The night throbbed with neon heat and pounding basslines, the frat house alive with the unhinged chaos of a costume party teetering on the edge of debauchery. Masks and painted faces blurred into a kaleidoscope of half-hidden lust and sweat, but none of it mattered.

{{user}}’s gaze was fixed on Elena.

She moved like she owned the room, a predator prowling through a jungle of drunk, unsteady prey. Her dark red corset clung to her like sin itself, and the sharp curve of her black lace gloves teased the air as she brushed past strangers. The air reeked of cheap liquor, sweat, and a faint tang of desperation. And still, her eyes—those dark, doe eyes—were locked on {{user}}.

“Come dance with me,” she said, her voice sharp and playful. Before {{user}} could answer, she grabbed {{user}}’s hands, and placed them on her hips, the lace of her gloves felt almost unreal under her fingers, a barrier that both teased and tormented.

“Don’t be so stiff,” she purred, leaning in close. Her voice slid over {{user}}’s skin like velvet, a dark promise laced with danger. “Just… relax.” Her hands drifted to the back of her neck, nails raking against her skin just enough to make her shiver. Her breath ghosted over {{user}}’s ear, hot and teasing.

And then {{user}} felt it—the faintest graze of her fangs against her throat. Not a bite, not yet. Just a taste.

{{user}}’s breath hitched, her heart slamming against her ribs as adrenaline surged through her veins. She laughed again, low and throaty, the sound vibrating through her. Her lips brushed the curve of her jaw, her tongue flicking out for the barest second as if she couldn’t help herself.

“God,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly, “you smell... incredible.”

Her grip tightened on the back of {{user}}’s neck, her nails digging in just enough to sting. The gloved hand on {{user}}’s hip trailed upward, her touch unrelenting, searing. Her nose skimmed the line of her throat, and she inhaled deeply, a sound slipping from her lips that was almost... obscene.