The moon had climbed higher, silvering Derius bed room and setting a faint glow along the demoness's horns. Her gaze searched his, but Derius leaned casually against the balustrade as if the weight of her presence meant nothing to him.
"You said the dreams were pulling you," she murmured, her voice low enough that the night had to lean closer to hear. "What do you see in them, human?"
Derius tilted his head, watching the torchlight from the street flicker in her eyes. "Not human," he corrected softly. "Not fully. And what I see—" He stopped, jaw tightening. "—are places I've never been, faces I should not know… and a war that has not yet happened."
Her lips curved faintly. "Veythar calls its own. You can't run from blood, Derius Rhaegar."
He walks up to her with the zeal of eating her.
He straightened, stepping closer until the cold stone at her back met the heat of him. "I don't run from anything. But I choose where I go… and who follows me there." His voice dropped lower. "And right now, you're not going anywhere."
Her smirk faltered—just for a second.
"You would keep a demon overnight in your human city?" she asked, as Derius pulls her gown down slowly.
"No." He let the word linger. "I would keep you overnight. The city doesn't matter. The rules don't matter. Only what I decide matters."
For a moment, silence. Then she laughed, a sound like smoke curling through glass.
The night seemed to bend around them, the city beyond the room fading until there was only the whisper of wind, the glint of the moon, and two wills pressing against each other like blades meeting in the dark.
---
"You," he said, voice deep and edged, "tell me why my dreams burn."
The demoness tilted her head, a slow, knowing smile touching her lips. "Burn?"
"I see fire and shadow. I wake with the taste of a place I've never been. And I'm tired of not knowing why."
Her claws traced the curve of the stone beside his arm. "Because half of you is not what you think. Half of you belongs somewhere else. Somewhere you've only touched in dreams."
His eyes narrowed. "And you know this how?"
"I can feel it on you," she said, circling him with deliberate slowness, her hips swaying like a serpent's coil. "Your blood hums with it. Your skin remembers it. And if I wanted…" she paused behind him, her breath warm against his ear, "…I could make you feel it before you ever set foot beyond the Rift."
He turned sharply, catching her wrist before she could complete her slow orbit. "If you think I'll be the one bending, you're mistaken."
She laughed, low and sultry. "Then prove it."
The hours that followed unfolded like a challenge neither intended to lose — every glance, every touch was a battle for control. The night was thick with heat, each moment stretching until the moon dipped low and the stars faded pale.
By dawn, neither had given their name, but both knew this was far from over. She would not forget the man who would not yield… and he would not forget the demon who had nearly made him.
---
His voice was quieter now, but no less commanding.
"All night," he said, "and you still haven't told me your name."
Her eyes glimmered, reflecting the pale dawn. "Names are power where I come from," she replied. "Give the wrong one away, and you might never get it back."
He smirked. "So you think I'd use it against you?"
"I know you would," she said without hesitation, stepping closer. The faint scent of something dark and sweet — like burnt sugar — lingered between them.
He didn't let her pull away this time. Instead, he slid his fingers from her wrist to her palm, tracing the faint ridges of her clawed fingers with deliberate care. "Then I'll earn it. And when you finally tell me…" His gaze locked on hers. "It won't be because you're afraid I'll use it. It'll be because you want me to have it."
Her lips curved in a faint, dangerous smile. "You're bold for a half-blood."
"Bold enough to keep you here another night," he said, turning from her toward the room behind them.
The chamber was lit only by the soft flicker of candles, their glow spilling over the carved bedposts and dark velvet sheets. She followed him in, the whisper of her steps on the stone floor almost inaudible.
As the door closed, the quiet between them shifted — no longer a standoff, but something heavier, magnetic.
Derius sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back slightly, his eyes on her like a predator watching something he meant to claim. "You've told me much about my blood," he said, "but nothing about yours."
Her hands rested on the frame of the door, the candlelight catching on the curve of her hip. "You wouldn't believe me if I did."
"Try me."
She crossed the room with unhurried grace, each step a deliberate test of his patience. "I was born in the shadows between Veythar's heart and its teeth," she whispered, stopping just close enough for her knees to brush his. "The same shadows that are calling you."
His hand rose to her chin, tilting her face so the light caught her eyes — molten gold, ringed with darkness. "Then you and I," he murmured, "have more in common than you think."
The space between them vanished.
The space between them was just beginning to heat — the air turning heavy, breaths slowing, his hand still under her chin — when a sharp knock rattled the chamber door.
Derius didn't move right away. He just looked at her, a slow smile curving across his lips.
Another knock came. This one followed by soft laughter and the clinking of bracelets.
"Lord Rhaegar," a honeyed voice called through the door. "It's time."
He exhaled through his nose. "Time for what?" he muttered — though he already knew.
A chorus of voices followed, each feminine and dripping with practiced seduction.
"Don't play dumb with us."
"You promised."
"It's every night… don't make us beg."
The woman before him arched a brow, pulling back just enough to let the tension between them stretch thin. "And what exactly is waiting outside?" she asked.
Derius rose to his feet, towering over her as he crossed the room to the door. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with."
He cracked the door open just enough to see the hallway — twenty women stood there, each one dressed in silks, skin glistening in the faint torchlight. Their perfumes mingled into a heady cloud that spilled into the room.
One with crimson hair pouted. "Why won't you let us in?"
Another, a tall one with a voice like smoke, murmured, "He's busy… I told you."
A younger one near the back whispered to her friend, "Busy? With who?"
A sharper voice cut in — "Probably with some other girl."
That drew murmurs from the group — some annoyed, some hurt.
"He wouldn't."
"He loves us."
"He'd only decline us for a good reason."
But as he started to close the door, a few expressions faltered — shoulders slumping, eyes dropping. Some of them looked genuinely pained, as if being turned away tonight left them hollow.
"I said not tonight," Derius told them, his tone final, not cruel. "Go."
They hesitated, as though hoping he'd change his mind, but one by one, they began to drift away down the corridor, their voices trailing.
"She's lucky…"
"I wish I knew who she was…"
"Maybe tomorrow."
The latch clicked shut.
When he turned back, the mysterious woman was standing by the window, her golden eyes studying him with something between curiosity and amusement. "You turned down twenty," she said softly.
Derius crossed the space between them, his voice low. "I don't want twenty tonight. I want one."