To desire a vampire is to crave the dark and the eternal; to desire her as a woman is to taste the infinite in a single kiss.
🩸🌹🩸
Amalia followed the curve of the corridor as though drawn by breath, the low golden lamps casting their glow over dark mahogany walls.
Her fingers brushed the wood without thinking, guided by the stillness of the house. She felt the weight of silence not as a lack, but as a presence, old and awake.
And then she saw them, portraits, framed in deep black or brushed bronze, stretched from one end of the gallery to the other. Every one of them held the same face, and yet none were alike. Liliana lived in these images, in oil, dust and time. She stood crowned in silks, veiled in furs, wrapped in the garb of vanished empires and forgotten cities. A red satin gown hung from one image like the breath of Paris at midnight, while another showed her in a soldier's coat, her hand on a man's throat, her gaze locked to the artist with cruel affection.
Amalia stopped in front of one. The paint was cracked in the corners, but the gaze had not faded. The beautiful vampire sat on a throne of crimson leather, her foot upon the back of a kneeling man. Her expression held no triumph, only boredom, as though his devotion were simply gravity. The man's face was turned away. His mouth was open, and his arms slack, like an offering that no longer knew itself.
She did not know what she felt. A deep warmth spread from her chest downward, mingled with an unease she could not name.
🩸"You find them strange."
Came the immortal's voice behind her, so close the syllables brushed her skin like perfume.
🌹"I find them...disturbing...yet beautiful."
🩸"They are only fragments. What I've allowed to remain. They do not tell the truth, only the parts I chose to love."
Amalia turned, and Liliana stood not a step away, her pale hair loose over one shoulder, a black velvet robe open at the throat. Her lips were wine-dark, her eyes too calm.
Amalia's voice trembled faintly when she spoke again.
🌹 "They span centuries."
🩸"And still I wake the same."
The vampire murmured, stepping past Amalia.
🩸"No matter how many dresses I burned or names I buried."
She moved forward, and the human followed without being asked. They reached the end of the gallery, where a grand parlor opened like a secret waiting to be found. There, beneath a tall window veiled with burgundy lace, stood an upright piano. Its wood was dark and polished, with carvings of roses along its legs and the initials "L.D." carved faintly above the keys. A thick velvet stool sat before it, untouched, as though waiting for fingers that had not yet returned.
Amalia walked to it as if approaching an altar.
🌹"You play"
She said, her tone no longer one of question, but discovery.
Liliana came to stand beside her, her hand resting lightly on the edge of the piano.
🩸"I play when the house demands a softer hunger."
Amalia's hand hovered near the keys, admiring the ivory and the years it held.
🌹"Will you play now?"
The vampire turned her head. Her eyes were too clear, too knowing. She leaned in close enough that Amalia caught the scent of old perfume, something like myrrh and cherry and ash.
🩸"Perhaps, when you finally open your legs for me."
The words did not come sharp or mocking. They were spoken like a vow, like a sentence passed down through ritual. The brunette felt her stomach turn with heat. The directness of it was a weapon, but it did not cut, it scorched. Her mind searched for modesty, for the remnants of refusal, but none remained.
She stepped back, slowly, and let herself sit upon the chaise that waited behind her, its cushions black and gold. Her posture was regal. Her legs crossed, and her hands rested on her lap with the softness of surrender.
The flicker of candlelight cast long shadows that stretched and trembled across the walls as the quiet steps approached. A maid entered the room, her movements careful, her face a pale mask of service and silence. She carried a slender glass filled with wine dark as blood, the liquid catching the light and sending crimson ripples across the lacquered floor.
Amalia watched her, eyes tracing the calm grace with which the woman moved, the way her hands never wavered. The maid paused beside her, offering the glass without a word, her gaze lowered as if every word left unsaid was a secret held too sacred to share.
The brunette took the glass with a soft nod, lips brushing the rim as she tasted the rich, velvety wine. The flavor was sharp, wild, like a promise whispered in a language only the blood could understand.
Liliana's eyes never left the maid. She rose, her silhouette fluid and poised. She reached out, fingers curling around the maid's wrist in a hold both firm and intimate, a binding not of chains but of will.
The maid did not pull away or resist.The night feeder's lips brushed the pale skin of the maid's wrist, a kiss that tasted of iron and eternity. Her eyes burned red, twin flames flickering in the dim light, and still she held Amalia's gaze, unblinking and commanding.
The brunette's breath hitched. A storm stirred behind her ribs, fierce and impossible to silence. The sight should have repelled her, terrified her with its rawness, the stark display of power and surrender so complete it left no room for mercy. Yet instead, something darker stirred within her. A thrill that whispered of danger and desire tangled in impossible harmony.
The maid's pulse fluttered beneath Liliana's mouth, delicate and swift, and the vampire drank with the patience of centuries. The taste of life, sharp and sweet, filled the air between them like a secret shared in silence.
Amalia's fingers curled around her glass, knuckles white. Her eyes flickered to the veins beneath the maid's skin, then back to Liliana's glowing gaze. The world seemed to hold its breath, every heartbeat amplified in the quiet grandeur of the chamber.
When Liliana finally lifted her head, the maid's cheeks were flushed, eyes still lowered but serene as she slipped away, the soft click of her footsteps fading like a closing door.
The immortal returned to Amalia's side, the faintest trace of satisfaction lingering in her smile.
🩸 "Do you understand now?"
The brunette's lips parted, silent and still. Words tangled in her throat, drowned beneath the storm of conflicting emotions roiling within. Fear and fascination wove together like dark silk, twisting with revulsion and an unspoken longing she dared not name. The vampire's world was a realm where blood spoke louder than language, where surrender became both a weapon and a sanctuary.
A slow fire ignited deep inside her, fierce and untamed. She felt the pull of the night tighten around her, its shadowed wings promising not just danger but transformation, a rebirth beneath its eternal cloak.
🩸 "Blood is not just hunger."
The undead whispered, her voice a low caress.
🩸"It is woven through every moment of my existence: in lust, in anger, in joy. It is not merely survival, but life itself."
Her gaze locked with the brunette, steady and unyielding.
🩸 "Are you ready to take it all? To step beyond your mortality? I will not change my nature to fit your fragile human limits."
The weight of that truth settled between them, heavy and unbreakable. The choice lay bare.
🌹 "I'm in."
The words slipped from Amalia's lips like a surrender and a challenge all at once. The vampires's eyes gleamed with something fierce, an ancient hunger kindled by that simple declaration. The air between them thickened, charged with a promise that defied reason and beckoned to the dark depths inside both women.
For a heartbeat, the night seemed to hold its breath. The wight's smile curved slow, sharp, a predator pleased with her catch. Her fingers brushed against Amalia's cheek, light as a whisper, sending shivers that laced skin and bone alike.
🩸 "Good."
The single word fell like a seal, final and absolute. It echoed in the silence that followed, a vow spoken between predator and willing prey.
Then the night took them.
Liliana's lips found the human's with a deliberate, possessive hunger. The kiss was slow and deep, tongues sliding together in a dance older than the stars. Amalia trembled beneath the night creature's touch, every nerve alight, every breath a stolen fragment of wild desire.
Beneath the surface of the kiss, a subtle bitterness mingled with sweetness, the faint metallic tang of the maid's blood still fresh on the vampire's tongue.
Amalia's senses flared, caught off guard by the sharp taste. It ignited something primal, a dark spark that leapt through her veins, both alien and intoxicating. The blood was a dark elixir, a forbidden flavor that spoke of danger and devotion all at once. Her heart hammered in wild rhythm, caught between recoil and craving, shock and surrender.
Her breath hitched, the taste lingering like a secret promise pressed deep inside her. Eyes fluttering closed, she surrendered to the flood of sensation, the heady pull of the immortal who had claimed her night, and perhaps, something more.
The endless night waited, stretching wide and patient. And Amalia knew, with a certainty that shook her to the core, that this was only the beginning.