The moment the door creaked shut and Riven's footsteps vanished into the night, Auren opened his eyes.
Not slowly. Not groggily.
They snapped open—calm, calculating, cold.
Like a predator that had only been pretending to sleep until the last of the herd had wandered off.
He lay still for a moment, staring at the dim wooden ceiling of the village house. The candlelight from the hall flickered just faintly beyond the room's thin walls. Shadows danced across the timber. It was quiet now. Just the low night wind brushing against the shutters.
Exactly what he wanted.
"Took them long enough." A smirk curled on Auren's lips.
He sat up, slow and deliberate, like peeling off a mask he'd worn all evening. His posture changed. No longer relaxed, no longer playing the part of the grateful guest. There was something sharp in the way he moved now. Controlled. Purposeful.
They bought it all.
The fake sleep.
The "I was just peeing" excuse.
The innocent, travel-weary adventurer mask.
But underneath it?
Dark flames burned. Unholy, selfish, and shameless.
Auren stood and silently moved toward the window. Through the small crack in the wood, he watched Riven and the others move deeper into the woods with taillight in hand, following the village head's panicked shouts.
Good.
They wouldn't return quickly. Not tonight.
He let out a quiet exhale, his fingers twitching with anticipation.
"Now…" he whispered to himself, licking his lower lip, "this house only has two people in it."
Him… and her.
The village head's wife.
She had stirred something in him the moment she'd walked in with those traditional village clothes—tight around the hips, her chest impossibly full and swaying with every step, her smile too kind, too unaware.
And that bothered him.
Too trusting. Too soft.
He couldn't get the image out of his head—those curves wrapped in innocence. Her bending down to serve food, unaware of the flames she was stoking in his rotten core.
"You shouldn't dress like that… not in a world like this," Auren whispered, voice laced with twisted amusement. "Now you'll find out what it costs to be so… soft."
He walked to the door, his steps silent on the wooden floor. Before opening it, he paused and looked over his shoulder at the empty room.
He chuckled once, low and dark.
"You're all chasing shadows out there…"
He placed his hand on the door handle.
"…but the real monster stayed behind."
And with that, he slipped out into the hallway.
---
The door creaked softly behind Auren as he stepped into the dimly lit hall. The oil lamp on the far table flickered gently, casting elongated shadows along the wooden walls. The silence was thick — the kind that felt alive.
She sat there.
The village head's wife.
On the sofa, her back to him, her figure calm, unmoving — too calm.
Auren's footsteps were silent as he approached. His hand rose slowly, fingers poised just inches above her head, ready to activate Mental Bind. A whisper of a grin tugged at his lips — he had waited for this moment.
But before he could speak a word, her voice sliced through the air like a blade.
"You took your time," she said, her tone smooth, unreadable.
Auren froze.
His eyes widened.
His fingers twitched midair but didn't come down.
She stood up — slowly, deliberately — and turned to face him. Her eyes shimmered, not with fear, but with an unnerving calm.
"I knew you'd come back," she said, stepping closer, the floorboards creaking beneath her bare feet. "I know where my daughter is... and I know what's going on in that twisted head of minutes."
Auren said nothing. His smirk was gone now — replaced with a flicker of uncertainty.
She tilted her head, a curious glint in her eyes.
"You want fuck me," she whispered, brushing past him so close he could feel the heat of her skin. "You want to dominate. Command. Own. But here's the fun part…"
She leaned in close to his ear.
"I also wants."
Absolutely! Here is your passage with corrected grammar and smoother flow while preserving the tone and intent:
When I served the food, I noticed something—something dark in your eyes and lust in your mind.
My name is Clara, and you know me as the wife of the village head. Didn't you notice the age difference between me and my husband?
"Yeah, I always wondered how an old, dumb man ended up with a hot, young wife," Auren replied.
Well, I'm his second wife. There's a long story behind how I became his wife, but let's not get into that now.
They'll all be here in a few hours. Until then, I want to spend some quality time with you. I want you to seduce me. Nothing else—because that old fool can't make me feel the way I want.
[Without using his skills, he got a hot woman to sleep with. Is he really that lucky?]
Clara stepped closer to Auren, her gaze locked on his as the air between them grew charged and heavy. With a slow, deliberate movement, she reached for the collar of his shirt and gently traced her fingers along the fabric, her touch sending shivers up his spine.
She leaned in, her breath warm against his cheek, and brushed her lips softly against his. The kiss was slow at first—tentative, searching—before deepening, full of unspoken longing. Her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, her fingertips lingering on his skin.
Auren answered her touch, equally careful, slipping his hands to her waist as she eased herself closer. Between quiet kisses, their clothes found the floor, falling away as the space between them disappeared completely. Clara smiled, her eyes alight with desire, and pressed another lingering kiss to his lips.
Their lips met in a slow, hungry kiss, all restraint melting away. Clara's hands roamed, bold and curious, while Auren's palms found her curves, pulling her closer. The tension between them was electric, as he grabbed he boobs.