Lisan Emberton’s mind swirled in a haze of disbelief, confusion, and an undercurrent of something she couldn’t fully name. What the hell is happening? That singular thought echoed relentlessly as Dreven’s cold, unyielding lips pressed against her own.
It wasn’t the kiss of a lover, nor the hesitant exploration of a first-time meeting—it was commanding, inescapable. She had always prided herself on her strength, her unshakable will, but now it felt like a distant memory. Her thoughts screamed at her to push him away and to escape this undesired kiss.
Yet, her body betrayed her.
Her hands moved of their own accord, sliding upward to rest on his neck. Her fingers tangled in his hair, the strands surprisingly soft as they slipped between her fingertips. She gripped him tighter as if her own resistance were slipping like sand through her grasp.
Guilt surged through her despite the fact that she attempted to resist. This man had killed companions she trusted and she was here kissing him. Gods she was going to be punished for this someday. Their spirits would certainly haunt her.
His lips left hers, ghosting down her jawline. Each touch sent a cascade of sensations through her body, a mix of dread and warmth that made it impossible to think clearly. Lisan’s breaths quickened, shallow and unsteady, her chest rising and falling like a storm-tossed sea.
This isn’t me. This isn’t real.
But it felt real. Too real.
Her mind fought desperately to claw its way to the surface of this trance, her willpower gathering in fragments. She tried to focus on anything—the faint crackle of the hearth in the corner, the soft creak of the bed beneath them, the icy air that kissed her bare skin. But it was useless.
And then, she felt it.
The sharp, sudden pressure of his teeth breaking the tender flesh of her neck.
Her entire body tensed, a jolt of pain sparking through her like lightning. It wasn’t just the pain that shocked her—it was the vulnerability of it, the primal, intimate act that stripped away her defenses.
She expected agony, fire burning through her veins, but what came instead was far more disorienting. A strange warmth coursed through her, dulling the edges of pain. It wasn’t comforting, but it wasn’t unbearable either. It was... intoxicating.
Her vision blurred, a woozy sensation washing over her as if the room itself tilted on its axis. Her hands, which had clung to him moments before, fell limply to her sides. The only sound she could hear now was her heartbeat, slowing with each pull of her blood, each second of her life siphoned away.
Lisan’s thoughts fragmented further, her mind teetering on the edge of darkness. She tried to summon anger, but it felt distant, like a shadow she couldn’t grasp.
And then, as quickly as it began, it was over.
Dreven pulled back, his lips painted crimson with her blood. He moved with a fluidity that seemed unnatural, gently easing her down onto the bed as if she were made of porcelain. His cold fingers brushed against her cheek, and she shivered at the sensation, both from the chill and the lingering fog that clouded her senses.
“Five mouthfuls is enough,” he said softly, his voice low and steady, as though he hadn’t just violated her in the most visceral way imaginable. “I apologize in advance for this. I know non-Sanguinari are often confused by our customs.”
Confused? Lisan wanted to scream at him, to lash out, but her body felt like lead, her limbs unresponsive. All she could muster was a glare, her lips barely able to move as she mouthed a single, furious response.
“You... bastard.”
Dreven’s expression didn’t change. There was no remorse in his golden eyes, no flicker of doubt or hesitation. He simply nodded, as though he expected her reaction, as though it were merely a predictable step in this grotesque ritual.
Lisan’s vision began to darken, her body succumbing to the haze of blood loss. As she slipped into unconsciousness, one thought burned in her mind, bright and defiant amid the fog.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
This isn’t over.
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Dreven sighed, the sound low and weighty in the quiet room.
The guilt gnawed at him, a familiar companion he had long since stopped fighting. This—feeding, as necessary as it was—would undoubtedly cause friction between him and the one person he could rely on in this fractured world. But what choice did he have? Risking exposure by hunting an outsider would have been a far greater danger, one neither of them could afford.
He glanced at Lisan, her form limp on the bed, her breath slow and steady. She would recover soon enough. He had been careful, as careful as someone in his position could be. Still, there was no denying the weight of what he had done.
Standing, he stretched, his muscles taut from days of travel and conflict. His hand went to his neck, absently massaging a spot where tension always seemed to gather. He made his way to the small bathing room, its simplicity a stark contrast to the grandeur he had once known. A week without washing—he grimaced at the thought. Perhaps the warmth of the water could do more than cleanse his body; perhaps it could clear his mind as well.
The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of enchanted stones providing just enough illumination to make out the iron tub filled with steaming water. Stripping off his worn garments, he stepped into the bath, the heat seeping into his skin and easing the aches of his long-unyielding body. He leaned back, closing his eyes, letting the silence and warmth envelop him.
But silence was rarely kind to him.
Memories surfaced, unbidden.
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It had been centuries ago, but the vividness of it all remained sharp, as if it had happened just yesterday. The colony was a haven, a sanctuary deep within the ancient forests of his world. Sunlight had filtered through the canopy, painting the golden halls of their elven fortification with a warm glow. The air had always carried a melody—a mixture of birdsong, rustling leaves, and the faint hum of arcane wards that protected their home.
And then she had arrived.
Lady Amelia Sunfire, her name as radiant as her presence. She was unlike any elf he had ever known. Her alabaster skin seemed to glow with an ethereal light, her hair a cascade of silken white that framed her delicate, angular features. But it was her eyes—those crimson orbs—that had captivated and unnerved him in equal measure.
She had been part of the first generation of Sanguinari after the Originators, a strange and feared lineage that walked the line between predator and deity. Amelia carried her transformation with an elegance that belied the monstrous hunger she harbored within. She had chosen him, of all people, to be her protégé, to join her in this eternal dance of blood and shadow.
At first, Dreven had resisted.
He could still remember the night it happened, the ambush that shattered the haven the colonists had chosen. Sanguinari attacked and swept through their colony with no remorse for man, woman, or child. The Elvish kingdom they had been sent from specialized in arcane magic, but unfortunately for them Sanguinari being mostly of elf stock knew exactly how to counter their defenses.
Dreven had fallen that night, his blood painting the marble steps of the great hall. He had thought himself dead until her cold hands had cradled his broken body. Her voice, soft and melodic, had whispered words he couldn’t fully recall. And then the bite.
The searing pain had consumed him, eclipsing even the agony of his wounds. For years after, he had been lost in the madness of bloodlust, a feral beast driven only by hunger. It was Amelia who had brought him back, who had taught him to control the gift she had given him.
And yet, even as he learned to wield his newfound power, a part of him had hated her for it. He had despised what had become of their colony, what had become of him. But with time, the hatred faded, replaced by something he had not expected—understanding. He had gained so much in exchange for what he had lost, and Amelia had been the one constant in that transition.
Until she wasn’t.
The Holy Flame Paladins had returned, their crusade relentless. Their second assault had been decisive, striking at the heart of their Sanguinari stronghold. Dreven had fought with everything he had, but he was overwhelmed before he could reach her. He had never known her fate.
His last memory of her was a fleeting vision amid the chaos: Amelia, her hair a beacon of white against the crimson-stained battlefield, her eyes locked on his with an intensity that still haunted him.
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The bathwater rippled as Dreven shifted, the memories fading back into the recesses of his mind. He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling, the steam curling upward like ghostly tendrils. A faint smile touched his lips, unbidden. He could still see her, radiant and fierce, a vision of beauty and power that had shaped so much of who he had become.
He rose from the bath, the water cascading off his skin as he reached for a towel. Drying off, he dressed in clean clothes, his movements slow and deliberate. The room felt colder now, the warmth of the bath fading as he stepped back into the dim light of their modest dwelling.
Lisan was still on the bed, her breathing steady, her features relaxed in sleep. Dreven stood over her for a moment, his golden eyes softening. How peaceful she looked, her face free of the burdens she carried while awake.
He envied her.
Sleep was a rare luxury for him, and when it came, it brought no rest. The dreams were always there, a tangle of memories and nightmares that refused to let him go. For now, he would let her rest, let her have this moment of respite.
Turning away, Dreven made his way to the small window, staring out into the dark, unyielding night. His thoughts drifted, as they often did, between the past and the uncertain future that awaited them.