Ember 23, 2999 | 10:48 PM – Velvet Spire, Belladira's Office
Belladira took another slow sip of her crimson drink, eyes glittering with curiosity and mischief. The candles around the room danced to the low hum of bass bleeding through the club walls.
"So," she said, swirling the liquid, "what exactly you wanna know 'bout the Wild Spine, sugar?"
Shiro leaned back, golden eyes half-lidded. "Everything you can give me. Creatures. Hazards. Anything that might kill a man… or worship him."
Belladira tilted her head, lips curling. "Mm… the Wild Spine don't worship nobody. It remembers. That place older than any city. The trees bleed memory, the stones still whisper to each other in dreams. You ain't walkin' through it—you lettin' it walk through you."
Shiro grinned. "That so?"
"Mmhmm." She leaned in. "There's somethin' primal buried under them roots. Somethin' cursed and holy at the same time. I done seen beasts with no mouths that still scream. I seen fog take shape and walk like it had a soul. The deeper you go, the more it changes you. If you make it out."
He nodded slowly, fascinated. "And what about a man named Morrow?"
Belladira's smile faded instantly.
Her glass hit the table harder than necessary.
"Oh… that bastard."
Shiro raised a brow. "That bad?"
"He one of them types who think because he smart, he above rot. But baby, rot don't care if you got a diploma. That man's been diggin' through the Spine's leftovers—tryin' to fuse the old world into the new. He don't even understand what he messin' with. He feeds on things he don't believe in."
"Sounds familiar," Shiro muttered, jaw tight.
Belladira's red eyes softened for a second. "You watch yourself if he's in your way, beastman. Ain't just Choir you fightin'. You fightin' somethin' that's tryin' to rewrite life."
⸻
10:48 PM | Velvet Spire, Main Lounge
Downstairs, Dez was still in the booth… trying not to die of temptation.
Three exotic dancers had now turned into five. One was feeding him berries from her lips. Another kept whispering lyrics to a song in his ear. The third just laid in his lap like a content panther, purring.
"I am in a relationship," Dez mumbled like a prayer. "I am loyal. I am not tryna get hexed."
One of the girls giggled. "Aww, your girl must be real mean."
"You don't know the half of it," he muttered, adjusting his collar and trying not to make eye contact with any hips.
⸻
10:59 PM | Outskirts of the Duskhaven Wards
Far from the club, Grakka walked alone through the quiet borderlands of the city. Her cloak trailed behind her, her war axe strapped to her back. The sky was darker here, lit only by distant moons.
But her instincts were screaming.
She wasn't just being watched—she was being studied.
So she did what any orc warlord would do.
She grinned.
And veered into a crowded street market, knocking over carts and spooking guards. Merchants shouted, people panicked. In the chaos, she looped twice, changed direction, and ducked into a tunnel system only tribal folk knew about.
The feeling faded.
For now.
⸻
11:05 PM | Lena's Mansion, Kitchen Hall
Zarrah stirred her tea, giving Lena a slow, suspicious look across the marble island.
"So… why exactly do you hate Belladira again?"
Lena didn't even flinch.
"That thieving, dress-copying, enchantment-overpricing bloodsucker? Please."
Zarrah grinned. "You're mad over a dress?"
Lena pointed at her. "I bought it first. Had it custom fitted and everything. Logged onto my crystal feed that night, ready to post… and there she was. Wearing it. Same cut, same designer. Smirking in the background of someone else's club photo."
Zarrah howled with laughter.
"That's not even the worst," Lena added. "She outbid me on a relic once. Outbid me. Just to let it collect dust in her office like a trophy."
"Oh yeah," Zarrah said between cackles, "you hate her for real."
⸻
11:10 PM | Maid Quarters
"Posture, girls."
Rena's voice snapped like a whip through the maid quarters.
The Sable twins stood side by side in black maid dresses, both glaring with practiced hate but trying not to slouch.
"No eye rolls. No fangs at guests. And if you drop a tray, you drop and give me fifty."
Vaelira mumbled under her breath. "This is hell."
Rena's fluffy tails twitched. "No. This is training. Hell is what happens if you serve Master Shiro a lukewarm drink. Ask the last girl."
The twins paled slightly.
"Now smile, curtsey, and repeat after me," Rena barked. "Welcome to the mansion. May I ease your burdens?"
The twins groaned.
Rena smiled sweetly. "One more groan and I double your broom duty. Try me."
Ember 23, 2999 | 11:17 PM – Velvet Spire, Belladira's Office
The drinks were nearly gone. The air between them, thicker than smoke now—carrying that kind of tension that made the walls feel too small, the space too quiet, and the blood too loud.
Belladira swirled the last of her glass and eyed Shiro over the rim.
"Well, sugar…" she purred, "this lil' talk was mighty illuminatin'."
Shiro smirked, standing up with a casual stretch, cracking his neck as he turned toward the door. "Mhm. Enlightenin' for me too. You a dangerous one."
"Oh, baby, you ain't seen nothin' yet."
He was three steps from the door when—
Thump.
His back hit the wall with a firm shove.
Belladira was in front of him, pressed close, one hand flat against his chest, the other gripping the collar of his shirt. Her red eyes glowed low and hungry, and her fangs peeked down from her upper lip like they'd been waiting all night.
"Mmm… and just where you think you goin'?" she whispered, voice thick with velvet and heat.
Shiro grinned wide, letting his gold fangs show. "You miss me already?"
She leaned in—sniffed along his neck, just below his jawline. Her body trembled.
"That scent…" she whispered. "Mmm. I been holdin' back all night. But now…"
Her breath grew hotter. Her lips barely brushed his skin.
"…I want a taste, sugar. Somethin' in you… it don't smell like nothin' I ever fed on. You walkin' 'round here with prey perfume on… but you smell like king."
Without a word, Shiro's hands gripped her thick thighs and lifted her like she weighed nothing. Belladira gasped—then laughed, head tilted back in wicked delight.
"You pickin' me up now?" she purred.
He stepped over to her desk, sat down in her velvet throne-like chair, still holding her in his lap like a trophy he dared the gods to challenge.
"I ain't no blood bag, sweetheart," he said, voice low and teasing. "If you wanna feed, you better be ready to earn it."
Belladira straddled him slowly, licking her lips as her hands slid up his chest and her eyes narrowed with lustful amusement.
"Oh, I ain't just here to feed, beastman. I'm here to devour."
Their grins matched now—feral, playful, dangerous.
Dominant vs dominant. No submission. Just power crackling like lightning between bare skin and hidden hunger.
And neither of them wanted to back down.
Not yet.
Not tonight.