Serenya looked away, her cheeks aflame, the heat crawling down her neck until it settled in her chest like an untamed fire. Zareth's chuckle, low and sardonic, rolled across the room as he walked toward the mirror. His tall frame was draped in the dim light, shadows clinging to him as if even the darkness itself bent to his will.
"You don't have to do it if you don't want to," he murmured, his tone deceptively casual, though every syllable dripped with intent. He stood before his reflection, his crimson eyes glinting faintly as his hand closed over the knife resting on the table.
The truth—hidden in his crooked smirk—was that he wanted it more than anything. He wanted her lips, her warmth, her innocence pressed against him. But Zareth never took what was handed freely. He baited, he cornered, he made the bird believe it still had wings even as he clipped them himself. That was his game.
Serenya bit her lower lip, the tender flesh reddening under her teeth as she glanced at his broad back. The air between them felt thick, laced with tension. Every breath seemed heavier than the last. Against her better judgment, her feet moved toward him. She knew she was being foolish—Zareth was most likely teasing her, mocking her innocence as he always did—but when she looked at him, at those black veins crawling under his skin, pulsing like cracks in a dying star, she felt something stir inside her. A desperate, inexplicable need to ease his pain.
"Does… does it hurt?" she whispered.
Zareth tilted his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in that infuriating half-smile. "Not anymore," he drawled, as though pain was beneath him. With a smooth flick of his wrist, he pressed the knife into one of the blackened veins on his arm. Serenya gasped softly as a thick, dark liquid oozed out, more tar than blood, shimmering under the candlelight with an otherworldly sheen. He caught it in a goblet, the sound of the liquid striking metal sharp in the silence.
Within moments, the wound sealed itself, his pale skin returning to perfection as though it had never been touched.
Serenya's eyes widened, her breath catching. "H-how is that possible?"
Zareth turned, his crimson gaze locking on hers, a crooked smirk painted across his lips. "It's one of the perks of being Zareth," he replied with a lazy arrogance, as if his very existence defied explanation. He settled onto the armrest of the chair, his posture regal and careless at once, like a predator feigning boredom before the strike.
Serenya's heart pounded. She turned slightly, hoping to escape the intensity of his gaze, but when she looked back, he was still watching her, his crimson eyes like twin embers boring straight into her soul.
"How long…" she hesitated, swallowing the lump in her throat. "How long do you have left?"
"Barely a month," he answered without pause, his voice cold and sharp, as if speaking of his death was no more troublesome than discussing the weather.
Serenya's chest tightened. A month? That was so little, too little. Her fingers trembled as she clasped them before her, and before she could stop herself—before her mind caught up to her body—she leaned forward and brushed her lips gently against his cheek.The warmth of her kiss lingered there like a fleeting whisper for a while.
"Are you… feeling a little better?" she asked softly pulling away, hope in her tone.
Zareth's eyes darkened instantly, his smirk stretching wider, dangerous and amused all at once. "No," he said, his voice a velvet blade. "What made you think a kiss on the cheek would make me better?"
Her cheeks flushed scarlet, and she muttered, "Y-you said a deep kiss. That can mean… it can mean either your cheek or lips."
A low laugh escaped him, rich and amusing. He rose from the armrest, his movement fluid, deliberate, predatory. His hand snaked around her waist with possessive ease, pulling her against him.
"Come," he whispered, his voice a command masquerading as invitation. "Let me show you what a deep kiss actually is."
Before she could protest, his lips crushed against hers. The heat of his mouth devoured her, his teeth nibbling at her lower lip before his tongue swept in, prying her open. Serenya gasped, her body stiffening in shock at first. But Zareth didn't relent—he never relented. His hand buried into her hair, angling her head to his liking, while the other pressed firmly at the small of her back, refusing her escape.
She tasted of innocence, sweet and intoxicating, like spring water kissed by sunlight. He wanted more, needed more. Her lips were soft, tentative, trembling beneath his hunger. Unsure of what to do, Serenya balled her fists against his chest, pressing lightly but not pushing away.
Zareth deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking hers, commanding her submission until she yielded, if only for a heartbeat. When he finally pulled back, his tongue flicked across her lips in one last lingering caress, as though memorizing her flavor.
"That," he murmured, his voice husky, his eyes burning with possessive triumph, "is what's called a deep kiss."
Serenya's face blazed crimson. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breaths shallow and quick. She turned her gaze away, unable to meet the searing intensity of his.
"I-I should return to my room," she whispered, taking a shaky step back.
"No," Zareth countered immediately, his voice brooking no argument. He reclined onto his massive bed with the ease of a king, his red eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "It's far too late. You'll sleep here."
He moved from the armrest to his vast bed sitting in it.
Serenya's gaze darted around the room, desperate for an escape, before landing on the couch near the wall. "I'll… I'll take the couch."
Zareth arched a brow, his smirk twisting with irritation and amusement alike. "Nonsense. Why would you lower yourself to that when you can sleep beside me?" He patted the empty space on the bed beside him, his crimson gaze unblinking.
Her lips parted in disbelief. "No… that would be inappropriate," she retorted.
Zareth chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Why is it inappropriate when you'll soon be my wife? Don't be shy, little dove. Come on ." Again, he patted the space with deliberate, taunting insistence.
"But I'm not your wife yet," she protested, clutching a pillow to her chest as if it could shield her from him.
Zareth's eyes narrowed dangerously. He sat up straighter, his presence filling the room with a suffocating dominance. "We just kissed, Serenya. Isn't that inappropriate as well?"
Her cheeks flamed hotter. "You!… that was because you said it would lessen your pain!"
He laughed, the sound wicked and triumphant. "Ah, my sweet little dove. Aren't you generous? Don't worry—this too will lessen my pain."
She glared at him, but her defiance only made him smirk wider.
"It's either you sleep beside me," he said, his tone sharp with finality, "or you stand all night. The couch is out of the question."
Her lips pursed as she looked between the space beside him and his insufferably smug expression. He was baiting her, cornering her again, and she knew it. But his eyes—dark, possessive, unyielding—told her she had no real choice.
"Come now," he purred, "I can't promise not to touch you… but I won't go beyond that."
"That's not comforting!" she muttered, her voice high and flustered, but her feet betrayed her. Hesitantly, she climbed onto the bed, her knee sinking into the mattress before she quickly lay down, placing a chasm of distance between them. The bed was large—an emperor's bed, grand and luxurious—but Serenya curled at the very edge as though the space itself might protect her.
Zareth's crimson eyes glinted with amusement. "Move any further in your sleep and you'll fall," he warned silkily.
Serenya shifted slightly backwards but his eyes narrowed . She gasped as his arm shot out, pulling her firmly against him, their bodies pressed flush together.
Her heart thundered wildly, her face buried against his chest, his warmth searing her.
For a moment, silence enveloped them, broken only by the sound of her rapid breathing and the steady, commanding beat of his heart beneath her ear.
"Zareth?" she whispered tentatively.
He hummed, his voice low, dangerously soft. "Close your eyes, little dove, before I decide to show you other ways to make you feel good."
Her cheeks burned hotter than fire, and she squeezed her eyes shut instantly.
A crooked smile curved Zareth's lips, his crimson gaze fixed on her innocent face. For once, the monster in him quieted. She was here. In his arms. His.
And Zareth never let go of what was his.