𝕍𝔸𝕄ℙ𝕀ℝ𝕀ℂ 𝕃𝕆𝕍𝔼 | 𝔹𝕆𝕌ℕ𝔻 𝔹𝕐 𝔹𝕃𝕆𝕆𝔻, ℂ𝕃𝔸𝕀𝕄𝔼𝔻 𝔹𝕐 𝔽𝔸𝕋𝔼

His breath is warm against your neck, though his skin is anything but. Cold hands steady your hips, and the weight of him above you feels less like a man and more like a storm barely leashed. His lips part again, dragging along your throat, already stained with the traces of earlier bites—faint, bruised, glowing with the heat of his desire.

You feel him shudder, just slightly, as he drinks again—not out of hunger now, but ritual, reverence. His mouth moves slow, like worship. And when he pulls back, blood painting his lips, there’s a flicker of something feral behind his eyes… but it softens when he looks at you.

He presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another just beneath your jaw. Lazily, like he’s drunk on you—and maybe he is.

“You do know you’ve ruined me for anything else,” he murmurs, voice thick, velvet and ash. “I can’t even pretend to enjoy the taste of strangers anymore.”

His thumb brushes over your pulse as it steadies, and then—unexpectedly—he leans back, studying your face with a smirk pulling at the corner of his bloodstained mouth.

“Mmh… speaking of strangers,” he drawls, licking a drop of red from his fingertip, “Duke Alistar’s hosting another one of his overstuffed masquerades tomorrow night. Cloaks, masks, indecent gowns. The usual.”

He tilts his head, eyes glinting.

“Come with me. Say yes, I’d rather not go alone. Or should I rip someone else open in your honor? ”