Why... why is he still looking at me like that?
As if he pities me.
As if I am something fragile, abandoned.
I am not a lost, trembling puppy.
I am a demon knight—full-grown, sharpened by battle and shadow.
I have never known defeat.
Never once bowed my head.
Never once cried.
So why... why is he standing this close?
Why does he look at me with those unbearable eyes, full of something I cannot name?
What if I stabbed him now?
Would that wipe away this shame curling inside my chest?
But no—he isn't attacking me.
He's healing me.
Why is he healing me?
No one has ever healed me.
Not even when I collapsed bleeding after brutal training matches—stabbed and torn open by my own comrades—they simply walked away.
No one stayed.
No one cared.
Not even the Lord I served so loyally, endlessly.
He saw me bleed and left me there, like trash.
But this man—this enemy—
Even after I slashed his shoulder, even as his blood runs down his arm, he ignores his own pain to heal mine.
Why?
Why do his hands feel like... like home?
Why does every brush of his fingers make something inside me ache?
As if I was meant to be held like this...
As if I was always meant to be his.
Tears blurred my vision, hot and shameful.
"Why are you not killing me?!" I cried, my voice raw.
"I'm your enemy! Just finish it already! I can't—"
My hands fisted in his robes, dragging him closer as if trying to shake an answer out of him.
"Just kill me!" I screamed, my chest shattering.
But he only gazed down at me, unshaken, unmovable.
"You are mine," he whispered, voice low and dangerous. "And I will decide what to do with you."
His hand slid up, warm and rough, cradling my neck—not to hurt me, but to claim me.
"You've lived a miserable life without me," he breathed against my lips, his voice trembling with a fury I could not understand. "But I will show you—you are not broken. You are not alone. You can be loved."
Loved?
The word slammed into me harder than any blade ever could.
Tears poured from my eyes, silent and burning.
How long had it been since someone... looked at me like this?
"Maybe that bastard erased your memory," he whispered, almost to himself, "but I remember you, Olympia."
Before I could ask—before I could even breathe—he crashed his mouth onto mine.
It wasn't a kiss.
It was a claim.
A brutal, starving kiss from a man who had waited far too long, from a man who would rather die than lose me again.
I gasped into his mouth, instinctively trying to push him away—but my hands trembled uselessly against his chest.
He didn't budge.
He kissed me harder, hungrier, his tongue sweeping into my mouth like he was trying to drown himself in me.
One hand tangled in my hair, pulling me closer.
The other gripped my thigh, squeezing roughly, leaving angry red prints on my skin—marks that screamed mine.
"Mmmphh... hhaa... how do you know my name?" I whimpered into his mouth, my voice broken.
He only growled, never pulling away.
"This isn't the time for questions," he murmured against my lips. "I'm busy."
His arms wrapped around me, lifting me effortlessly.
I clung to him, helpless as he carried me across the chamber, setting me atop a cold stone pedestal.
His mouth never once left mine.
My back hit the stone, but the cold barely registered.
All I could feel was him—his hands, his mouth, his desperate need crashing over me like a storm.
His kisses deepened, rough and possessive, his tongue mapping out every corner of my mouth until I thought I might collapse from the intensity alone.
Is this... is this what satisfaction feels like?
I don't care anymore. I don't care why he knows me. I don't care who he is.
I just want more.
More... and more.
When he finally tore his mouth away from mine, he smirked—a slow, devastating curve of his lips that sent chills racing down my spine.
His eyes burned into me, making my breath catch, as if he could see everything—every broken, trembling part of me.
Before I could recover, he dipped his head lower, claiming my neck once more.
I cried out softly as his fangs grazed the tender skin, piercing exactly where he had bitten me before.
Was he trying to make a mark? To carve his claim into my very flesh?
He pulled me closer, his grip punishing, his nails digging into my sides hard enough to sting.
I twisted in pain, my fingers tangling in his hair, trying to push him away—
But he didn't move.
Instead, he only growled against my skin, slipping lower—his tongue tracing a slow, burning path down to my chest.
In one swift, merciless motion, he ripped open the front of my clothing, baring me fully to his ravenous gaze.
The cold air kissed my exposed skin, making me shudder.
Only a thin, lacy bra remained—barely hiding the soft silvery-pink of my flesh.
I froze, trembling—not from fear of death...
But from the way he was looking at me.
No one had ever looked at me like this before.
Not with hunger.
Not with reverence.
Not with possession.
His golden eyes darkened, drinking me in so deeply it made me want to hide—and yet, some shameful part of me wanted him to look even more.
"How can anyone not worship a body like this?" he murmured, voice low and sinful.
Then he did something that made my very soul leave my body.
He dropped to his knees.
Kneeling before me as if I were something holy to be worshipped, he grabbed my thighs with both hands, spreading them apart with an authority that brooked no argument.
I gasped, heat flooding my face, my heart hammering against my ribs like a wild thing.
Every nerve in my body screamed from the intimacy of his touch, from the unbearable intensity of his gaze.
What... what is happening to me?
I had faced death without fear.
I had fought monsters without blinking.
And yet now—
Faced with this man, this enemy, this stranger who remembered my name—
I was terrified.
Terrified of how much I wanted him.
Terrified of how much I already belonged to him.