Her tail moved fast and violently, striking the floor just inches from his foot. The impact reverberated like a muffled thunderclap.
A warning.
And he didn't even flinch. The floor shook, and the corridor's panoramic windows rattled. Even so, his eyes didn't blink. Locked on her. Intense — his gaze was void of fear, filled with something worse.
Something more dangerous. Obsession.
Rosen stared back with a cold, calculating look, searching for the slightest sign of hesitation. A retreat, a tremor. Anything. But he stood there, motionless, as if simply being in her presence was a gift.
Intrigued, Rosen tilted her head slightly and tasted the air with her forked tongue. She expected the taste of anxiety. The sweat of adrenaline and fear.
But found none of it. Only something unexpected — happiness. Ecstasy. Raw admiration. As if the man before her didn't just accept the risk she posed… but relished it.
There was a moment of silence between them.
And only then, in that brief pause where the threat hung like a suspended blade, the crack appeared. Small. Almost imperceptible. But it was there.
"You're sick," Rosen finally murmured, her eyes still locked on his. Her voice still carried aggression, but now… there was hesitation. A dissonant note in her growl.
It was as if, for the first time in a long while, she didn't know how to react.
"Maybe," Gregory replied, lifting his chin slightly, voice steady. His eyes never left hers. Serious. Unshaken.
No mockery. No lust. No fear. Only sincerity.
"But I'm not stupid. I know you're incredible — strong, dedicated, kind, and protective. I admire you so much, and the more I get to know you, the clearer that becomes. You're… fascinating."
The words hung in the air like a forbidden whisper. And for the first time… she believed.
Not because she wanted to. But because she saw it. On his face. In his tone. In his posture.
He was telling the truth.
Rosen felt her skin grow hot. Not from embarrassment. Not exactly.
It was anger.
But a twisted, uncomfortable, confused kind of anger — like part of her refused to accept it… and another part felt the impact of the compliment with a strange, almost painful force.
No one had ever spoken to her like that. Not with that raw honesty. Not with that respect that didn't beg for anything in return. It was intimate. It was dangerous.
And worse… she didn't know how to fight back.
Rosen turned abruptly. The sudden motion made the ground tremble. Her tail arched and slammed down with brutality, striking the floor with a sharp crack. It was a movement that screamed: stay away.
But her body… didn't move. She froze. Standing there, motionless, as if something inside her had snapped the current. Eyes staring into the void, chest heaving.
The air grew heavy, trapped between them like invisible fog.
"Calm down… calm down…" she muttered to herself, voice hoarse and shaky. "He's lying. Obviously… he's just like the others… he'll abandon you… betray you… replace you the first chance he gets…"
Her hands trembled. Her eyes didn't blink. She started scratching her arms hard, fingernails tearing into already scarred skin. She bit her nails down to the flesh, bit her lower lip until it split open.
And as if that wasn't enough, she sank her teeth into her wrist with such violence that blood dripped.
"Calm down… calm down… Don't believe him, he's lying. Don't be stupid and naive again. Don't believe him..."
Amid the chaos, Gregory took a hesitant step, but determined to help.
"Hey…" he whispered, voice low and concerned. "I would never do that… I just need a chance…"
He approached slowly and placed a hand on her shoulder.
It was like lighting a fuse.
"LIAR!" she roared.
In a flash, her hand shot up and closed around his neck with terrifying strength.
Her eyes met his — wide, wild, twisted by a fury that came from long before him. The eyes of someone who'd been torn apart by empty promises. The eyes of someone who had bled too much to believe again.
"You're just like the rest…" her voice shook but was full of weight. Wounded. Merciless. "A liar who makes promise after promise. Vows of loyalty, gratitude, dedication… with the sweetest words. With that damned passion in your eyes. But in the end…"
She squeezed harder. Her arm trembled.
"…in the end, it's all empty words. Fake feelings, forged in the vile selfishness of your twisted guts… You're nothing but a worthless liar… and I'll gladly sacrifice my life just to rid the world of your existence."
Her face was contorted. Tears welled up but didn't fall. She was teetering on the edge — between collapse and attack.
And Gregory — suffocating, eyes wide — saw it. He saw the pain. He saw the hatred. And above all, he saw the fear of attachment.
She was about to crush his throat.
Gregory was running out of air. Her fingers closed around his neck with inhuman force. The world began to spin.
But then—
"Nancy…"
A voice cut through the air like a sharp blade. Firm. Unquestionable.
"Let him go. NOW."
It wasn't a scream. It wasn't a plea. It was an order. Like thunder in the silent tension. Low, but impossible to ignore.
A Woman Drow, with deep violet, satin-like skin, looked hand-carved under the artificial light — further highlighted by the white dress shirt that hugged every curve of her generous body. The fabric clung around her full bust and narrow waist, stretching slightly at her wide hips, teasing without showing.
Her thick, powerful thighs carried a measured, almost lazy stride — yet one that held the implicit promise of strength and danger. Each step was a beat of dominance.
Her short, gray hair shimmered in shades of silver and iron, rebellious strands echoing her temperament — alive, electric, defiant. The contrast between her mature hair and the cruel youthfulness of her body created a hypnotic tension, as if time had given up deciding how she should age… and she had won.
Her full, defined lips held a natural smirk, framing a face of rare and fatal beauty — as if the world always lay beneath her, and she knew it.
But what stole the breath from lungs was her gaze.
Red eyes, glowing, intense like freshly lit embers. They didn't just look — they pierced. They judged. And in that moment, they were locked on Nancy with an authority so absolute, the very room tilted in her favor.
It wasn't a request. It was a sentence.
The lamia froze.
That deranged, unstable look was still there, but something in that voice made her shudder.
She released Gregory with a dry, gasping sound and backed away like waking from a trance. Her breath was fast, and the blood from her own fists shook with her fingers.
She looked at the Drow. Guilt filled her eyes. Guilt, confusion… and silent shame.
Then she turned to Gregory. The hatred in her eyes now whirled with emotion: remorse, rage, frustration, longing. She wanted to flee, but also stay. Wanted to scream. Wanted to never feel again.
And more than anything… she didn't want to be seen like that.
She turned abruptly. In a sudden motion, her body slid forward. Her lower half whipped like a living serpent, and in seconds, Nancy Rosen slithered down the narrow hallway at monstrous speed. She vanished like lightning darting through shadows toward the main building.
Silence.
Gregory collapsed to his knees, coughing, gasping, struggling to recover.
After a deep breath, the Drow — who had watched Nancy's departure — turned her attention back to him.
"I told you not to push it…"
She walked to him calmly. Stopped beside him and crouched, locking eyes with him, assessing.
"You could've died, you know? Was it worth it?"
Gregory tried to answer, but his voice failed. He was still coughing.
She ran a hand through his hair with a certain curiosity, as if examining a rare insect that survived a predator's bite.
"Never touch her when she's like that again. Understood?"
Gregory, weak, simply nodded.
"Good boy." — As she praised him, she stroked his face gently, almost lovingly.
"As a reward, let me give you some advice: the longer a Hound goes without a healthy Pact — even a temporary one — the more likely she is to suffer severe trauma, as she's forced into… let's say, humiliating situations. You could die anytime if you don't learn how to handle that."
She stood up, adjusted the white shirt over her full chest, and turned to leave. But before taking a step, she threw one last line over her shoulder — without looking back:
"…If you truly want her as your Pact, come back another day. That woman holds a shockingly high opinion of you — that's never happened before, so I'll help you… But remember the consequences of betraying my expectations."
The sound of her heels faded into the distance, echoing down empty halls. Gregory remained on the floor. Throat marked, heart racing.
But with a manic smile on his face, and his body burning with pure ecstasy and anticipation…