“I want him to understand that I am not weakened by this hunger. I am made stronger by it.”
She smiles, sharp and knowing. “Then we'd better make it memorable.”
I lower my head to her throat. Her pulse beats against my lips, fast and eager. When I bite, she arches into me with a gasp that sends fire straight to my cock.
This feeding is different from the first. More controlled, more deliberate. I take my time, drawing out her pleasure as much as my own satisfaction. Her hands fist in my hair, holding me to her throat while soft sounds escape her lips.
The circuit forms between us again—her pain flowing into me, my satisfaction flowing back. But there's something new this time. A deeper pull, a sense that each feeding draws us closer together in ways I don't fully understand.
When I pull back, the puncture wounds seal immediately. But something lingers—a heightened awareness of her presence, stronger than before.
She touches her throat where I bit her, eyes wide with wonder.
“Whatwas that?”
“Something changing between us,” I say. “Something that grows stronger each time we feed.”
“Will it hurt?”
I cup her face in my hands, studying her reaction. Most humans would recoil from the idea of permanent connection to a monster. She leans into my touch.
“Everything worthwhile hurts,” I tell her. “But this hurt will be ours to shape.”
She nods, accepting what many would flee from.
Tomorrow night, Lord Jesseth will come expecting to find weakness. Instead, he will witness the forging of something new. Something that will change the balance of power in ways none of them anticipate.
The frenzy has not made me weak. It has given me a weapon unlike any other.
And I intend to use it.
But tonight, I need distance. The hunger still courses through me, amplified by her proximity and the taste of her pain. If I stay here, in her private chambers where her scent has already permeated everything, I may not maintain the control tomorrow's demonstration requires.
“I should leave,” I say, though every instinct protests the separation. “Rest. Tomorrow will demand much from both of us.”
She searches my face, reading the conflict there. “You're afraid you'll lose control.”
“I am afraid I will take more than you are ready to give.”
Her smile turns knowing. “What if I'm ready to give more than you think?”
My throat goes dry as I step back, forcing myself to release her. “But not tonight. Tonight we prepare.”
She nods, understanding the necessity even as disappointment flickers in her dark eyes. I move towards the door, I force myself to not look back.
BRAITH
The dress appears in my room mid-afternoon of the next day, carried by shadow servants who flutter nervously around the red silk, another group hovering around a tray of bread and fruit. A note lies beneath it in Kiakoa's precise handwriting:Tonight you become more than property. Tonight you become power.
The shadow servants hover as I examine the dress, their wispy forms radiating anticipation. When I hold the silk against myself, they make sounds of approval - soft whispers that might be voices or might be wind.
Getting into the dress requires their help. They can't manage buttons or clasps, but they can hold sections of fabric steady while I work, apply gentle pressure to smooth wrinkles, lift my hair while I adjust the neckline. Their touch is cold but oddly comforting, like being dressed by helpful ghosts.
I study my reflection in the dark window. Three moons cast silver light across the impossible architecture beyond. Somewhere in that twisted landscape, anotherlord approaches for a meeting that will determine whether we survive the coming storm.
The dress fits perfectly. It clings where it should cling, flows where it should flow, transforms my compact frame into something that commands attention. The neckline exposes the hollow of my throat where Kiakoa fed last night. The sleeves are sheer enough to show the faint scars on my arms.
I am not being dressed to hide what I am. I am being dressed to display it.
