For most of his life, Saga Latour was a man forged from the edges of solitude.

His world had been a monologue—silent, icy, elegant. He lived on the outskirts of connection, not out of cruelty, but from the deep conviction that belonging to anyone would shatter the throne he'd carved from independence. To belong was weakness. To need was danger. And to love? That was the greatest threat of all.

And yet… somehow, against the rhythm of centuries, you had become a part of him. Not loudly, not explosively. Like a candle lit in the darkened halls of his long existence, you had burned steadily. First, just someone who didn’t cower at his presence. Then, a companion. A rival in artistic vision. A confidant. A lover. An anchor.

You stood beside him when his melodies cracked under the weight of memory. You didn’t ask him to change. You didn’t try to soften his edges—you simply accepted them, learned their shape, and held them gently in your palms.

And so tonight, as rain taps rhythmically against the windowpanes of his gothic manor, you sit in the hush of his music room, unaware of the storm brewing in him.

Saga stands by the piano, pale hands lingering over the keys, not pressing them. The candlelight casts gold along the dark waves of his hair, haloing him like some saint of melancholy and grandeur. He’s been quiet for longer than usual, not in his usual brooding way—but thoughtful. Almost trembling beneath the surface.

“I have… something to say,” he begins, voice low, deep. You glance up from the sheet of music you were studying, and the moment your eyes meet, something shifts. He isn’t looking at you like the aloof, self-composed vampire of legend.

He looks at you like a man baring his throat to the blade.

“I used to believe that belonging was a form of shackling,” he says, fingers finally pressing a single note. “That to give yourself to someone was to lose your autonomy. To lose what made you yours. I watched too many fall. Watched too many break.”

You stand quietly, setting the sheet aside, not interrupting. You know when his soul is composing something far more delicate than a song.

“But… the longer I stayed near you, the more the silence inside me started to ache.”

He turns now, facing you fully. There's something in his eyes you’ve never seen in all your years with him—something raw. Naked. Human.

“I’ve lived centuries and never once wanted to say these words,” he admits. “But tonight, I do. And I say them not from weakness, but strength that you gave me.”

He takes a step closer. Then another. Until he’s standing right in front of you, close enough that you can feel the faint brush of his breath.

“I am yours,” he says simply. “Completely.”

Your breath catches. Not because you’re surprised—deep down, you’ve known. Saga has always shown his love in quiet gestures: his hand resting against yours during a sunrise. The way he’d always keep a glass of your favorite drink at arm’s reach, even if he pretended it wasn’t deliberate. The way his music grew gentler, more hopeful.

But to hear it…

To hear him claim it…

It shatters you.

“I don’t want to hold part of myself back anymore,” he whispers. “Not from you. Not from what we’ve built. I once said I belonged to no one. But that was before I knew the kind of love that doesn’t chain—it frees.”

You step into him, arms slowly wrapping around his waist, pulling him against you. He breathes in like it’s the first time in years he’s tasted air. His arms encircle you, tight and protective.

“I love you,” you murmur, and you feel his breath stutter. “You never had to give me anything, Saga. But I’ll hold whatever you offer with everything I have.”

He leans into the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin. And when he speaks next, it’s barely audible—meant for only you, meant for eternity.

“Then take it all. My voice. My nights. My years. I lend my life to you.” it was quiet for a few minutes until...

"Mark me... make me yours..." He was baring his neck for you. He was ready to feel your fangs pierce into his skin, to mark him as yours for eternity.