She found herself lost in his eyes—golden flecks like tiny crystals scattered across a molten sea. The space between his nose and lips was perfectly sculpted, every feature flawless, almost unreal. He was too handsome to be anything but a dream. She swallowed hard, caught in the pull of his mesmerizing aura—he looked better like this, almost dangerous, than any living man she'd ever known.
"Done staring?" His voice was low, teasing, as he stepped closer, closing the small distance between them.
Daenerys dropped her gaze, heat blooming across her cheeks. "I wasn't staring," she whispered, stepping back, but a sharp sting flared on her neck—like a secret warning.
"I told you," he said, leaning casually against the wall, eyes dark with amusement.
She edged toward him again, curiosity overriding caution. "You learn fast."
His lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. "Why do you think I bit you?"
Daenerys shivered despite herself, the sting on her neck now a pulse of warmth that spread through her veins. His eyes held something unreadable—dark and dangerous—like a secret waiting to be revealed.
"I bit you," he said quietly, his voice low and steady, "but not for the reason you think."
Her heart quickened. She took a cautious step closer, drawn in despite the warning in his tone.
"Why then?" she whispered, searching his face for any hint.
He smiled—a slow, enigmatic curve that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Some things are better left unexplained. For now."
The air between them thickened, charged with tension and unanswered questions. She wanted to pull away, but instead found herself leaning in, captivated by the mystery that surrounded him.
He didn't move, just watched her with that unsettling calm, like he was weighing something far beyond her understanding. The faint pulse beneath her skin reminded her of the bite — a quiet warning or maybe a promise.
Daenerys swallowed hard, the silence stretching, heavy and electric. "What do you want from me?" she finally asked, voice barely steady.
He tilted his head, considering her, then stepped back just enough to break the closeness but not the connection. "Not what you think," he said again, as if the truth was wrapped in layers she wasn't ready to unravel.
Her eyes flicked to the mark on her neck, a blush creeping up her throat. Questions churned inside her, but something in his gaze told her to wait.
"Patience," he whispered, voice like a secret breeze, before turning away into the shadows.
Daenerys stood frozen, caught between curiosity and caution, wondering what game he was playing — and if she wanted to play along.
The moment he left, the pain surged violently, a scorching fire radiating from the bite on her neck. Daenerys cringed, clutching at the spot as if to hold herself together. She forced herself upright and staggered toward the hospital dorm, each step heavier than the last.
Inside, she fumbled for a painkiller, her hands trembling. Collapsing onto the bed, she closed her eyes, desperate for relief. But the pain gnawed deeper, crawling into her bones, sapping her strength. Sweat slicked her skin, and a fever burned through her veins.
She tossed and turned, restless and haunted by the ache. In a blur, she grabbed a damp towel and pressed it against the bite, hoping for a shred of comfort. But it was no use.
Her limbs weakened, and with shaky hands, she reached for the first aid kit, pulling out a fever pill. Water in a trembling cup, she swallowed it down, praying for respite.
She tried to rest, to gather enough strength to check on her patients, but her body betrayed her. Darkness tugged at the edges of her vision, and just as she began to collapse, a firm hand caught her waist, steadying her.
The darkness crept closer, swallowing her senses whole. Just before she slipped completely away, the strong hand tightened around her waist, holding her steady. But the effort was too much—her knees buckled, and everything went black.
When Daenerys opened her eyes, soft light filtered through tall, ornate windows. She was no longer in the cold, sterile hospital dorm but lying on a plush bed draped in silk sheets. The room was vast and elegantly decorated—velvet curtains, golden chandeliers, and walls lined with intricate tapestries that whispered stories of old.
Her neck throbbed, but the biting pain had dulled. Confused and weak, she sat up, her gaze falling on a polished wooden table beside her. On it rested a delicate glass of water and a note written in flowing script:
"Rest, Daenerys. You are safe here."
A soft knock came at the door, and a calm voice followed, "You're awake. Good."
The door creaked open slowly, and an old woman stepped inside. Her silver hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and her eyes—piercing yet kind—held a quiet strength. Draped in simple but elegant robes, she moved with surprising grace.
"I am Kaul," she said softly. Then, raising a weathered hand, she gently placed a finger to her lips, signaling Daenerys to be silent. Her voice, calm but firm, carried a soothing authority. "Rest now, child. Questions will come, but not yet."
Before Daenerys could find her voice, Kaul reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead with a tenderness that belied her age. There was no room for argument—only the steady, calming presence of the woman who seemed to hold a thousand secrets.
Kaul settled into a nearby chair, her gaze never leaving Daenerys. "Your body is weak, but your spirit… that is something else entirely." Her voice was soft, but each word carried weight.
Daenerys swallowed hard, fighting the fog clouding her mind. The pain had lessened, but the questions inside her churned relentlessly.
"Why did you bring me here?" she whispered, but the words barely escaped before Kaul shook her head gently.
"Not yet," Kaul said. "You need strength first. The answers will come when the time is right. For now, close your eyes. Trust me."
Daenerys hesitated, then, drawn by the quiet certainty in Kaul's voice, she allowed herself to drift, caught between curiosity and exhaustion.
Daenerys lay back against the soft pillows, the ache in her neck now a dull throb rather than a burning pain. The grand room felt both foreign and strangely comforting, its quiet filled with the gentle rhythm of her own breathing.
Her mind, however, refused to settle. Questions spun endlessly—about the bite, about Kaul, about the strange pull she felt deep inside. She wondered what kind of place this was, and more importantly, what it meant for her future.
Yet, beneath the swirl of doubt and fear, there was a flicker of something else—a tentative hope that maybe, here, she could find the strength she so desperately needed.
Outside the door, Kaul's soft footsteps echoed, a silent promise that she was not alone.
Daenerys's gaze swept across the room, where everything seemed touched by light and purity. The walls were draped in flowing white silk, soft and billowing like clouds caught in a gentle breeze. Curtains of sheer white fabric framed the tall windows, allowing pale daylight to spill in, bathing the room in a serene glow.
The bed she rested on was covered in crisp white linens, embroidered with delicate silver thread that shimmered faintly. Around her, the polished floor gleamed with a smooth, pale marble finish, cool beneath her fingertips.
White lilies in a simple porcelain vase sat on a nearby table, their delicate fragrance mingling with the clean scent of fresh linen and soft candle wax. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their prisms scattering light like tiny stars caught in frozen time.
This space felt like a sanctuary of light and calm—timeless, untouched, and impossibly pure.
Daenerys let her eyes soften as she took in the room—a haven of pure white that seemed to wash away the heaviness in her chest. The soft silk walls, the gentle glow spilling through sheer curtains, and the crisp linens all wrapped around her like a protective embrace.
The cool marble floor, smooth and unyielding, grounded her, while the delicate scent of lilies drifted through the air, calming her restless thoughts. The crystal chandeliers scattered light like tiny stars, filling the room with a peaceful shimmer.
For the first time since the bite, Daenerys felt a quiet warmth settle within her—a fragile comfort in this immaculate sanctuary where pain and fear seemed to lose their hold.