The soft thud of the closing door was the only witness to the silence that followed.
Not because there were no words left, but because none were needed.
Liam Thomas wrapped his arms around Alessia and held her for a long moment.
And in that instant, she felt a sharp ache in her chest.
She wasn't used to that kind of embrace—warm, trusting, free of fear or the need to dominate.
That's not how my kind holds… that's how those who still believe in the soul embrace, she thought, letting the contrast shake her quietly from within, tempered, as if his arms could hold everything the world would no longer allow them to ignore.
The warmth of their bodies contrasted with the night air still vibrating through the cabin's wooden walls.
There was something sacred in that pause—in the way their eyes spoke without phrases.
She looked at him as if his face were a safe harbor after centuries adrift, and he held her as though he somehow knew that this night had the power to change everything.
Liam poured red wine into wide glasses.
For Alessia, the scent of it wasn't merely pleasant—it was intoxicating.
The deep, fermented notes intertwined with the sweet spice of the candles, awakening a sensitivity that didn't entirely belong to this century.
Too human. Too real, she thought, as her sharpened senses struggled not to surrender to the comfort of sensations she once loved… and now had to fear.
The fragrance of wine blended with vanilla, sandalwood, and dried petals from the candles she lit with slightly trembling hands.
The air grew warm, tender, enveloping.
Then, without a word, she turned toward the bathroom and opened the taps of the bathtub.
Steam began to rise, filling the room with humid warmth.
Alessia stood silently in the doorway, wearing nothing but an ivory silk robe—loose, the fabric parting slightly to reveal the delicate curve of her collarbone.
Her bare feet made no sound on the thick rug; her presence felt ethereal, hovering between the real and the impossible.
Inside her, the creature she had spent centuries restraining stirred—curious, tense, expectant.
When they slipped into the bathtub together, the world disappeared.
The warm water embraced their skin, wrapping them in a truce that felt timeless.
Liam's fingers traced slow paths across her back, like a secret map.
Alessia closed her eyes, letting herself drift—but the tension inside her pulsed like an omen.
Every touch ignited something deeper than desire.
"You say you're thirty…" Liam murmured, voice low, tender, playful. "But I swear you don't look a day over twenty. You're perfect."
She smiled faintly without opening her eyes, though a quiet alarm echoed within.
He didn't know.
He didn't know that the skin he touched carried centuries of blood and restraint.
What curves… what skin… what woman. What did I do to deserve this? Liam thought as his lips brushed the neck she instinctively shielded.
They rose from the water amid low laughter and dripping towels.
Steam still floated through the air, and candlelight shimmered over their damp bodies like fire trying to touch them.
Droplets fell in soft intervals, composing a liquid rhythm that mingled with distant music.
In that shared intimacy, everything felt suspended between the real and the eternal.
They dried one another with slow strokes, as if exploring every inch of the other were a privilege granted only for this night.
The room became a sanctuary: white sheets spread like a promise, red petals scattered discreetly, golden light bathing their skin.
Soft piano notes throbbed in the air—steady, intimate—matching the rhythm of their breaths.
Alessia climbed onto him, moving with the grace of a beast that had learned to master its strength.
Her eyes gleamed—not just with desire, but with the struggle raging beneath.
Liam held her by the waist with a reverence only the unscarred could give.
But she couldn't help it—her gaze kept falling to his exposed throat.
It was a silent call, one that asked neither permission nor forgiveness.
Her fangs threatened to emerge, her throat vibrated with an ancient hunger—not merely physical, but spiritual.
His blood… his pure soul… could sustain me for a year, maybe more. It's a forbidden feast. But I can't. I mustn't.
Liam's lips found hers with disarming gentleness, and she fought to hold herself together.
Desire became a battlefield where the human and the immortal clashed for control.
He held her tighter.
She gasped—not only from pleasure but from restraint.
Her nails, though gentle, sank slightly into his skin; the veins beneath her face began to rise, the beast pressing to surface.
Control yourself. Just feel it… just feel it, she repeated inwardly, her fangs halting at the edge of release.
She felt his blood's vibration beneath the skin, like a river begging to be drunk—yet also like a song she refused to silence.
And then it happened.
The act slowed, deepened—it was no longer lust.
It was surrender. It was forgiveness. It was redemption.
Liam looked at her as if he had loved her long before he ever knew her.
And for one fleeting instant, Alessia felt the shadow of another life.
A vision crossed her mind—a snow-covered forest, a broken promise, a name she could no longer recall.
What if our paths crossed before… when I was still human?
She trembled, letting herself feel—unmasked at last.
When they reached the peak together, Alessia cried out—not from hunger, but from release, from freedom, from a passion that ended not in blood… but in life.
Her fangs never broke the surface—though they were a breath away.
And in that instant, she understood: love could be stronger than any dark need.
Liam held her close, breathless, unaware of how near he had come to being devoured.
He kissed her forehead, kept her against him.
And she rested on his chest, breathing like a woman—not a monster.
Her thoughts quieted.
And for the first time in ages, the beast within her slept.
Later, without a word, they returned to the bath—not as foreplay, but as peace.
The bubbling water surrounded them again, the world outside dissolving.
Liam caressed her face and said softly, without expecting an answer,
"I don't know what you are… but I'm sure you're my destiny."
Alessia closed her eyes, letting her humanity win—for one night.
I could have killed him… and yet, all I wanted was to love him. What is this man doing to me?
Her conscience didn't accuse her, but love did—it embraced her.
Outside, beyond the cabins and the fading echo of their whispered union, the forest thickened under a crawling veil of mist.
There was no silence among the trees—only waiting.
A hidden encampment rose in the darkness, made of tattered tents, old wood, and human remains scattered like trophies.
Around a bonfire, several figures gathered, cloaked in bloodstained furs.
Their faces—pale as death—flared briefly in the firelight.
Eyes burned like coals, unblinking, fearless, feeding on the promise of crossing the invisible border between wilderness and city.
Vancouver called to them—not for its beauty, but for its humanity.
For the scent of young blood.
For the promise of chaos without end.
One of them—taller, older—stood on a rock like a general before his army of shadows.
His cloak rippled in the wind, revealing a spectral face lined with scars and eyes gleaming with a feverish amber light.
"The city sleeps," he rasped, voice like venom slipping through the branches. "And its guardians… are distracted by caresses."
The others laughed—low, guttural—rubbing their hands, tasting the air, hungering.
They were the Volkov Clan.
And they weren't merely watching.
They were counting the minutes.