The room was already too warm for Valen's liking.
Firelight flickered lazily across high, arched ceilings, dancing along the gold-trimmed molding like a ritual it had practiced for centuries. The scent of burning cedar mingled with blood and sweat, layered with the sharp trace of rosewater cologne that clung too eagerly to the body now lying across the velvet chaise.
Valen did not look at him right away.
He stood by the tall windows, back to the room, shirt half-open and sleeves pushed up to his forearms. A goblet of dark wine rested in his hand, though it wasn't wine. Not entirely. The taste clung to his tongue, rich, metallic, lacking depth. Like most things lately.
The boy behind him young, lithe, lovely in that hollow mortal way, shifted against the cushions. His breathing was still uneven. The marks on his throat had yet to fade. Blood, warm and fresh, had stained the collar Valen had fastened around his neck only an hour ago. Black leather. A simple silver ring at the front.
No name engraved on it. There never was.
"Why are you trembling now?" Valen asked, his voice low, effortless.
No reply.
He turned, slowly.
The boy, Cassian, perhaps? Cassiel? looked up at him with wide, adoring eyes. Already, the glassy sheen of infatuation had begun to set in. Valen had seen it too many times before. It always looked the same. A kind of desperation hidden behind the illusion of pleasure.
"You're not afraid" Valen said, walking toward him. "You think this is the part where I fall in love with your obedience."
He stopped at the edge of the chaise. Cassian (he decided he'd call him that, for convenience) tried to reach for him, fingers brushing against the hem of Valen's slacks.
Valen caught his wrist.
Firmly. Not unkindly. But with finality.
The boy shivered, mistaking it for a gesture of restraint. "Did I do something wrong?"
Valen released him. "No. That's the problem."
He moved past the chaise and sank into the armchair across from it, crossing one leg over the other. The wine glass rested lightly in his hand again. His gaze was fixed , not on Cassian's body, which was flawless, offered, ready but on the fire.
"You said you wanted to be used" Valen said, softly. "And I obliged. You said you wanted to surrender and you did. But it was all theatre , wasn't it?"
"I wanted to give you what you wanted" Cassian said.
"No" Valen said, leaning forward. "You wanted to be wanted. There's a difference."
The boy's mouth parted. He looked wounded. They always did when the game ended too soon.
Valen tilted his head. "What did you think this was? That I would hold you after? Whisper something tender and cruel? Give you a second night? A name to carry like a bruise under your ribs?"
He set the goblet down.
"I don't offer permanence, Cassian. Only a moment."
"I don't care" the boy whispered. "I just wanted to feel something real."
Valen stood.
He crossed the space in two slow steps and knelt before the chaise. His hand slid along the boy's thigh,not with urgency, but a studied calm. The kind that made mortals shake without understanding why.
"You did feel something" he said. "For a moment. When I had you on your knees. When you gave up control and believed it meant something deeper. That flicker of fear? That gasp when my teeth grazed your throat? That was real."
Valen's eyes found the boy's. Crimson, cold, and endlessly tired.
"But it wasn't mine."
He brushed his fingers across Cassian's jaw, cupping it with deceptive gentleness. The boy leaned into the touch, hopeful.
Foolish.
Valen kissed him soft, slow, with the calculated cruelty of someone who knew how to make it feel meaningful, even when it wasn't.
When he pulled away, he murmured "Forget me."
Cassian blinked. "What?"
Valen stood once more, his voice devoid of heat. "You'll remember this night, but you won't understand why it hurts. That's the only mark I leave behind."
He turned his back to the chaise and walked to the tall mirror that hung beside the hearth. It reflected nothing of him. Only the fire, and the boy, lying still, breath shallow, wanting more.
Behind him, silence stretched.
Then soft footsteps.
Cassian was dressing again. Slowly. Mechanically. Putting back on the pieces of himself he had left at the door.
Valen didn't stop him.
When the boy reached the doorway, he paused, hand on the carved handle.
"Will you call for me again?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Valen didn't turn around.
"No."
The door clicked shut.
And just like that, the night was empty again.
The room exhaled in the absence of company. Shadows returned to their corners. The fire crackled, but the warmth felt thin. Valen remained still for a long time, watching his reflection not appear.
There was no shame in it. No guilt. He had done this hundreds or maybe even thousands of times.
And yet, something gnawed at him.
Not longing. Not remorse.
Boredom.
He had touched every kind of body. Broken every kind of will. His name had been whispered in adoration and carved in curses. Mortals flocked to him like moths to flame, always believing they'd be different.
None of them were.
None had challenged him.
The fire snapped, and for a moment Valen imagined it trying to speak.
He sat still in the silence Cassian had left behind, one hand toying with the silver ring that glinted on the arm of his chair. The boy's scent still clung to the cushions lust, sweat, a trace of blood.
But it faded quickly.
Like all the others.
Valen leaned back with a sigh. His eyes drifted toward the mantle where a row of sealed letters rested, most unopened, invitations from humans hungry for stories or seduction, some both. He had no use for either tonight.
Until a sound ,a knock, low and firm broke the silence like a blade through velvet.
He went still. Not because he feared. But because no one came to his door uninvited.
A second knock followed. Then the door eased open, as though the manor itself had allowed entry.
Valen rose, slow and silent, the way one does when something ancient stirs. His bare feet whispered across the rug as he moved to the threshold of the sitting room.
The figure who stepped through was not one of his usual toys. Not a trembling thing dressed in finery and desire.
He was clothed in worn travel layers, dark gray wool, damp from rain, the collar dusted with soot. His dark hair curled just slightly at the ends, still wet. In one hand, he carried a leather satchel, and in the other, a letter.
Valen recognized it immediately. His letter.
The one he had not responded to.
"I apologize for the intrusion," the man said evenly. His voice was neither arrogant nor fearful. It was precise. "You didn't answer my request for an audience. I thought it only fair to give you a chance to do so in person."
Valen's gaze sharpened.
"You're Elias Thorne," he said, more a statement than a question.
"I am."
"And you came here. Alone. At midnight." A pause. "Uninvited."
Elias's eyes dark, thoughtful met his without flinching. "I've learned the best answers are usually behind doors we're not supposed to open."
Valen studied him. Not just his body though it was lean, intelligent, attractive in an understated way but the presence he carried. Calm. Tense beneath the surface, but held together by discipline.
Not submissive.
Not afraid.
Interesting.
Valen took a slow step closer. The candlelight played across the hollow of his throat, the sharp edge of his cheekbone.
"And what is it" he murmured "that you think you'll find here, Elias Thorne?"
"Truth" Elias said. "Or something like it."
Valen laughed quiet, amused. "That's dangerous."
"So is being ignored."
A beat of silence stretched between them like a drawn bow.
Most men wilted under Valen's attention. Elias did not.
And that was the first sign.
Valen stepped aside, one hand gesturing toward the room behind him. "Then come in, Scholar. Let's see what truths you're foolish enough to chase."
Elias entered without hesitation.
He passed through the doorway with the kind of composure Valen hadn't seen in decades measured, but not mechanical. There was awareness in every movement. Curiosity. Control. He scanned the room in a single glance candles, firelight, the still-warm goblet on the table, and the chaise where the imprint of Cassian's body still lingered in the velvet.
He said nothing about it.
Another point in his favor.
Valen followed him in, circling slightly, as though considering whether to speak to him or bite him.
"Most men who enter my manor" he said "do so with an understanding of what will be taken from them."
"And what's that?" Elias asked without turning.
Valen came to a stop just behind him, voice low in his ear.
"Their will."
Elias turned slowly to face him. There was no smile on his lips, only the flicker of challenge in his eyes.
"Then I'll be the exception."
Valen's smile returned, subtle and sharp.
Fascinating.
He tilted his head. "Do you know what I do to men who bring their pride into my home?"
"I imagine," Elias said, "you either break it or you lose interest."
"And which do you think you deserve?"
Elias met his gaze steadily.
"I think you're going to have to decide that for yourself."
Valen's hand moved before thought caught up with it. He lifted Elias's chin with two fingers testing, not forceful, but deliberate. Elias didn't pull away.
But he didn't lean in either.
Control. Worn like a blade at his belt.
Valen could feel his body humming beneath the surface not with fear, but with potential. Tension. The possibility of submission, but only if earned. Only if demanded properly.
He liked that.
He liked it far too much.
"You came for truth" Valen murmured, eyes drifting to the pulse at Elias's throat. "I wonder how much truth you can handle when it wraps its hands around your throat and asks you to beg."
Elias exhaled slowly. "Try me."
The room shifted.
The shadows leaned in. The air changed temperature.
Valen smiled with something older than hunger. Older than lust.
This one wouldn't be easy. He wouldn't kneel just to please.
But when he did and Valen knew he would,it wouldn't be performance.
It would be real.
And Valen, who had long since forgotten how it felt to want anything deeper than control, now found himself filled with one terrible, thrilling thought:
How far was he willing to go to bend him ?