The moon glowed silver through the high arched window, its pale glow pooling across the marble floor like spilled milk. Shadows stretched, trembled, and breathed with the draft that whispered through the halls of House Nocthra.
Lilith stood in the center of the chamber, her bare skin veiled only by a sheet of black gossamer, so sheer it betrayed more than it concealed. The fabric clung to the curve of her hips, skimmed the swell of her breasts, and shimmered faintly where the moonlight kissed it. She clasped it to her chest with trembling fingers, though she knew it was futile—her body was already laid bare to the gaze of the man across the room.
Dorian leaned against the carved bedpost like sin incarnate. His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dimness, their hunger unmistakable, though it was not the hunger she had always feared. No fangs bared, no cruel lust for blood. His gaze devoured her.
He stepped forward, his movements unhurried, almost languid, but his presence seemed to darken the chamber with every stride. The black coat he wore shifted with him like a shadow alive, swallowing the light. Lilith's heart thudded against her ribs, each beat echoing in her ears like the toll of a death bell—yet what she felt was not fear.
It was something far more dangerous.
"Do you think I am here for your blood?" His voice was thick, low and intoxicating, curling around her like smoke.
Lilith parted her lips, but no sound came. The cloth quivered against her chest where she held it, her knuckles pale from the force of her grip.
Dorian stopped mere inches from her, his height forcing her to tilt her head back, her breath hitching as his nearness consumed the air. He lowered his face toward hers, not quite touching, but close enough for her to feel the ghost of his breath upon her lips.
"I could drink from you," he murmured, his words a caress that set fire to her spine. "Your blood would no doubt be… ecstatic." His crimson gaze flicked down to the rapid rise and fall of her chest. "But it is you I want, Lilith. Not the sweetness in your veins. You."
Her knees weakened. The linen slipped, sliding an inch lower, and her frantic fingers struggled to hold it in place.
His hand lifted. Pale fingers, long and elegant, reached for the fabric that shielded her. He did not snatch it away—he traced it, slowly, as though revering the barrier instead of breaking it. The pad of his finger brushed the linen just above the valley of her breasts, lingering there.
Her breath caught sharply. The cloth shifted under his touch, and the outline of her nipples tightened against the thin weave, betraying her body's treachery.
Dorian's eyes flickered—scarlet fire, restrained, yet blazing. "Do you feel it?" he whispered. His voice was not a question but a claim. "The pull that binds us?"
Lilith's lips parted, her voice a trembling thread. "I..ii…"
The finger that hovered at her cleavage pressed down lightly, dragging along the sheer veil of fabric. It was not a lover's touch, not yet—it was a torment, a slow exploration that set her nerves alight. He traced a line upward, following the rise of her breast as it heaved beneath the cloth. The gossamer quivered where he touched, as though it too was struggling to contain her.
Her thighs pressed together instinctively, a low ache blooming between them.
"Do not mistake me, Lilith," Dorian breathed, his lips brushing the shell of her ear without ever touching. "I am not so noble as to resist what stands before me. But I will not consume you as a beast does its prey. I want to possess you. Every sigh… every shiver… every heartbeat."
His hand slipped lower, gliding across the gossamer that barely covered her stomach, his fingers pausing at the fragile tie that held the fabric in place. One tug, and it would fall.
Lilith's pulse thundered, her body taut as a bowstring. Her lips trembled as though to protest, but what spilled from her throat was not a refusal—it was a soft, betraying moan.
Dorian's eyes darkened at the sound, his jaw tightening, restraint flickering like a candle flame in a storm. His free hand rose, cupping her jaw, tilting her face upward so he could drink in her expression.
"You are mine," he murmured, the words like a vow. "Do you understand?"
Lilith's eyes fluttered shut, her breath ragged. "Yes…"
The cloth slipped again, baring the swell of one breast to the cool air, its dusky tip peeking beneath the sheer fabric. Dorian's fingers hovered above it, trembling with the war between control and desire. His breath grew heavier, his lips parting as though to claim what had already been offered.
The room thickened with silence, charged and fevered.
Then—
A sound shattered it.
The slam of a door down the corridor, the echo of hurried footsteps, voices rising in the distance.
Dorian's hand froze inches from her bare skin. His head turned sharply, eyes narrowing with lethal focus. The spell was broken, but the fire remained, raw and unquenched.
Lilith stood trembling, the cloth barely shielding her, her body screaming with need that had no release.
Dorian's lips curved into a dangerous smile as he straightened, his fingers trailing one last time along the edge of her gossamer veil before he stepped back.
"This is not over," he promised, his voice dark with hunger. "Tonight, I claimed nothing. Tomorrow, I will claim everything."
And with that, he vanished into the shadows, leaving Lilith breathless, trembling, and half-naked in the moonlight—caught between terror and aching desire.