Kael's eyes trembled slightly, but his heartbeat thundered louder than anything else, drumming in his ears like a war cry.
A whirlwind of emotions coiled tightly within him—shock, then fear, then anxiety, and then...
A soft touch against his lips.
(Was that... a kiss?!)
His thoughts shattered, scattering like dust in a storm. His mind turned blank. Empty. Stunned.
Kael's eyes remained wide open, fixed on the figure above him. Valkar's shadow consumed him entirely, as if swallowing every ounce of light that might have offered clarity.
He couldn't move—not yet. Not because there was pleasure in the brutal kiss, in the teeth biting and grinding against his lips—but because those slit, vertical pupils staring down at him were haunting. They pierced straight into his soul, sending a primal shiver down his spine.
Yes. He was afraid. Afraid to the point of death.
His limbs hesitated, frozen for a breathless moment, then jerked into motion. Kael tried to push away, to resist—but compared to Valkar, he was nothing more than a fragile kitten batting weakly at a lion.
He shoved against the man's chest, but the pressure only deepened. Their lips remained locked, their breaths mingling in a chaotic rhythm of desperation and dominance.
Valkar's eyes—burning, unreadable—gleamed with a tangled mess of emotions. As if struggling with himself, he pulled back briefly, only to plunge forward again, reclaiming Kael's lips with renewed ferocity.
One minute passed. Then two. Then three...
Kael's lungs screamed for air. It was as though Valkar had stolen every breath from him—no, as if he were being devoured, body and soul, by something monstrous. Not a beast that sought to kill, but one that wished to consume every piece of him.
Instinct had claimed Valkar. Reason had been cast aside.
There was no logic in his movements now—only one ravenous, all-consuming thought:
To possess the woman beneath him.
He knew it was wrong. He knew that if he crossed that line, regret would follow him like a shadow. But the knowledge meant nothing in the grip of instinct.
Especially not when Kael continued to resist him.
Especially not when the only person who had reawakened his dead heart was slipping further away.
Images from the past flooded Valkar's mind—his parents' broken love, his father's endless suffering at the hands of a cold and cruel mother.
A flash of his future. A twisted reflection of the past.
Would Kael become just like her? Would he be forever cold, forever out of reach?
If so—then what was the point of trying? Why offer gentleness if it would be rejected? Why endure agony if it would only end in heartache?
He wasn't his father. He didn't have the patience. He didn't have the strength.
Why not take what he wanted now—before he was left behind again?
With that poisonous thought lodged deep in his mind, Valkar moved with greater force. He swallowed Kael's every sound, leaving him no space to breathe, no room to scream.
A heavy exhale.
Then Valkar pulled Kael toward him, anchoring him in the center of his fortress. Their faces were now inches apart. Locked. Trapped.
A jolt of terror surged down Kael's spine, a visceral wave that felt like ice creeping over his skin. Every nerve in his body ignited in protest, as if they were shrieking in unison, each pulse of fear amplifying the intense trepidation that seized him.
Then came the tongue—rough and thick—forcing it into his mouth. His body convulsed in revulsion, and panic surged.
Before he could scream or writhe or fight, Valkar's hand slipped lower, trailing down his back until Kael found himself straddling the man's lap.
(What... what is that underneath me...?)
Kael froze. Not because he had given up. Not because he was tired.
But because something unnatural pressed up from below.
This was no ordinary man. This was a beast.
And Kael remembered clearly that this beast had a tail—long, muscular, and curling from beneath taut abdominal muscles.
So someone, please—what was that thing pressing against him now?
A hand clamped around the back of his neck, trapping him in the kiss. The other crept beneath his shirt.
Kael felt the fabric of his red shirt lift, followed by cold fingers crawling over his skin like a venomous serpent seeking a soft spot to bite.
Rationality snapped.
Being gay didn't mean he welcomed this. It didn't mean anyone could force themselves on him.
And above all else—he was terrified. Of the man. Of the world. Of the future.
Then came the fall.
Tears erupted from his eyes. Hot. Violent. Endless.
And then, finally—stillness.
Valkar's movements halted. Frozen.
His eyes wavered. The red hue faded from his pupils, and clarity flickered behind them.
Sanity returned.
(What was I about to do? Was it... another frenzy?)
The thought alone suffocated him.
He had nearly shattered the one person he held dear.
Even if he desired Kael more than anything, this was never how he wanted it.
He had sworn never to become his father. And now, he had stepped directly into his shadow.
But it wasn't the thought that broke him. It was the tears. The tears of the man trembling in his arms.
Valkar's hand trembled as he reached up, brushing Kael's cheeks gently, wiping the tears away.
But Kael's eyes remained shut—tight with fear.
His body quaked.
Valkar could feel every tremor, every shiver of terror vibrating through his skin.
So he moved with painstaking slowness, each breath calculated, each motion wrapped in fear and shame.
His arms circled Kael's back, drawing him close. Patting gently. Cautiously.
"I'm sorry," he whispered—his voice ragged, choked by the storm of emotions still raging inside.
"Don't cry… I won't do that again. I'll never hurt you."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm… sorry."
Again and again he repeated it—softly, brokenly—his apology unraveling with every breath.
Valkar held Kael gently, rocking him in silence. Each heartbeat was a reminder of how close he had come to losing him.
Each tear was a wound Valkar knew he might never heal.