falling dangerously close to my face. I fought to keep my gaze steady, to maintain the edge of control I had over the situation.
Her lips suddenly found mine, pressing hard and insistent. The tension of our fight, the danger, the thrill—it all collapsed into that kiss. Heat and instinct took over, bodies moving together in a rhythm that blurred pain, anger, and desire. Every motion was a battle turned into a dance, every touch a reminder of the danger she posed—and the temptation she embodied.
We rocked together, caught between the fight we had just waged and the fire now consuming us both. Pride fought desire, but desire was winning.
And just as I thought I could surrender, just as I was starting to forget the earlier blows and danger, her fangs gleamed in the dim light. She leaned in, eyes wild, and snapped toward my head.
Instinct surged. Survival instincts, pride, and desire clashing violently inside me. The game was far from over—and I knew the next move could either save me… or end me.
---
Her fangs glinted dangerously close to my throat, eyes wild, and for a heartbeat I felt the full weight of danger press against me. Reflex took over. My hands darted to a small container resting near the bed—something mundane, maybe a jar or bottle—and with precision born from instinct, I swung it at her head.
There was a sharp thud, a flash of dizziness in her amber eyes, and then—silence.
She slumped against me, unconscious. Her body pressed into mine, curves pressing fully against me, warm and soft, completely unintentional yet utterly distracting. My nostrils flared, heart hammering, and I felt the old pride flicker through me—the part of Aros that had never been truly mortal.
I stepped back, carefully disentangling myself while still feeling the lingering heat of her body, and surveyed the room. Bandages, a knife, a bed in disarray… and her. Dangerous, beautiful, lethal. She could not be left loose.
Using some ropes I found, I bound her carefully but firmly, ensuring she could not attack again until I knew who she was, who had sent her, and why she thought she could end me.
Then, as I dressed, sliding armor-like layers of my garments back into place, a strange vibration coursed through my veins. First a tingle, then a heat, then a surge so violent it almost knocked me to my knees. My vision blurred, then sharpened. Memories—my past, my name, my throne, the terror I had once inspired—flooded me like a storm.
I gasped, heart pounding not just from the encounter, but from the rush of recognition:
I remembered everything.
The battles. The conquest. The fear my name once commanded. The cruelty, the power, the intoxicating rush of godlike might. But not all of it had returned. Some threads of magic, some of the deep reservoirs of my old divinity, were gone—or perhaps hidden, dormant, waiting for the right spark.
Even without full power, though, I was still Aros. Still prideful, still untouchable in mind, cunning, and strength. The world, and everyone in it—including this woman—would soon discover that waking me had been a dangerous mistake.
I crouched near where she lay bound, chest still rising and falling with quiet breaths. Her hair fell across her face like a dark veil, and even unconscious, she radiated a lethal beauty that would have commanded armies in another life.
And I knew, with a smirk curling across my lips, that when she woke… the questioning would be thorough, and very personal.
The storm of Aros had returned—but it had learned patience.
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