When Eva opened the door to her chambers, lamplight fell over a man sprawled on the floor. One of the fortress servants—bound hand and foot, gagged, chest rising shallow but steady. Alive.
Lucarion stilled, cold precision cutting through his first surge of anger.
"Explain."
"I woke when he entered. He sounded afraid, said he didn't know what was happening. When he came closer, his eyes were vacant. Then he lunged—clumsy, disoriented." Her voice was steady, though her fingers betrayed strain where they curled at her side.
Lucarion crouched beside the servant, noting the slack features. Not madness. Not rebellion. Something imposed.
"Trance-bound," he murmured. "Driven, not acting of his own will."
When he looked up, Eva's eyes met his without flinching. Too calm. Too composed. The thought of her standing here alone, facing this, pulled taut something in his chest.
"They're growing bolder."
As he rose, the words of a prince pressed at the edge of his tongue—protocol, punishment, what should follow. But what came out was not the ruler's answer.
"You should not have faced this alone."
Her lips twitched, betraying a smile she tried to hide.
His jaw tightened. "Is this amusing to you?" He gestured toward the bound man.
"No, I'm not amused," she said quickly. Then softer: "I'm just… not used to that tone from you." Her gaze lingered, curious, almost startled.
Lucarion studied her, the faint curve of her mouth, the flicker she hadn't meant to reveal. His chest tightened again, sharper this time. "You find it strange."
"Strange," she admitted. "And… disarming."
Her honesty caught at him. For a moment, the room felt closer, air thickened by steam he could not see.
"Do you dislike it?"
Her eyes snapped to his, startled, alive. "No." She hesitated, chin tilting. "But I'm not sure what to make of it."
The urge to press rose, sharp and unrelenting. He stepped into it.
"You know what I have given you. Pieces of myself that few have seen. I have not hidden." His gaze fixed on her, holding her still. "What I do not know is what you think of it. Of me."
The silence stretched taut. Her pulse quickened—he could see it in her throat—but when she spoke her tone was even, deliberate.
"You want a tidy answer? That would be convenient, wouldn't it."
Something close to amusement ghosted across his mouth.
"I'll settle for an honest one."
Her gaze held his, unflinching. "You want to know what I think of you? Fine. In the beginning, I thought you were simply a monster. The most terrifying of all. A prince with too much power, too little conscience, looking at me like I was a piece to move on the board."
Her lip curled faintly, bitter. "And I hated you for it. Every word, every order. Every time you stood there watching me, cold as stone, I thought: this is the monster they warned me about."
She exhaled, slow, as though forcing the next words past a barrier in her throat. "But then it changed. Not all at once—piece by piece. You pushed me, yes. But you also allowed me to see much more than I needed. Of your world. Of you."
Her voice dropped, quieter now, almost against her will. "And that's what I don't know how to reconcile. You still scare me as much as you did before, maybe even more. But I've grown to trust you more than I care to admit."
The admission sat between them, raw and dangerous.
Lucarion's chest tightened, breath slipping deeper than he intended. His eyes flared, sharp light breaking loose before he forced it back down, caging it in discipline.
"You've given me your answer," he said, low and measured, though restraint cost him. He turned from her, focusing on the unconscious servant. "Now I need to deal with the matter at hand. Whoever sent him—"
"No."
The single word cracked across the chamber, sharper than he had ever heard from her. He froze.
Her voice rose, shaking not with fear but fury. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to pull answers out of me, only to turn your back and leave my words hanging."
She stepped closer, heat rolling off her, eyes bright with fire. Her voice came through gritted teeth, edged with anger.
"You provoke me—" she jabbed a finger into his chest, "again and again. And every time, you pull away as if it means nothing. Do you think I don't notice how easy it is for you? "
"And don't hide your indifference behind restraint," she said, voice low and shaking with fury. "If you mean to be cruel, at least be honest about it. The pretense makes it infuriating."
His pulse slammed, need and fury colliding until thought splintered.
He closed the distance in a single stride. "You're wrong," he breathed at her ear, low and taut. "I burn every time I stop."
Before she could answer, his hand cupped the back of her head, fingers threading through hair, pulling her closer. Their bodies collided, and his lips found hers.
The kiss was immediate. Fierce. All sharp edges and heat.
He didn't hesitate. Didn't soften.
Lips crushed to lips, teeth grazing just enough to steal a gasp.
Tongue claimed, demanding. She tasted of fire and frustration—a heady mix that set every nerve alight.
He braced for her resistance, the push-back she had always given—but this time she yielded. Lips parted with a hunger that matched his own.
His hands slid to her waist, anchoring her, pulling her tight with a force that said she couldn't slip free even if she tried.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, nails scraping lightly at his scalp. A sharp little sting, only fueling him further, as she yanked him deeper into the kiss, daring him to stop. She pressed her body closer, refusing the distance he'd always kept.
The kiss deepened, harsher now, a battle of wills as much as desire. Her lips reddened under the press of his, swelling from the aggression.
He slowed deliberately, savoring the quickened pulse at her throat, the shiver that ran down her spine.
Even as he kissed her with everything he wanted to give, he kept the sharpest edge restrained. He wouldn't bite, wouldn't taste the blood clawing at the back of his mind. For now, the fire of her mouth, the heat of her anger, were enough.
When he broke the kiss, it was with a low, almost growling inhale. Forehead to hers, breath mingling, pulse thrumming in tandem. His gaze swept hers, heavy, intent.
She pulled back slightly, chest rising, lips swollen and red. Her eyes narrowed, sharp despite the flush on her cheeks.
"I think… that's not the extent of what you want," she murmured, voice low, daring him to admit it.
He swallowed, her scent thick at the back of his throat—sweet and sharp, threaded with spice. He met her gaze without flinching.
"You smell… exquisite," he said softly. "And yes, I want it. But I won't take it until you offer—until you want to give it."
Her eyes glinted with a mix of challenge and heat.
"Is that because it's hard to stop once you start?"
A low, dry chuckle escaped him. "Infuriatingly restrained, remember?" His hand brushed her jaw, thumb tracing her cheek as if to anchor himself.
Her lips parted, unsteady. A breath trembled through her chest. He could hear the flutter of her pulse, see the faint tremor at her throat—fear threading through her resolve as she forced the words out.
"Then… take it. I can't keep fearing it."
He went still.
"Eva," he said quietly, voice weighted. "Say it clearly. I need to hear it."
Her chin lifted, even as her pulse thundered. "I am offering you my blood. Willingly."
His restraint fractured just a little. He stepped closer, voice low, roughened by the edges of want.
"It won't be unpleasant," he murmured against her ear, lips brushing skin like a vow. "You might even enjoy it."
She shivered as he pressed feather-light kisses along her neck, tracing the curve of her throat. Each kiss drew a gasp, warmth blooming where his lips passed—fear and desire braided so tightly she could no longer tell them apart.
His fangs pressed against restraint until he finally let them slide free, sharp and aching for her. She felt the whisper of them before the bite itself—a tremor, a warning. Then he sank them in, slow and deliberate. Her breath hitched, but there was no pain. Only pressure, a pull that echoed deep in her chest, the rhythm of her pulse answering the rhythm of his mouth.
For him, the world narrowed to taste and sound. Her blood met his tongue like heat made liquid—bright, electric, alive.
Not mortal. Not ordinary.
It was as if lightning had taken form, rippling through his veins, every drop of her essence alive with something vast and divine. He tasted honey and spice, shadow and light. It defied sense—fluid, vibrant, alive in a way that seemed to speak to him, as if it wanted him to understand something beyond words.
And beneath that—her. Her heartbeat. Her will. Her stubborn, infuriating fire, bleeding into him until he couldn't tell where his hunger ended and her defiance began.
Something in him reached out—instinct, soul, something older than words—and for the briefest moment, something answered.
It was not submission. It was recognition.
The sensation cracked him open. The pulse that filled his mouth no longer felt like a vein—it felt like a tether, a current running between them, binding thought to thought, breath to breath.
He felt her heart, not merely as a sound, but as a force, pulsing in tandem with his own. The rush of her breath with his own.
Too close. Too much.
And yet—he couldn't stop.
Her hands clutched at him, not to pull away but to hold him there, anchoring him as his restraint splintered under the weight of that impossible connection.
When he finally tore himself free, it was with a ragged breath, lips and chin stained crimson. The shallow wound on her neck sealed near instantly, a faint shimmer of warmth fading beneath her skin.
He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing hard. The world spun with her scent, her pulse, the echo of her inside him like an aftershock.
He had fed before. Thousands of times.
But never like this. Never with meaning.
Her long lashes fanned his as her eyes fluttered open, dazed, pupils wide and dark.
Lucarion's throat worked around words he didn't know how to form.
He only knew one truth—he had taken something more than blood, and left something of himself behind.
Her gaze flicked to his lips, still wet with her blood. He braced for recoil.
Instead—she kissed him.
Surprise flared, sharp and electric. For a heartbeat, restraint faltered, and all that he'd buried—hunger, need, awe—came undone.