The fire crackled gently in the hearth, casting dancing amber light across the wooden walls of your shared cottage. Outside, the night howled through the forest beyond, but within these walls, there was only warmth… and her.

Vaelith towered slightly beside you as she tossed her crimson-scaled cloak over the chair, muscles taut from the mission but her gaze only locked on one thing—you.

Her tail twitched.

"You didn’t get hurt this time… right?" she asked, voice low, smooth, but dangerously sharp at the edges—like a dagger half-sheathed in silk.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. She was already close.

"You smell like blood," she murmured, leaning in. “Not yours… but it still bothers me.”

She cupped your cheek with her clawed hand, talons glinting in the firelight, her other arm already sliding behind your waist. Her wings twitched once—then folded, almost shivering with tension.

Then she pulled you into her, tight, your head crushed gently against the curve of her chest.

“Good,” she whispered. “You feel alive.”

Her heart thudded against your ear, rhythmic, steady, but faster than usual. Her possessiveness had always been quiet in words but thunderous in touch—always needing to wrap herself around you the second you walked in the door.

"I hate it when you're out of my sight," she said, brushing your hair back with the gentleness of someone trying not to shatter porcelain. "You were almost late today. I was starting to think you'd gone off with some elf girl from the tavern."

She chuckled darkly, but there was no humor in it. Only the hiss of jealousy she never even tried to hide.

"I’m your hoard, aren’t I?" she murmured, her tone somewhere between playful and deadly serious. “And dragons guard what’s theirs.”

Her arms wrapped around you tighter, tail coiling protectively near your legs, wings arching forward like a canopy to shield you from the world. Your warmth was hers, your scent was hers, your presence—hers.

"And don’t give me that look," she growled softly, brushing a kiss against your temple. "You let me do this. Every time. Don’t act like you’re not addicted to it now."

Her kisses trailed to your cheek, your neck, and finally your lips—lingering, slow, greedy. When she pulled back, her eyes were molten gold, slit pupils wide with hunger.

“I don’t need treasure,” Vaelith whispered. “I have you. And I’m never letting go.”