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The moon had long since risen, casting a pale glow through the wide stained-glass windows of the tower. Shadows danced along the marble walls, and the candle near my bedside flickered weakly, the flame dying slower than my thoughts.
I couldn't sleep.
Not after what Aelira said. Not after what I felt.
Her presence still lingered in the air. The echo of her voice, the heat of her body against mine… and the way I almost lost myself in her kiss.
Almost.
But it wasn't her I was thinking about now.
It was Lyria.
My demon stepsister.
She hadn't returned since storming out earlier, her aura still smoldering in my memory. Wild. Territorial. And terrifyingly beautiful.
I lay shirtless beneath the silken sheets, my body still reacting to everything that had happened today—my awakening, the women, their hunger, this power rising inside me that seemed to feed on touch.
Every pulse of it made my skin feel too tight.
Every breath left me warmer.
And just when I thought the night might pass in uneasy silence, I felt it.
Her presence.
The air grew heavy again, dense with heat and scent—cinnamon and fire. I didn't hear footsteps. Didn't need to. My body just knew she was near.
The door creaked open.
I didn't move.
She entered without a word.
Lyria.
Her silhouette glowed faintly from the hallway torchlight, horns casting jagged shadows across the room. She stepped inside, quietly shutting the door behind her. Her breathing was slow, but I could feel how labored it was—controlled. Barely.
She wore a different outfit than earlier. No armor now. Just a dark crimson robe that clung to her hips and parted at the thighs. Her skin shimmered in the low light, like it was dusted with ember. And her eyes—man, those burning violet eyes—locked straight onto mine.
Neither of us said anything.
She didn't ask to enter.
She didn't need to.
She crossed the room in slow, silent steps. Every movement was like watching lightning coil before a storm. She was holding herself back—I could see it in her shoulders, in the way her fingers flexed at her sides.
I sat up.
"Lyria…"
Her breath hitched—just slightly. Her gaze dropped down my chest before snapping back up.
"I tried," she said.
Her voice was low, hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I tried to stay away tonight. For your sake. For mine."
She moved closer.
"But the longer I stayed in that hall, the worse it got. The ache. The pull."
She clenched her jaw, then exhaled shakily. "You're radiating with it now. That power. The kind that calls to everything inside me that's ever craved real heat."
She stood right before the bed now.
I could smell her—burnt spice and something darker, primal. She didn't touch me.
Not yet.
Her eyes softened. "You're not just the last man, Jin. You're the only man. You're the only thing that feels real anymore."
I swallowed hard. "Lyria, I don't know what's happening to me—"
"I do," she interrupted, her tone sharp. "And it's driving me insane."
Then she caught herself, breathing hard through her nose.
"I didn't come to take anything from you," she said slowly, like every word cost her something. "But you need to know what it does to us—to me—being this close to you. Touching you. Even smelling you."
She stepped even closer.
"I feel everything you feel. Amplified. Twisted. Refracted through centuries of restraint and thirst. And I can't stop it."
Her hands hovered inches above me, fingers trembling.
"I thought I could protect you from it. From me. But now…"
Her lips parted.
And finally, finally, her hands touched my chest.
Heat burst through me like a firestorm.
I gasped, gripping the sheets.
"You feel that, don't you?" she whispered.
"Yes," I choked.
She straddled me in one fluid motion, robe sliding up along her thighs as she lowered herself just above my hips. Her skin was molten, radiating through the thin barrier between us. Her hands moved across my chest, slow and reverent, but her eyes—
Her eyes were starving.
"You're feeding on it too," she murmured. "Not just us. You're drawing it in. Growing from it."
Her hands slid down my sides.
"And I want to drown in it."
She leaned down.
Her lips brushed against my neck, then paused there, trembling.
"I told myself I wouldn't do this tonight," she whispered against my skin. "I told myself I'd give you time. Space."
Her mouth pressed to my collarbone, sharp fangs grazing without biting.
"But now that I'm here, with you... I can't lie to myself anymore."
Her robe slipped from her shoulders, baring more of her smooth crimson skin, her curves pressed against my bare chest.
Her lips reached my ear.
"I need you, Jin."
She kissed me—not gentle like Aelira. Fierce. Possessive. Her mouth claimed mine, her tongue tasting every part it could reach. I moaned into her, hands sliding to her hips without thinking, gripping the softness there.
She shivered, grinding slowly into my lap, her body humming with restrained violence.
"I should stop," she gasped against my mouth. "I should stop, but I can't—man, I can't."
She bit my lower lip, dragging it between her teeth, eyes flashing with raw hunger. "Tell me no. Tell me to stop, Jin, and I will."
But I didn't.
I couldn't.
I was too far gone.
My hands slipped under her robe, caressing the curve of her thighs, up the small of her back where her tail twitched at my touch.
Her breath caught.
She kissed me again, harder, deeper, straddling my waist tighter now.
"You're mine," she murmured.
Her voice was shaking now, as though she hated needing it said aloud. "Say it."
"I'm yours," I whispered.
Her nails dug into my back as she kissed me again, breathless now.
Clothing fell away in pieces.
Fabric. Doubt. Restraint.
Her body met mine, flesh against flesh, heat radiating so fiercely I thought the bed might burn beneath us.
Every movement between us fed that storm inside me—my core pulsing, drawing from her, rising with every breath she gave. Her wings flared once behind her before curling around us like a cocoon.
She moved slowly at first—achingly slow—like she was trying to savor every second. Every inch. Her lips trailed down my throat, over my chest, marking me in ways I didn't know I could be marked.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
Only feel.
Her hips rolled against mine, faster now. Her voice—guttural, melodic—filled the room as she gasped and groaned, each sound tightening the coil inside me more and more until I couldn't hold it anymore.
She kissed me hard again, biting my bottom lip, and as we moved together, I felt the magic between us swirl, rise, ignite.
My body arched.
And I gave in.
With her.
For her.
Because despite the madness of this world, the hunger, the need—this moment was ours.
And she wasn't just my stepsister anymore.
She was my first.
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