“Well, neither of you is a mouse, kitty cat, so that’s the best I could come up with. The point is, aren’t you tired of the push andpull already? It’s starting to be harrowing, and I usually enjoy the endless chase.”
“You don’t know what you are talking about,” I respond defensively, backing away towards the door.
“Sure, because I have lived for six hundred rambunctious years for nothing.” His trilling laughter follows me through the empty corridor.
True to his word, a sharp knock comes to my door, right as nightfall creeps in, staining the cloudy sky in darkness. Killian is here for our night out.
I take a steadying breath and give myself one last look in the mirror, fastening the scarlet cloak on top of my warm, black wool dress and leather pants.
With quivering fingers, I pull open the door, and I am greeted with a vision draped in obsidian and shadows. His unruly hair clings to his forehead, covering his smoldering eyes, as he hungrily takes me in.
“Little umbra,” he whispers seductively, his voice wrapped in velvet and the promise of sin.
“Let’s get this over with,” I answer impassively, as if I would rather pluck out my toenails with a dull blade than spend an evening in his presence. Truth be told, I am both giddy and fearful, but he doesn’t need to know that.
I bypass him and start strutting towards the stairwell.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Where’s the earlier glee, little menace? I thought you were dying to get out of my castle,” Killian says as he appears at my side, eating up the distance with calm, calculated strides.
“Yeah, but not with you,” I grumble, and he chuckles darkly.
We descend the floors, and I turn towards the massive doors that lead to the gardens, but he keeps walking, and my eyebrows bunch up in confusion.
“Where are you going?”
He glances down at me over his shoulder, a sly smile painting his lips. “There’s no exit that way, umbra, as you perfectly know from your countless hours of searching for a way out.”
My pointed ears burn brightly, and I gulp in apprehension, following in his footsteps. Fuck, he knows about that?
“I told you from the start, little menace, that I know everything happening in my domain. You just didn’t listen.” His smugness drips like honeyed wine, and I shudder. I had no remote chance of escaping this place, did I? And now, I’m not even sure I want to.
We turn a few more corners, and start descending a spiraled, dark staircase that ends in a long, damp tunnel, illuminated by several torches. So that’s how they go in and out of Sangeries. Fucking tunnels! I mentally facepalm myself for never thinking about this possibility.
At last, we emerge into the cool night air, in the heart of Drovillan. The city unfolds before me like a mirage conjured from taboos and desires. It’s a place carved out of obsidian and moonbeams. The countless spires and turrets impale the night sky like the sharp teeth of some slumbering beast. Each steeple is decorated with leaded-glass windows that shine with a cobalt and violet glow.
Intricately adorned bridges arch their way over a river that shimmers in the darkness like a flowing mirror, and candlelit street lamps burn with a soft, unnatural gleam.
The streets and alleyways sparkle with unbridled life. The sweet scent of perfume and the coppery one of blood mingle in the air. Vampires clothed in leather and silk walk hand in hand with daring humans. Their laughter and seductive whispersmingle with the sultry tunes that drift from open windows and exuberant parlors.
I stand beside Killian breathless, my heart thudding not with my usual anxiety, but astonishment. Drovillan is stunning in a way that feels immoral—every cobblestone whispering a forbidden secret, every corner harboring a clandestine encounter.
The cityfeelsalive, as if hedonism is dancing a languid tango with danger, and pleasure wears the mask of something more ruinous.
We stroll aimlessly on the cobbled streets, my eyes roaming over every surface, committing every detail to memory. I have never seen such a marvelous, decadent place. Not Annerough, not Vroni, and for sure not Ibrok, with its gilded mansions and way too flashy establishments.
“Come, I want to take you to my favorite spot in Drovillan,” he says, lacing his fingers with mine. His touch is a cool, soothing balm, so at odds—and yet so perfectly complementary—to my warm flesh. I stare at our interlocked fingers for a beat, unsure whether to allow the gesture or withdraw. It’s harmless enough, right? Just innocent hand-holding between tentative companions.
He pulls me forward to a glitzy tavern and pulls the midnight blue velvet curtain aside, ushering me inside. The place is called Saignée, and its utter beauty wraps around me like a dream woven from self-indulgence and bliss.
The first thing that envelopes my senses is the sensuous scent of bloodwine, burning incense, and something sugary—something completely forbidden—that thickens the air. If sex were bottled up and sold like a fragrance, this would be it.
Then comes the magnificent sight of gold-embellished chandeliers hanging ripe with translucent crystals, casting an eerie, intoxicating glow over dark mahogany tabletops and gold-infused marble walls. I glide my fingers slowly across the velvet sofa by the entrance, reveling in the luxuriating softness.
Laughter echoes all around like a melodic tune, low and throaty, while performers in bejeweled masks slide between the patrons like feathers in the breeze.
Everywhere I look, vampires are lounging on plush loveseats beside humans drunk on more than just wine or ale. Hushed whispers and stolen promises between kisses float in the air like dreams of a better tomorrow. This space here is Killian’s vision for the realm; I know it in my bones. A sanctuary for vampires and humans alike—the promised heavens here on the ground, where choice and consent reign above all else.
Every inch of the parlor is bathed in sheer opulence, from the mirrored ceilings to the onyx floors veined in actual gold, and the glasses shimmering with liquid starlight.
