The dormitory bell tolled five times before the triple moons had fully set, a sound like iron dragged across bone. Arya jolted awake on a cot that smelled of lavender and someone else's sweat. The brand above her heart throbbed in warning.
[DAILY QUEST REMINDER: 00:17:11 REMAINING]
She rolled off the cot and landed in a tangle of limbs—Velira's tattooed arm across her waist, Sable's cool shadow curled against her back like a cat. The eight freshmen shared one long alcove, privacy curtains long since burned for warmth. Cassia snored softly, one leg hooked over Mireille's hip; the twins were fused in a pretzel of tails and whispered dreams.
Arya extricated herself, bikini replaced overnight by the system with a Taker Uniform V3: a backless halter of black dragon-scale mesh and a pleated skirt that flashed crimson when she moved. The brand peeked above the neckline, teeth glinting.
The corridor outside was already alive. Upperclassmen ghosted past in varying states of undress, levels glowing on exposed skin like neon tattoos. One girl—level 67—had wings of liquid mercury sprouting from her shoulder blades; another trailed chains of frost that clinked with every step.
Ding.
[CLASS SCHEDULE]
[SEDuction THEORY 101 – AMPHITHEATER A – 05:30]
[INSTRUCTOR: PROFESSOR NYXARA (RETIRED TAKER, LEVEL ???)]
Arya sprinted. The halls rearranged as she ran—stairs becoming ramps, doors sliding aside—until she burst into the amphitheater: a sunken bowl of obsidian tiers, ceiling open to the bleeding dawn. Three hundred Takers filled the seats, a riot of skin and silk. Givers stood at the edges like statues, eyes hungry but leashed.
She slid into the front row beside her cohort. Liora was already there, legs crossed, icicle piercings catching the light. "Cutting it close, bookworm."
The stage ignited. A woman materialized in a swirl of violet smoke—tall, crimson-skinned, horns curling like a ram's. Professor Nyxara. Her dress was strategic absence: strips of shadow that revealed and concealed in the same breath. A whip of living flame coiled at her hip.
"Seduction," she began, voice layered like velvet over razors, "is not pleasure. It is control. A Giver's power is a river. You are the dam, the flood, the drought. Today, we test your mouths."
She snapped her fingers. The floor split. Seven Givers rose on platforms—each bound in rune-forged chains, eyes blindfolded, bodies oiled and gleaming. Arya recognized one instantly: Alexander Nicholas, shirtless, runes pulsing across his chest like a heartbeat. His head turned toward her as if scenting prey.
[URGENT QUEST: KISS ALEXANDER NICHOLAS IN FRONT OF THE CLASS]
[REWARD: +2 LEVELS | PUBLIC FAVOR +10]
[FAILURE: BRAND PENALTY – LIBIDO LOCK 24H]
[TIMER: 00:09:59]
Nyxara's smile was all teeth. "Volunteers will approach their assigned Giver. Objective: elicit a moan within thirty seconds. No hands. Mouths only. Begin."
Liora stood first, sauntering to a silver-haired Giver whose chains rattled. Cassia cracked her neck and chose a brute with flame tattoos. Sable's shadows carried her to a lithe archer type. One by one, the cohort moved.
Arya's legs carried her to Alexander before thought caught up. The platform rose to her height. Up close, he was overwhelming: shoulders broad enough to eclipse the dawn, scent of cedar and ozone. The blindfold couldn't hide the twitch of his lips.
"Arya," he murmured, voice rough. "Knew you'd pick me."
Thirty seconds.
She rose on tiptoes, hands clasped behind her back—rules were rules. Her lips brushed the corner of his mouth, feather-light. He shivered. She traced the seam of his lips with her tongue, tasting salt and restraint. The chains clinked as his hips shifted.
Twenty seconds.
Telepathy flared—his thoughts a torrent: gods, her mouth / want to pin her / can't move / need—
She nipped his lower lip, sucked gently, then sealed their mouths together. No gentle peck. A claiming. Her tongue slid against his, coaxing, demanding. The amphitheater faded. There was only heat, the wet slide of tongues, the way his breath hitched when she angled deeper.
Ten seconds.
A growl rumbled from his chest. The sound vibrated through her brand, straight to her core. She pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips, "Moan for me, Alexander."
He did. A broken, desperate sound that echoed off the dome like a war horn.
[QUEST COMPLETE]
[ARYA → LEVEL 7]
[TRAIT UNLOCKED: LIP SERVICE – KISSES NOW STEAL 1% OF TARGET'S MANA]
[PUBLIC FAVOR: +15 (RUMORS BEGIN)]
The blindfold dissolved. Alexander's eyes—storm-gray—locked on hers, pupils blown. "You're going to ruin me," he said, voice wrecked.
Nyxara clapped once. "Adequate. Next!"
But the professor's gaze lingered on Arya, calculating. "Level seven after one kiss. Either the Giver's weak"—Alexander bristled—"or the Taker's a natural. We'll test the latter."
The platforms sank. The Givers were led away, Alexander casting one last molten look over his shoulder. The class dissolved into chatter, bets exchanged on who'd bed whom first.
Liora cornered Arya near the exit. "Enjoy your little victory. Alexander's mine by midsummer." Ice crackled along her fingertips. "Cross me again, and I'll freeze your tongue mid-moan."
Cassia shoved between them, flames flaring. "Back off, ice bitch. She earned that moan fair."
Velira twirled a dagger, smirking. "Fight club's at midnight. Bring popcorn."
Sable's shadows coiled around Arya's wrist like a bracelet. "You taste like trouble now. Delicious."
Mireille scribbled furiously in her ledger. "Noted: subject A.N. responds to dominance play. Recommend follow-up with restraints."
The twins materialized, tails flicking. "We call dibs on round two," Eris said. "Tag-team," Nyx finished.
Arya's brand pulsed, warm and approving. The system pinged again.
[NEW QUEST: ATTEND BEAST THEORY – NOON]
[OPTIONAL: SEDUCE INSTRUCTOR FOR BONUS LEVELS]
She exhaled shakily. Alexander's taste lingered on her tongue like a promise. Somewhere in the distance, a dragon roared—lunch, apparently.
As the Takers filed out, a final whisper drifted through telepathy, not from the system but from Alexander himself:
Tonight. Rooftop garden. Bring that mouth.
Arya smiled, slow and sharp.
Let the climbing begin