Serenya tightened her grip on Zareth's robe as though it were the only thread anchoring her to life itself. His fangs were still inside her skin, sharp and menacing, as if one wrong word could make him sink them deeper. Her heart thundered against her ribs, panic swelling like a tide that threatened to consume her. Was he really going to suck her dry?
Her breath hitched, her lips trembling with unsaid pleas—yet just when she thought the world would blur into darkness, Zareth pulled away.
His lips glistened with her blood, a stark, dangerous crimson. He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling like a predator savoring the aftertaste of a hunt. When his lids lifted again, his eyes were darker than she had ever seen them—scarlet irises shadowed in midnight flame. Slowly, deliberately, his tongue darted across his lower lip, catching the stain of her essence. A crooked smile tugged at his mouth, half sinful, half mocking.
"It tastes even better today than the last time," he murmured, his voice low and husky, vibrating against her skin like a taunt.
Serenya's chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. Heat pooled in her face, spreading like wildfire until even the tips of her ears burned. Better? Was that supposed to be…a compliment? The thought only deepened her blush, her innocence unable to grasp the dangerous weight beneath his words.
"I—I think you should return to your room now," she whispered, her voice small, almost pleading.
But Zareth only leaned closer, his shadow swallowing hers, the wicked curve of his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "I don't think I'm done here."
Before she could form a protest, his mouth claimed hers.
Her body jolted, her hands pressing weakly against his chest, but his kiss was relentless, demanding, as though he was staking his claim on every inch of her soul. His lips were firm and commanding, leaving her lightheaded, her mind an incoherent haze of panic and something she dared not name.
When she thought she might finally gasp for air, his hand shifted from where it caged her head to the ties at her chest. The rope loosened under his fingers, the neckline falling slightly apart. Serenya's eyes widened in alarm, and instinct shot her hand forward, gripping his wrist tightly.
Zareth pulled back just enough to look at her, his red eyes narrowing with that unbearable, narcissistic sharpness that always made her feel like a fragile deer under the gaze of a wolf.
Her lips parted nervously. "I-I think that should be enough. I'm…tired," she mumbled, her voice laced with shyness as she averted her gaze, cheeks still flushed crimson.
For a heartbeat, Zareth studied her, his gaze dissecting, searching—as if he could tear past her hesitation and drag out the truth. His jaw ticked, but to her relief, he didn't press. Instead, he released her and lay back beside her with a huff, though his presence filled the bed like an unshakable storm.
Silence stretched before Serenya finally whispered, frowning, "What happened to your room?"
Zareth shifted closer, his body heat seeping into her as his fingers brushed across her cheek with infuriating ease. His voice was sharp yet lazy, a contradiction that only he could carry.
"It smells like stale blood."
Serenya blinked, unsure how to answer that, and before she could respond, he tugged her against him. The sheer weight of his arm anchored her in place, no space left between them. Her lips pressed together in silent protest, but her body betrayed her—settling into the warmth that terrified her more than his fangs.
Morning spilled in soft rays through the embroidered curtains. The golden light painted across Serenya's hair, making it glow like spun silver. Slowly, her lashes fluttered open, and her hazy vision cleared to find a pair of crimson eyes already fixed on her.
Zareth was propped on one elbow, staring down at her as though he had been watching all night. His mouth quirked into a half-smile, arrogant and dangerous.
"You look beautiful even in your sleep," he drawled, his tone both mocking and genuine in the same breath. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her lips before she could process his words. "Good morning."
Her heart stuttered. Heat rushed to her face so violently she sat up abruptly, clutching the sheets to her chest in a futile attempt to shield herself from the weight of his gaze.
Zareth stretched like a predator rising from slumber, his robe falling slightly open to reveal the sculpted expanse of his chest. "There's a soiree I've been invited to," he said casually, though the command beneath the words was unmistakable. "You're coming with me. It will be our first appearance in public together."
Serenya's lips parted. Her pulse spiked at the thought of being surrounded by countless vampires—predators with sharp eyes and sharper instincts—while she had no familiar face to cling to.
Her worry must have shown because Zareth's crimson gaze sharpened, and his lips tilted into a smirk that made her stomach twist. He stepped closer, brushing a thumb across her lips as though silencing her unspoken fears.
"Don't worry," he said with teasing arrogance, his voice dipping like silk over steel. "All you have to do is cling to me. I wouldn't let anyone touch what's mine."
He sealed his words with another kiss, deep enough to steal the breath from her lungs before turning and striding out, leaving her dazed in his wake.
Left alone, Serenya stood shakily and approached the gilded mirror across the room. Her hands trembled as she untied the knot of her dress at her chest. The fabric loosened, slipping down just enough to expose the pale, ridged scars etched across her skin.
Her breath caught. She traced them with her fingertips, her chest tightening painfully. The scars stretched from her collarbone down to her stomach, ugly reminders of something she could not remember. She didn't know what had caused them, only that they had been there as long as her memory could reach.
A lump rose in her throat. Would Zareth still look at her with those piercing eyes if he saw this? Would he still find her desirable, or would disgust replace the hunger in his gaze?
She clenched the fabric of her dress and tied it back tightly, hiding the truth beneath layers of cloth. She had perfected the art of concealing them—making sure to bath herself , wearing her undergarments before she stepped out of the bath , never letting even the palace servants glimpse the marks that made her feel broken.
A sharp knock landed on her door, and she flinched. Hastily, she tied the knot tighter, forcing her voice to steady. "Come in."
---
Elsewhere, Zareth sank into his pool-like marble bathtub, steam curling around his body. The water shimmered faintly with herbs and oils, meant to relax—but his thoughts were far from calm.
His jaw tightened, his crimson eyes narrowing at his reflection rippling across the surface. He didn't understand why he couldn't stomach any blood but Serenya's. Every other taste turned bitter, stale, revolting—yet hers was an intoxication that both satisfied and maddened him.
When he finally rose from the water, droplets slid down the ridges of his body, gleaming like liquid fire under the light. He stepped out in all his imperial glory, unbothered by the cool air. A male servant quickly moved forward, bowing as he offered a robe. Zareth allowed him to drape it across his broad shoulders, tying it loosely around his waist.
But even as silk clung to him, his mind churned. His fangs tingled with hunger, not for sustenance, but for her. His veins burned with something darker, something ancient.
Maybe it was time—time to dig deeper into the roots of his bloodline, to unearth the truth that had haunted him since his mother's death .