We finish our meal in silence, more charged than any conversation could be. The food is rich, comforting, though I can't remember half of what I tasted. Every bite feels heavy with his gaze, every sip of wine chased by the flicker of his eyes across the table. Still, the plates are empty by the time we're done, the glasses holding only the last crimson traces at their bottoms.
When Adrial finally signals for the check, the candlelight catches the sharp line of his jaw, and I know he hasn't thought of the food once.
The waiter returns, murmuring grazie as he sets the leather folder down. Adrial slips bills inside without looking, his gaze never leaving mine.
And then his hand is at my waist the moment we stand, possessive yet careful, guiding me through the narrow aisle. My body reacts before my mind can argue, leaning into the heat of his palm as the night air washes over us outside.
Rome glows around us, the streets alive with laughter and music, fountains spilling silver under the moonlight. Tourists stumble out of cafés, couples stroll arm in arm, oblivious to the world burning quietly inside my chest.
He steers me through it all with unnerving ease, like the city itself bends around his presence. I should resist, but I don't. My pulse thrums too hard, my mark too quiet, as though it's holding its breath.
It doesn't take long before we're climbing marble steps, shadows curling around our ankles as if guiding the way. The hotel rises above us, ancient stone kissed with light, its balcony crowned in carved arches.
And then we're back inside, the city spread out before us like a living jewel. From the balcony, Rome pulses—streets glowing like veins of fire, the Colosseum blazing against the night, domes and spires crowned with moonlight.
His hand never leaves me, steady at the curve of my waist, grounding and unrelenting. His other hand brushes the balcony rail, but his gaze is only on me.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, though I know he isn't speaking of the city.
The words sink into me, heavy and dangerous. My breath catches as the cicadas hum faintly in the distance, the warm night air clinging to my skin like silk.
For the first time all evening, there's no one else around. No candles. No chatter. Just him, me, and the city burning below.
"Would you like some more wine?" he asks, his voice low, leaving me alone with the city's glow for a heartbeat.
"Sure," I murmur, turning from the balcony and slipping back into the hotel room. The warmth of the night clings to my skin, but inside the air feels different—thicker, charged, carrying only him.
He pours slowly, the deep red liquid catching the lamp light like fire in a glass. When he hands it to me, our fingers brush.
A hot throb racing through me—low, insistent, straight between my thighs. My breath catches, sharp and unsteady, as I tighten my grip on the glass, pretending the shiver that runs through me is only from the wine's cool stem.
His eyes flicker knowingly, ember-red for just a moment before softening back to brown, as if he's giving me the illusion of safety. But the smile that curves his lips tells me he felt it too—the way my body betrays me with every touch.
Before I can retreat, his hand is on mine, sliding the glass from my grip and setting it aside on the table. The faint click of crystal against wood echoes like a lock turning. His other hand never leaves my waist, drawing me back toward the balcony until the night air spills over us once more.
Below, Rome pulses with life. Laughter drifts from a café across the street. Music threads through the alleys, violins soaring like a heartbeat in the distance. I know people are down there, walking, watching, existing in a world where nothing extraordinary is happening.
But his body cages me against the carved stone rail, and nothing feels ordinary anymore.
He leans close, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear.
"Do you feel it?" His voice is low, velvet-dark. "How every glance, every sigh, could belong to us if I willed it?"
My breath stumbles. Not from the mark. Not from magic. From him. The warmth of his hand at my waist, the way his presence devours everything else—the city, the night, even my own doubts.
And then—like a crack splitting through the moment—a vision slams into me, unbidden. Not Rome. Not this night.
Shattered sky. A battlefield carved in fire. Gold blood glittering in the dust like stars spilled across broken earth. The clang of swords, brutal and final, echoes in my ears. His wings—whole once, radiant—shatter beneath a strike that makes the world scream. I taste iron and ash.
I choke on a gasp, clutching at his shirt.
"I—I saw…" My voice trembles. "The battlefield. Your fall. I dreamed it, last night."
For the first time, his eyes sharpen, ember-red flaring in shock. His hand stills on my waist, grip tightening.
"You weren't supposed to see that."
The words are low, dangerous—not a threat, but a truth that unsettles even him.
"Then why did I?" I whisper, breath ragged, heart pounding harder than the vision's echoes.
His gaze locks on mine, unreadable shadows flickering there.
"Because the bond is deeper than it should be." His jaw tightens. "Too deep."
I should step back. I should pull away from the heat of him, the danger that radiates like fire. But I don't. My choice, my damnation—I lean closer. My lips part on a shuddering breath, not because the mark urges me, but because I want him.
His mouth brushes my ear again, softer now, though his tone carries a weight that chills me. "Be careful, little mortal. My past is not a dream you want to share."
And then his lips claim mine—hard, devouring—dragging me back into the heat of the present before I can ask anything more. I melt into him, hands fisting in his shirt as his tongue sweeps against mine, hungry, unrelenting.
A soft moan escapes me, vibrating against his lips as I kiss him back, matching his fire, my teeth grazing his lip, drawing a low growl from his throat. The mark pulses, warm and alive, but this kiss is more—raw, human, desperate.
His hands move slowly, fingers lifting the hem of my dress, peeling it up inch by inch as we kiss, the fabric whispering against my skin in the warm night air.
I moan again, low and needy, as I break the kiss just long enough to tug the dress over my head, letting it fall to the balcony floor, the moonlight catching the curve of my body in my bra and panties.
My hands find his shirt, unbuttoning it with trembling fingers, each button revealing more of his scarred chest. He shrugs it off, letting it drop beside my dress, and I let out a shaky sigh at the sight of him, bare in the moonlight. His hands return to me, unhooking my bra with deliberate care, and I gasp as the straps slide down my arms, baring my breasts to the Roman night. His fingers trace the waistband of my panties, teasing, before he kneels, pressing worshiping kisses down my stomach. The fabric slides lower with every brush of his hands until he eases them down my thighs, leaving me exposed to the warm night air, bare and trembling under his gaze.
He grabs my thighs, hard but not bruising, spreading me wider against the railing as if the city itself should witness my surrender. His grip is firm, unrelenting, holding me open for his touch then his mouth is on me—tongue flicking across my clit in a sudden, electrifying stroke. I cry out, the sound ripped from my throat and lost to the city's hum below. His lips linger, savoring, before his tongue draws another slow, deliberate lick that makes my knees buckle.
I grasp the balcony rail behind me, the cool stone biting into my palms as his tongue begins its torment, circling with agonizing precision. My head tips back, Rome sprawling beneath me, but all I see— all I feel—is him.
"Adrial," I breathe, my voice shaking, and he rises, capturing my lips in a searing kiss, letting me taste myself on his tongue.
The intimacy of it sends a shiver through me, and I sink to my knees, the marble cool against my skin. My hands reach for his trousers, freeing his massive cock, thick and veined, intimidating yet irresistible. I kiss the tip softly, a tentative brush of lips. I take his cock into my mouth, slow at first, tasting the salt of his precum as my tongue swirls around the head. A low moan escapes me, vibrating against him as I suck him deeper, lips stretching around his girth.
"Fuck, Evelyn," he moans, his hand tangling in my hair, guiding but not forcing.
I move steadily, lips gliding over him, kissing and sucking, taking him deeper with each pull. His hips twitch, his breath hitching, and after a moment, he tenses, cumming in my mouth, hot and thick, his release flooding my senses as I swallow, my own arousal spiking at his pleasure.
He pulls me up, his lips crashing into mine, kissing me fiercely as if he can't get enough, his tongue plunging deep, tasting himself on me.
He lifts me effortlessly and carrying me to the suite's massive bed, its silk sheets cool against my heated skin. Shadows coil from the room's corners, alive and silken, wrapping around my wrists and ankles, pinning them to the bedposts with a gentle but unyielding grip. I'm spread wide, vulnerable.
"This is for that perfect comment earlier," he says, a big smile creeping across his face, sharp and playful, his eyes glinting with a flicker of ember-red. He kneels between my legs, kissing my inner thigh, then my clit, his lips soft but deliberate, teasing me with slow, torturous licks. Each kiss to my slick folds builds the pleasure, bringing me to the edge of release, but he pulls back, leaving me trembling, desperate.
"You taste so sweet," he murmurs, kissing my mound again, his tongue circling my clit with maddening precision as the shadows brush my nipples, pinching lightly to heighten the ache.
"Please, Adrial," I sob, my voice breaking, amplifying every sensation. "Let me cum."
His lips find mine again, kissing me deeply, his tongue mimicking the rhythm he denies me below. His fingers slide between my thighs, finding slick heat and pressing inside me with a slow, deliberate thrust.
I moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed by him as I strain helplessly against the shadow restraints holding me to the bed. His tongue and fingers move in tandem, coaxing me open, every stroke a dark promise that he owns the sounds he drags from my throat.
He chuckles, low and wicked, kissing the corner of my mouth before trailing his lips down my jaw. "I love seeing you desperate, Evelyn."
He kisses my neck, then my collarbone, just above the glowing mark, his tongue teasing the heated skin as he licks my clit again, pushing me to the brink once more but stopping short.
My pleas spill out, raw and unfiltered, until finally, he rises, his cock hard and ready. His lips trail upward, worshipping a path along my skin—over my stomach, my ribs, the hollow of my throat—until they finally settle against my mouth. The kiss is deep, heated, tasting of wine and shadows, his tongue claiming me.
"I need to be inside you," he growls against my mouth.
He kisses me fiercely, as he positions himself at my entrance, the thick head nudging my slick folds. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he fills me, stretching me to my limits, the burn of his size mingling with a pleasure so intense it borders on pain. I cry out into his mouth, his kiss swallowing my moans as he moves steadily, each thrust deep and controlled, his lips never straying far from mine.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans against my mouth, his voice rough with need, before kissing me again, softer this time.
His kisses deepen, a rhythm of their own, alternating between hungry and tender, his tongue tracing the curve of my lips as his cock drives deeper, filling me completely. The shadows stroke my clit in time with his thrusts, their silken touch amplifying the heat pooling in my core. My body trembles, and I kiss him back with equal passion, my bound hands straining to reach him, to pull him closer. His lips trail to my jaw, then back to my mouth, each kiss a tether that binds us beyond the mark, beyond the bargain.
I cry out into his mouth, his kiss swallowing my moans as he moves steadily, each thrust deep and controlled. The pleasure builds, overwhelming, a tidal wave that threatens to consume me. His lips press to mine, softer now, a whisper of a kiss, and then he angles his hips, hitting a spot that makes my vision blur. The shadows tease my clit with a final, perfect stroke, and I shatter, my pussy clenching around him as I cum.
"Adrial—" I cry out against his lips, the name breaking from me like a prayer and a curse all at once.
He groans, kissing me through my release, his thrusts growing erratic. After a few more deep strokes, he cums inside me, his release hot and pulsing, the mark glowing bright as our bodies merge in a surge of heat. His lips linger on mine, softer now, a tender kiss that feels like a confession, and the shadows loosen, releasing my limbs.
He collapses beside me, his breath ragged, his hand resting over the mark, warm and quiet.
"You're mine," he whispers, kissing my forehead gently, his voice laced with something tender, vulnerable. I turn to him, my body still humming, Rome's glow spilling through the balcony doors, and I know I've given him more than my body tonight—perhaps my heart, too.
We lie there, his hand strokes my back, gentle now, as our breathing slows.
"Come, Evelyn," he murmurs, his voice soft, almost tender. "Let me care for you."
He lifts me into his arms, carrying me to a luxurious bathroom within the suite, its marble walls gleaming under soft light. A wide, steaming bath awaits, scented with roses, the water rippling with heat.
He lowers himself into the bath, the water rippling around his frame as he settles back against the stone. One hand extends toward me, a silent command softened into invitation.
I slip in after him, the heat wrapping me instantly, easing the ache in my limbs. Carefully, I sink back against his chest, feeling the solid weight of him beneath the water, his breath steady at my ear.
His scarred hands move with unexpected gentleness, gathering my wet hair and draping it over one shoulder to bare the line of my back. His fingers linger at my nape, tracing the ridges of my spine as though memorizing them. His fingers trail a soft cloth along my spine, washing me with a tenderness that makes my chest ache. Each stroke is deliberate, tracing the faint glow of the mark with reverence, as if he's memorizing me. The mark pulses softly, a quiet warmth, acknowledging the shift in his touch.
The warmth soothes everything raw in me—the ache in my muscles, the sting of restraint, the damp reminder of his possession still clinging to my skin. The water carries it all away, washing sweat and seed alike into silence, leaving only heat, only him.
For the first time in hours, maybe days, my body stops trembling.
"Better," he murmurs, lips brushing the crown of my head. Not a question—an observation, a claim.
I close my eyes, letting the steam curl around us.
"Evelyn," he whispers, his voice stripped of dominance, raw and unguarded as his hands move over my shoulders, down my back. "You're perfect."
His words settle into me, heavy with meaning I can't yet name. My breath catches as I lean into his touch, the warmth of the water and his hands grounding me, stirring an ache deeper than desire. The mark glows faintly, a reminder of our bond—not just of possession, but of something fragile, unspoken, binding us in ways I'm not ready to understand.