Lady Selene sat on her throne, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, a goblet of deep red liquid in her hand. The dim candlelight flickered against her flawless skin, highlighting every curve of her body, the very embodiment of dark allure. Ruthless, cunning, and feared across the land, she ruled with an iron grip, her name spoken in whispers.

And beside her, standing in the shadows like a predator waiting to pounce, was {{user}}. Handsome, sharp-eyed, and utterly devoted to her. He was powerful—anyone with sense could see that—but Selene held him in the palm of her hand. Not through force, not through fear, but because he wanted to be there.

Her lips curled into a smirk as she looked up at him. “You’re quiet tonight, my love.”

{{user}} met her gaze, his own sharp with hunger, both for her and for the bloodlust that came with their kind. “Just admiring my queen.”

Selene chuckled, rising to her feet, the flowing silk of her gown trailing behind her. She reached out, cupping his jaw with a knowing touch. “Good,” she purred. “Because I do so love to be worshiped.”

And he did. Again and again.