The heavy oak door between their chambers remained closed, yet Xuěyáo could still feel him.
She sat on the edge of the four-poster bed, the black silk sheets cool and slippery beneath her palms. The room smelled faintly of lavender and something richer—incense, perhaps, or the faint trace of the Master's own scent that had clung to the air after he left. Moonlight filtered through the heavy curtains, casting silver patterns across the polished wooden floor.
Sleep refused to come.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw those stormy gray irises flecked with crimson. The way his fingers had brushed her hair. The low timbre of his voice when he spoke her name, as if tasting it.
"Intoxicating…"
She shivered, pulling the thin nightgown tighter around her body. The garment had been laid out for her on the bed—delicate white silk edged with lace, far finer than anything she had ever owned. It made her feel exposed. Vulnerable.
A soft knock sounded at the connecting door.
Xuěyáo's heart leaped into her throat.
"Enter," she called, voice steadier than she felt.
The door opened without a sound.
Yè Júnhào stood in the doorway, framed by the dim light of his own chamber. He had changed into a looser black robe that hung open at the collar, revealing a glimpse of pale, sculpted chest. His black hair was slightly tousled, as if he had run his fingers through it in frustration. Those eyes found her immediately, darkening when they traced the line of her neck and shoulders in the thin nightgown.
"You are not sleeping," he observed. It wasn't a question.
"I… find it difficult in new places, Master," she replied, rising to her feet and bowing her head respectfully.
He stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. The space suddenly felt much smaller. "Come here."
Xuěyáo obeyed, crossing the short distance on bare feet. She stopped an arm's length away, keeping her gaze lowered as propriety demanded.
"Look at me."
She lifted her chin.
Up close, in the softer moonlight, he looked almost… pained. A muscle ticked in his sharp jaw. His hands were clenched at his sides, knuckles white.
"Tomorrow at dusk you will begin your duties properly," he said. "But tonight, I require something simpler. Sit with me."
He gestured toward the small velvet chaise near the window. Xuěyáo hesitated only a moment before perching on the edge of it. To her surprise, he did not sit in the chair opposite. Instead, he lowered himself beside her—close enough that the heat of his body (cooler than a human's, yet not cold) brushed against her arm.
For several long minutes, silence stretched between them. The mist outside swirled against the glass like living smoke.
"Tell me about your grandmother," he said suddenly.
Xuěyáo blinked. She had not expected personal questions. "She… raised me after my parents died in a landslide when I was five. She is kind and strong, even now. The sickness came suddenly last winter. The village healers say only rare spirit herbs from the capital can slow it. The cost…" Her voice faltered. "It is why I came here."
Yè Júnhào listened without interruption, his gaze never leaving her face. "And you would sell yourself into service for her."
"Not sell," she corrected softly, surprising even herself with her boldness. "Trade. My labor for her life."
A low, almost amused sound rumbled in his chest. "Brave little prey."
The word "prey" sent a jolt through her. She met his eyes directly. "Is that what I am to you, Master? Prey?"
For a heartbeat, something raw flashed across his features—hunger, conflict, and a flicker of something deeper. He leaned closer, until she could see the faint crimson glow beginning to bleed into his irises.
"Your scent is unlike anything I have encountered in centuries," he murmured. "It calls to the beast inside me. Makes me want to… taste."
Xuěyáo's breath caught. She should have been terrified. Instead, a strange warmth bloomed low in her belly. "Will you?"
His hand rose slowly, giving her time to pull away. When she didn't, his cool fingers traced the delicate line of her throat, right over the frantic flutter of her pulse. "Not tonight. Not like this."
The touch was gentle, almost reverent. Yet she could feel the tension in him—the way his body coiled like a spring ready to snap. His fangs were visible now, sharp and gleaming in the moonlight.
"Then why am I here?" she whispered.
"Because for the first time in four hundred years…" His voice dropped to a husky growl. "I do not wish to be alone."
He withdrew his hand as if it cost him every ounce of willpower he possessed. Rising abruptly, he moved to the window, staring out at the misty highlands.
"Go to sleep, Xuěyáo. I will not touch you again tonight."
She stood, legs unsteady. "As you wish, Master."
As she climbed into the large bed and pulled the silk sheets over herself, she watched him through half-lidded eyes. He remained by the window, a dark silhouette against the silver mist, shoulders rigid with restraint.
In the quiet hours before dawn, Xuěyáo finally drifted into uneasy sleep.
She dreamed of crimson eyes watching her from the shadows… and of strong arms pulling her close instead of tearing her apart.
In the adjacent chamber, Yè Júnhào pressed his forehead against the cool glass, fangs fully extended, breathing ragged.
The girl's scent had seeped into every corner of his mind.
He, the ancient predator who had slain armies and outlived empires, was already losing control.
And the worst part?
He didn't want it back.