She captivated me with a quiet ferocity, pulling at something ancient inside me. I wanted to know her—to peel away each layer of her mystery and feel her warmth pulse beneath my hands.
The memory of her kiss lingered like wine on the tongue. Ithadn’t been innocent. It had been a descent—an invitation into the depths of her soul. My lips still tingled from it, and I raised my fingers to my mouth, reliving the way her body had molded into me, her breath tangled with mine, her back arching.
There had been something sacred in her surrender.
And something damning in mine.
A stirring bloomed in my chest, radiating down my limbs—heat, need, and something dangerously close to tenderness. Her scent still clung to me, delicate and floral, as if her spirit had followed me home and refused to leave.
Alina and I were something terrible and beautiful together. That truth pulsed through me like a fever.
Pleasure rose in waves as I imagined her lying here, limbs tangled with mine, her voice breaking in my ear. I slid my hand beneath my clothes, needing a taste of that imagined intimacy. But the release was fleeting—a mere echo of the storm she could bring.
It wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough unless it washer.
I rose, my breath ragged, and moved to the open window. The night air kissed my skin, sharp and cold, but I welcomed it. The wind tangled in my hair, and the sky above stretched like a waiting veil.
I drew in the power of the dark, letting it surge through my chest, limbs, and every thrum of my pulse.
And when I could no longer contain the hunger?—
I vanished.
Drawn back to the flame that had undone me.
Many kilometers away, I stepped through the veil of darkness and reappeared in a moonlit field surrounded by towering trees. The land thrummed with energy—the whisper of leaves, the quiet pulse of the earth beneath my boots, the ancient stillness that lived in wild places.
I stood for a moment, listening.
Feeling.
The wind carried with it something familiar. Something that called to me.
Above the tree line, the soft glow of candlelight flickered in an upstairs window of Alina’s estate. I knew without question—it washer room—the same room she had fled to with tear-streaked cheeks and trembling limbs. The room where she waited was haunted by grief and tethered to fate.
Desire curled low in my abdomen.
With a surge of power, I vanished, leaving only a breath of shadow in the clearing.
When I reappeared, I was behind her.
In her boudoir.
She sat at her vanity, cloaked in a robe of pale silk that shimmered like moonlight. The fabric was embroidered with soft florals that traced the curve of her breasts and the slope of her thighs. Her long, coppery hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, and in her hand, she held a bone-handled brush, moving it through the strands as she gazed into the mirror.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t startle. As if she’dfeltme arrive.
As if she’d been expecting me all along.
Most people recoiled at the sight of me, chilled by me, undone by the power I carried in my wake. But not Alina.
She met my gaze in the mirror. Unafraid.
I stepped forward.
In one swift motion, I seized her hips and spun her on the stool to face me. The brush slipped from her fingers as I pulled it from her grasp and tossed it carelessly onto the dressing table. It clattered against the surface, loud in the hush of the room.
