summary: you go to visit your dead husband's tomb to pay your respects, but find that his coffin is empty. when rafayel appears again, you must decipher dreams from reality.
contains: nsfw, oral (f!receiving) sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, historical!au (loosely 18th century), some religious undertones, swearing, 5.6k words
Your husband is dead.
It happened during an exhibition for his recent collection. What was supposed to be a night of celebrating your prodigious painter’s talent quickly spiralled out of control. The grand building was set ablaze. Sabotage; the police think otherwise.
In the frantic crowd, his ethereal eyes searched for you. His beautiful wife, amid chiffon flames licking up Lemurian paintings and thick curtains. He rushed over to you and hushed you gently while carrying you to safety. Once you two were in the clear, your grasp did not loosen. But your husband had other plans.
He insisted that he had to go back inside. There was something precious that needed rescuing. Something. Because he wouldn’t tell you what, even when you pressed for an answer in those short seconds before he dashed back into the flaming, smoking building.
Who knew that when he would emerge, he’d be breathless. Not panting or tired. No. His chest, sculpted by the Lord Himself, was still. You had screamed and thrown yourself over his limp body, begging for him to open his eyes, to utter one final word. But it was too late.
The coroner pronounced your husband dead in the early hours of a dreary morn.
So here you stand, gazing down with glassy eyes at his tomb. The sculptor did a spectacular job. Not as good as your dead husband could have, but good enough considering the large sum you commissioned him for. Stone waves ripple along the sides; the mirage of an ancient civilisation is visible in the background.
It’s dark and eerily silent inside the mausoleum. The full moon shines from above, casting its ghostly glow over the flowers you brought. Their pristine petals were fresh when you picked them, but have since wilted, likely due to how tightly you’re clutching the stems. Your strained sobs ring off the marble walls, stifled by your inner voice whispering for you to just stop crying.
Since his death (five days ago), you’ve been distraught. No food, condolences or cemetery strolls have been able to console you. Everywhere you look, there he is. His very essence lives on in the paintings filling your modest cottage, as it does in the crockery he formed with his own hands for you to eat and drink from. Your very sustenance is tied to your dead husband.
While dying your clothes black, your tears had mixed with the water. Mourning gowns imbued with sorrow, that’s how it should be, no?
Every night, his ocean eyes haunt you not only in your dreams, but in your hallucinations, too. When you wake up, frightened to death witnessing his again and again, those eyes peer at you in the darkness. They burn as bright as the blaze that ripped him away from you. This visceral pain, everlasting. It snuffs out the light residing within you.
All that remains is a hollow shell, like a crab that’s moved on. Discarded, that’s what you are. Some used calcification unfit for future provision.
Hot tears trickle down your sandpaper cheeks, a consequence of your routine nose-blowing. There he lies, beneath the stone lid, forever at peace. What a cruel joke.
The love you cultivated with Rafayel was like the sea. Passionate and grand; a stormy wave roaring and crashing in the distance. Quiet and consuming, like a riptide pulling you under. And a million emotions more lost in the depths.
The man who gave you headaches with his fickle ways, and sang you sweet lullabies while rubbing your temples to soothe every single one. Who set the rhythm of your heart, beating unnaturally fast for his teasing. The root cause of all of your problems; your best friend, your lover, your mentor.
Rafayel doesn’t deserve to rest in peace. He deserves an eternity of rotting in a dungeon filled with cats for how he has abandoned you!
“Y-you lying bastard. Said you loved me, guppy. Said you’d-you’d always b-be here f’me,” you choke out before wiping your freshly running nose on the sleeve of your dress.
If you could just—No. But—You mustn’t…
Just one last time. You would give everything to gaze upon your husband one more time, even though he’s ascended to a higher plane.
You know you must let go of him, but that sweet temptation. It swirls with fear. Like Orpheus gazing upon Eurydice one final time, will you find the face of your lover? Or will you find the feast of maggots? Either way, death cannot be defied. It is the one constant in a world riddled with disease and new developments daily.
You reason that you should leave his memory be, should you jeopardise it with your curiosity. But there’s an itch in your fingers. They twitch by your sides, an unseen strength swelling in your palms.
“Like I can move it,” you mutter to yourself while bracing your hands on the sides of the lid. Your fingers curl around the cold edge, silky smooth. With a huff, you lift the lid and push it. Well, you try to, but your shove doesn’t get you too far.
Gritting your teeth, you repeat the motion once more. And then once more. And again until the lid clanks against the stone floor. You scrunch your eyes shut and breathe in deeply to steady yourself. But when the stench of death doesn’t reach your nose, you crack one eye open and peer down.
Incredulous. Not only was your husband an artist, but it appears he was a magician, too. His tomb is empty. You palm either side of the stone coffin and bend down, inching closer to the shadows where he should lie.
With a quickening heart, you reach one hand into the depths. What do you find? Icy marble; the bottom of the coffin.
His tomb is empty.
You stare at your hand, swallowed by the darkness, fingertips pressing against stone. You drag them down and back up like your six-foot husband shrank. But that’s simply not possible. But neither is the reality that he’s not here. Did the embalmers forget the essential component of a burial?
That, you cannot fathom. But if he’s not here? Tis not like he could get up and walk away, he’s dead! He is dead, right? Of course he is!
Your Lemurian lover hadn’t moved a muscle during his funeral. His heart rested heavy in his chest, unmoving like coal. The soot had been scrubbed from his angelic features, soft yet dull. When you leaned down to kiss his plump lips one last time, he didn’t respond; the absolute confirmation of his death.
So where is he now?
This was a mistake. You shouldn’t have opened his blasted tomb! But if you hadn’t, then you wouldn’t have realised that you weren’t getting your money’s worth. What if his body has been stolen for dissection? Or worse, to be made a mockery of by those envious aristocrats who dare to put themselves in the same category as your very dead husband?
You sniffle real good, getting all of that snot back up in your nose as you push yourself upright. There’s no point in fixing the tomb when you’re going to be having a very serious confrontation with those responsible for such a mistake. You turn on your heel, ready to storm off and chatter to yourself the entire walk home like the madwoman you’ve become.
But there, a figure illuminated by the moon stands at the mausoleum’s entrance. Weight balancing on one long leg and shoulders squared off by a blazer. Pale light dances off their tousled locks, and they’ve got on hand on their hip.
Could it be?—
“What’s wrong, cutie? Aren’t you happy to see me?” Rafayel. No, it can’t— He steps forward and his ethereal features are bathed in celestial light. Your heart stammers, and your feet move on their own accord.
Mushy flowers lie scattered on the ground as you run toward him, his name spilling from your lips in earnest prayer. You crash into him.
“Whoa, steady now. I’m right here,” he says lightly, those agile fingers threading through your loose hair and brushing it.
You sigh into his solid chest, “Raf…” You squeeze him tight, your tears resurfacing at this sudden reunion. A figment of your imagination, surely. But if this were merely another hallucination, then why does he feel so cold and hard?
It’s like your lover has been carved from stone. You can feel every ripple and contour of his body beneath the suit you chose for his burial. And his chest remains still, his heart frozen in time like he really did get up from his coffin and take a stroll.
In your dreams, your Rafayel is warm and firm but squishy. He touches you so tenderly and holds you close to his beating heart. That thumping, forever aligned with your own, like biology predestined your unity.
This Rafayel holds you just as tenderly, but a desperation lingers in his grasp. The added tightness is exactly what you need after accidentally discovering the disappearance of his remains.
“Oh, Raf,” you wail; a fresh onslaught of sobs tears from your throat.
He pats your head, just like your husband always does when you cry and murmurs, “Why’re you crying, my love? I’m right here.” You nuzzle his chest with your nose and press your body harder against his. But it’s so damn cold! If not for your sobbing, you’d be shivering from how his freezing temperature seeps through his clothes. It’s as if you’re hugging his tomb.
Ohhhhhh. That’s what must be happening right now. And when you open your eyes, you’ll find that you never even opened his coffin. Instead, you fell asleep on top of it due to your recent insomnia.
You cry into your husband’s button-up, “I-I wish this-this was real.” His hold on you stiffens.
“What did you say, princess? Do you think this is all a fantasy?” He asks, annoyance creeping into his tone.
You laugh sorrowfully, “What else could this be if not my imagination?” Your hands sneak up his back, beneath the boundary of his tailcoat, to feel the smooth fabric covering his toned body. Over his back muscles, your fingertips trace each curve like they used to whenever you needed to feel grounded. You sigh, your heartbeat slowing as you feel every familiar dip.
His purple locks tickle your hairline as he leans down and whispers, “This is not your imagination, cutie. I’m here. Your husband is right here, and he’s never going to leave your side again.” You shake your head, giggles tinged by sadness spewing forth from your lips.
“My imagination is excessively cruel today,” you mumble. Rafayel’s hands come to your shoulders and push you back slightly. Your head tips back, and your cloudy gaze meets his. His thumbs trace your waterline, catching your stray tears. Your vision clears up. As he’s about to pull away, your fingers wrap around his wrist, and you bring his stone-cold palm to your hand. Upon it, you bestow a longing kiss, words left unsaid laid to rest on his skin.
Those eyes, like cerulean and bright mulberry, dripping like hot honey. Those eyes burn into your soul; another hallucination.
You release his hand, your own falling to his lapels as you stare at one another.
He says in a low voice, “If you believe this is a dream, then allow me to prove to you just how real I am.” Your breath hitches as the tip of his nose brushes yours. Fluttering your eyes shut, you stand on your tiptoes to close the insufferable distance between you.
His body might feel like marble, but his lips are as biteable as you remember. You both sigh, relief washing over the two of you from such a simple gesture. It feels like eons since you last kissed Rafayel, given how he used to butter you up in his affection whenever he had the chance. Slow mornings, soft afternoons and dreamy dinners. A pang in your chest. If you could just rewind the clock, return to a week ago from now. If only you knew then how your future would unfold.
You cup his sharp jaw, a quiet moan falling from your lips as he pulls you flush against him. But it’s not enough. These clothes, you can’t bear them. And it seems neither can he. Those veiny hands bunch your skirt to feel an inkling of your hips. His mouth moves with a ferocity against yours, perhaps the aftereffects of death by fire. Wild and hungry, he devours your lips like it’s his last meal.
“Raf,” you mewl, his fangs catching on your lower lip.
His what now?
You shift back, your eyes shot wide open and searching for the source of such bittersweet pleasure pain. There, glimmering in the midnight glow, pearly fangs piercing into his pink lips. Naturally, your first instinct is to pinch yourself. And your second instinct is to pinch yourself even harder when the first seems to fail. But alas, this is no dream you can wake from, nor a dizzy spell you can sleep off.
A chill drags up your spine and crawls into the most intimate recesses of your being. Your breathing shallows. An outlandish idea dawns upon you.
With raised brows and big eyes, you sputter, “Raf… I—What’s going on? Are you… ill?”
“Ill?” He chuckles, the sound harsh and melodic, granite dipped in velvet.
“Quite the opposite, actually. I’m feeling better than I ever did when I was alive,” he grins. Your brow creases.
“Pardon?” His complexion is unnaturally pale. Milky fingers caress your cheekbone down to the edge of your jaw, their pressure light. Your husband tilts your chin up, sealing your parted lips. His other hand drifts up to your face, his thumb soothing the furrow in your brow. You grasp his clothed forearms, uncertainty and fear spreading through your veins as his snowy fangs gleam.
Rafayel tilts his head slightly as he informs you, “You see, cutie, I had to change to be able to see you again.” You shake your head, the knot in your brow returning.
“Change? Raf, you have fangs,” you mutter. Gazing down might be the greatest mistake of your lifetime as you notice a few crimson droplets on his crisp white shirt. Gulping, your eyes flicker up to his. They’re trained on you, watching the minute twitch in your features when you glance back at the red dots. You’re equally perplexed as to what that stain is from and how you didn’t notice it earlier.
Meeting his gaze, you ask, confused, “Is that… blood?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry. I got a bit hungry while you kept me waiting,” he shrugs, like it’s a normal occurrence to have blood marring one’s funeral shirt after satiating their hunger. Again, you shake your head while trying to gain a shred of clarity around the matter at hand. But your husband doesn’t give you the chance as he tugs you back into his firm body. You gasp, your hands splaying on his chest while you stare up at him wide-eyed.
“Raf,” you squeak. Bending down, his lips brush the shell of your ear. A feather-light kiss, reverent.
He murmurs deeply, “And you know how impatient I am.” You press your lips together to stop a quiet whimper from being released. He knows the effect his low voice has on you. How bold to take advantage of that in this moment! You fight the growing heat down below, far too aware of how his body moulds to yours perfectly.
“Raf,” you sigh, pushing against his chest. His grip on you tightens, his powerful strength revealed beneath the moonlight. But he allows a sliver of space between you two upon considering your frown.
You exhale, “If this is real, then how did you survive? You were dead. And now you’re…?” One of his hands comes to his chin as he ponders your question. You stare at him as he takes his sweet time, reality beginning to settle upon your shoulders. It pushes you down, your knees buckling and bones creaking as you attempt to remain standing.
If your husband really is back, then…
“It’s like a distant dream, princess. I don’t really remember what happened. But when I woke up, I was like this,” he finally answers.
You huff, exhaustion bubbling to the surface, “Raf… I still don’t understand. You’re saying that by some miracle you’re alive again?” He shakes his head, a smirk on his lips that is devoid of warmth. In his eyes is not amusement but a cruel glint. It’s like the man you love has been re-animated, his limbs tied up with invisible strings for the puppeteer to put on a heart-wrenching performance.
“Not alive, cutie,” he corrects you while tucking a stray strand behind your ear. “More like… undead.” You scoff, your hunger and sleep deprivation mixing to form the worst combination: hangtirey.
“Look, Raf, if this is some sick joke, you can stop now. It’s not funny—”
“You know what’s not funny, cutie?” The shred of distance between your bodies is closed by your husband’s arm around your waist. His grip is like that of a martyr, clutching onto his Lord and the cross as he’s stoned to death by the pagans. Rafayel’s false breath fans your lips, a hint of iron.
“How determined you are to believe that I’m gone. Don’t you want me? Didn’t you miss me like I missed you?”
Before you can answer, he whips something out of his pocket while explaining, “That night, I went back into the fire to get this for you.” He holds the trinket up to the light. A necklace. The most beautiful necklace you’ve ever laid eyes on. Pearls laced with luxurious gold, the necklace has a similar style to a rosary. A prayer to the Sea God, then for eternal protection.
“I made it for our wedding anniversary. Do you like it?” He asks. You nod enthusiastically, every critique of how this is too good to be true immediately crumbling into nothing.
“Let me put it on for you.” He unclasps the necklace and drapes it on your collarbones before you can even get a word out.
After securing the necklace, your husband steps back to admire his handiwork. The drop chain sits in the crevice between your heaving breasts just right, the irregular pearl instantly warmed by your body heat.
His eyes shine, pink tongue darting across his lips in anticipation of what’s to come. You take a stuttered breath in, his undying love weighing upon your neck now. You’ve always been a masterpiece in Rafayel’s eyes. But there’s something about the added clarity from his transformation that makes you appear even more exquisite. Or perhaps it’s the scent of your blood pulsing in your arteries and flowing back to your heart through your veins. That sweet slosh, he could moan at the mere thought, let alone the taste.
The taste.
Oh, how he craves to drink from you! His mortal wife. All it would take is one bite, and he could add an ‘im’ to that title.
Once more, he closes that unbearable gap between the two of you. His lips are on yours within seconds, the start of another breathtaking exchange. It’s hard to know if the saliva dripping down your chin is yours or your lover's. Not that it matters.
His tongue samples your mouth like it’s a fine meal fit for royalty. He savours your flavour, unrelenting in his pursuit of swallowing your moans whole. Those slender hands slide up your sides, squeezing and tugging on your bodice with barely contained restraint.
Restraint? Laughable. As if Rafayel had a fraction of it. More precisely, as if Rafayel had a fraction of it left.
Breaking your kiss, he mumbles lustfully, “Don’t make me wait any longer, my dearest.”
“Raf!” You squeal as he grabs your hips roughly and starts walking you back, deeper into the mausoleum. His eyes glint in the shadows, vibrant pinky-blue amid the darkness. That passionate gaze blazing with intent, you’ve seen it almost every night since the tragic fire that supposedly claimed his life.
Your calves hit carved stones, the ridges leaving an impression on your skin beneath layers of black fabric.
“Raf,” you moan, your back arching as he presses you firmly into him. His lips are just below your ear, his icy tongue lapping at the boiling flesh there. Your breath catches as his ravenous kisses trail across to the column of your neck. Sharp fangs pull at your delicate skin, the pleasure mixing with pain, which sends you into delirium.
Your husband paints your neck with love bites, the red splotches varying in intensity for an artistic touch. You tug on his purple locks, sweet cries escaping your lips as he leaves a particularly harsh hickey near your collarbone.
He chuckles teasingly, “How you holding up, cutie? I’ve barely gotten started.” You hum in response, nothing coherent forming in your mind. His very presence is intoxicating, and his touches are… like a regret. They consume your conscious mind. They have you spiralling into worlds you never knew existed. And they tether you to this plane of existence while driving you up the wall at the same time.
The sound of fabric ripping ricochets off the mausoleum walls alongside your own cry as Rafayel tears your bodice to shreds. On the marble floor falls a crumpled heap of black that was formerly your dress. Not even your chemise is spared from his assault. All the while, he sucks the cruellest hickey beneath your jaw.
Pulling back, he takes a moment to admire his magnificent, bare wife with a blissed out grin. Only your wedding ring and the necklace he just gifted to you are left; a show of ownership. You squirm under his hungry gaze, those eyes gleaming like jewels as they roam over you. You’re just as he remembered. With a sigh, he stalks toward you and embraces you again.
He mumbles love-drunk praises across your collarbone, his nose coming to nuzzle your shoulder affectionately. Your husband paws at your hips, kneading the soft flesh there like the adorable vile creatures he detests. Only your pants can be heard amongst the dead.
Gripping his clothed shoulders, you pout, “Why am I the only one naked, Rafie? What about you?” His kisses on your upper arm come to a halt, and he gazes up at you. But his familiar blush is missing. The heat in his gaze is isolated, only pale skin stretching taut over his bones and muscles.
He chuckles, “I was getting to it, princess.” Your husband straightens up and grabs your hands.
Placing them on his chest, he continues, “But seeing as you’re so eager, you wanna help me?” His brow lifts as he nods slightly; a wordless invitation to rediscover your Lemurian lover.
“Mhmm,” you hum and immediately start working on the buttons of his shirt. You’re only able to unbutton half of them before he’s grasping the edges of his shirt and tearing the rest of it open.
“Too slow, cutie. You can do better than that,” he taunts.
“Raf,” you pout, momentarily upset that he stole your wifely duties. He takes care of his tailcoat and shirt while you start on his trouser fastenings.
Teamwork makes the dreamwork, and soon enough, you’re both back to making out, your bare bodies pressed firmly against one another. No separation remains. You feel like you can finally breathe with his cool skin against yours.
The chill is nearly intolerable, not only from your husband’s body, but also from the mausoleum’s air and freezing stone floor. You moan loudly as Rafayel suddenly sucks on your nipple. He gazes up at you, his siren eyes big and his mouth anxious to please. His tongue is like an ice cube rolling around your nipple. The sensation sends goosebumps rippling across your skin.
When he pulls away, spit connects his tongue to your stiff peak. His grin snaps it.
He stands upright and squeezes your arms while suggesting, “Why don’t we lie down, hmm? I mean, we can do this standing up if you want. Buuuuut, it might be more comfortable lying down.” You nod, yet frown when he steps aside.
“What’re you doing, darling?” You whine.
“Fixing our bed, duh.” Bending down, Rafayel picks up the heavy lid to his stone coffin with ease.
“Can’t believe you opened it,” he remarks.
Staring at his flexed arm muscles, you murmur, “I wanted to see you again.” Your eyes quickly scrunch up as he drops the lid onto his open tomb with a harsh clatter. The dust settles, and he’s grasping your wrist. Guiding you forward, your eyes open gradually. Your husband releases your wrist only to hoist you up by the waist and place you down on his coffin.
You exclaim, “Raf! We can’t do this here!”
He shrugs, a cocky smirk stretching across his plump lips, “Well, where else d’you wanna do this, cutie? On the floor? Might be a bit cold, though. Not to mention, who knows how many people have been here before? What if they dirtied the floor or something? I can’t make love to my wife on the floor. So I guess my tomb will have to do.”
“Raf—” Your sweet plea is consumed by your lover. There is no rest for the wicked, and neither is there for you, as your husband pleases you from head to toe.
…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…
“Oh, fuck!” You cry out, your head falling back and hips bucking as Rafayel’s cool tongue roves over your clit. He drinks you up like some starved beast, ready to devour anything within reach. But make no mistake, your husband only thirsts for you. He only craves to fill you in every single way imaginable.
His fingers slip into your hole and trace along your ridged walls, all the way up. He applies the perfect amount of pressure to your g-spot, tearing a ragged moan straight from your throat. Your eyes roll back, his tongue still stimulating your clit. The sensations force the air out of your lungs.
Now, the squelching of his fingers deep in your cunt and your breathy mewls echo in the mausoleum. Oh, and Raf’s whimpers, too. Every single time he hums and moans into your pussy, your back arches. Your hands are tangled in his hair again, and you pull on the soft strands in an attempt to steady yourself.
But Rafayel leads you further from this place and into the sea. Your sharp cries are drowned out as you glide through the depths. Ecstasy strokes your skin, invisible hands caressing you gently and lulling you into the abyss.
No return.
As the pleasure intensifies—this coiling in your gut—there is no return.
You teeter on the edge, some underwater cliff. Within seconds, you’re toppling over with a guttural moan. Your thighs tense and shake on your lover’s shoulders, schools of fish swimming by, blind to the life-changing oblivion you’ve fallen into.
On your lips is the name of your husband, the sole word you can recall in your daze. His tender coos and slender hands rubbing your back and cradling your head guide you to the present.
You reach up and cup his cheek. His chin is dripping with your juices. You grin lazily. He leans down, and your lips reconnect with a mutual sigh. Your taste soaks his tongue, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“How’re you feeling, princess? Good? Ready for what comes next?” He asks, pulling back and resting his forehead against yours.
“Mhm-hmm,” you hum quietly. With a kiss to your cheek, Rafayel slips his sinewy arm around your hips and brings them up to his. His hard length runs through your folds; a few preliminary thrusts. But nothing can ever prepare you for the sublime feeling of your husband sinking deep into you. The stretch is satiating. A welcome home for your lover.
He slides in until your hips kiss, his eyes never leaving yours. The love within them makes your heart accelerate. You’re sure that his gaze reflects yours. Rafayel’s head dips, planting a chaste peck on your lips as he draws out of you slowly.
Your moan is strained: “Hah—Please, Raf, baby.”
Thrusting in, he breathes out, “Need you, too, my love.” Your hand latches onto his bicep and squeezes it with every controlled roll of his hips. His pace is agonisingly slow, but oh-so necessary. You won’t be able to go on if you can’t feel every vein and curve of his cock, and Rafayel feels the same about your hot cunt.
The marble beneath your body has gradually warmed up. However, you still shiver as your husband pushes in particularly deeply.
“Raf!” You mewl. You swear he’s in your throat right now with how he’s rutting into you. Everywhere you look, there he is. Tangible and pleasuring you beyond belief. No reminders of your long-lost love, just him. Finally, you two have been reunited.
With the shifting of the clouds, your joined figures are bathed in a celestial glow once more; a masterpiece carved in slick and sealed atop stone. Your husband cups your jaw, his cool fingers at the back of your neck; much-needed relief. He tips your head forward, your eyes meeting once more. You lean up and place a searing kiss on his lips.
Separating, you pant, “Raf, if you were never dead—mhmm!—then, why didn’t you tell me sooner? What about the funeral?” Rafayel answers with another soul-binding kiss. His lips press hard into yours, and his hips now grind against you. The stimulation on your clit is heavenly; just enough, but not too much to overstimulate you.
When he draws back, he grins, “To keep up appearances, cutie.” You shift your knees back toward your chest, your heels now sitting in the dimples above his arse. The change in angle has him thrusting even deeper into you.
“Now—hah!—I can take you away from here. We can—fuck—we can start anew. Just you and me by the ocean, princess. How does that sound?” Your husband moans. You nod frantically and hastily pull him in for a kiss. Teeth and tongues clash as you dare to taste every corner of his mouth. His fangs nibble on your lower lip, sending your back arching into another crescent moon.
However, your lover wasn’t careful enough this time. Blood trickles from your lip into his mouth, the flavour luxurious. He whimpers, his tongue lapping at your stinging bottom lip, pursuing every last drop of your crimson delicacy. Never before has Rafayel tasted anything so addictive. It’s like the taste of your blood was formulated just for him, for his demise.
All you can taste is metal, but your husband is sampling paradise on earth. He ruts into you rougher now, your delicious flavour fuelling his bodily needs. Those strong hands slide down to your thighs. He grabs the backs of them and pushes your knees up near your chin while leaning back momentarily.
Now, your legs sit between your bodies. Your ankles are resting over one of Rafayel’s shoulders while he pounds you into his tomb. Words tumble from your lips, slurred and broken as his cock explores the most intimate parts of your body. You tense around him, your gummy walls squeezing any shred of life left in your husband. Your end is drawing near, the finish line—albeit hazy—in sight. So too does his.
A rising crescendo. Both of your moans intermingle as your husband’s thrusts grow sloppier. You don’t even have time to cry out before your climax crashes into you like a freight train. Your screams bounce off the mausoleum’s walls, and your body shakes beneath Rafayel’s.
With a few more ruts into you, he finishes with a strained moan. Your nails dig into his upper back, the feeling of his cum filling your cunt intensifying your pleasure. His forehead rests against yours, little whimpers spurring on your gentle rocking until you two eventually stop.
Your Lemurian lover kisses your temple before sitting back and setting your legs down. Then, he collapses on top of you, the strength in his body drained. You squeal as his arms embrace you, his freezing forehead lying on the junction between your neck and shoulder. Your chest rises and falls heavily, breasts squished by his solid chest. Only your heart beats erratically.
Rafayel murmurs against your sweat-soaked skin, “I’ll love you for eternity, cutie. Will you love me?” His tone is serious.
You run your fingers through his messy hair and giggle breathily, “Who else would I love if not you, Rafie? These past few hellish days have confirmed that.” You gently tug on the strands at his nape. His head lolls back, and he gazes at you tenderly.
“You’re not allowed to leave me ever again, Raf,” you pout.
“Mhmm.” Shifting up, he kisses you sweetly, reassuring you that indeed, you two will never be parted once more. He then pecks your nose, under eyes, eyelids, and brows. Pulling back, he stares at you affectionately.
“I’ll always be with you, cutie. Always. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
masterlist
star girl's final words: actually posted this on ao3 like a couple of weeks ago sooooooo i was tossing up whether to post an excerpt or post the full fic on here, but here you go.
Pairing: 18+ | Vampire Rafayel x Vampire Hunter Reader
Tags: Slow burn, violence, friends to lovers, dark themes, angst with a happy ending, dirty talk, explicit language, explicit consent, biting kink, mates, smut, primal kink, 3rd person pov, all 5 LIs are included
Summary: In a world riddled with danger; vampires, werewolves, and humans co-exist. Rafayel, a vampire with a hidden motive, disgraces his kind by spending his days with a Huntress, a woman who hunts his own. Together, they are misfits, bonded by a traumatic past, paving a new path side-by-side.
Word Count: 15.1k
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Rafayel rejected her at the young age of seventeen.
She would never forget that day, holding it close to her heart when requiring the dull pain that accompanied humbling.
It had been a cool autumn afternoon as they walked through their city. Women twirled their parasols while leaves fell, and men adorned trench coats rich in dark colors.
The sense of comfort found in late nights, watching rivulets of water slither down the windows from pounding rain, bore naivety. Sometimes, she imagined them, sitting together, staring out the window wrapped up in one another. She had known Rafayel for the better part of seven years, making her believe she could assume responses.
Boys her age were rambunctious, running through the streets to either steal or flirt. Education was only offered to a few, to those capable of sparing multiple wads of cash. While the privileged watched chalk upon boards, everyone else meandered aimlessly.
Rafayel strolled by her side with hands in his pants pockets. Unbothered, he appeared mysterious, capable of a control unattainable by a fledgling such as himself. His eyes would narrow when observing, and if uninterested, he would move on without the permission of others. She was used to it, having to learn early on not to be offended.
They were on their way to the local tea shop, an adventure they would partake in once a month, when enough money was saved. Rafayel could care less about the beverage, but would tag along with the excuse he needed to protect her. It would make her smug, confident he simply enjoyed her company.
With his hands in his pockets, the edges of his trench coat crumpled to lay against his wrists like curtains held by a holdback. It opened his jacket to expose his midnight vest, the old thing frayed along the tops, some buttons loose upon their strings. He had taken it from a corpse a few months prior.
“Do we have to go again?” Rafayel complained. “It’s my annual fang sharpening day.”
“Bullshit,” she snorted, twirling to walk backwards and talk with him. “I saw you caring for them yesterday. And it’s not annual, it’s not sharpening, all you do is brush them like a normal human.”
“Look at you so observant,” his cheeks puffed, and he looked to the side.
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“I never said that,” his hands left his pockets so his arms could fold.
“Raf, you just invented a fake, personal tradition to avoid the tea shop,” she laughed, and turned to face forward. “If you return home now, there’s still enough time to send Julian this way, he’ll go with me.”
Julian was a dhampir: half-human, half-vampire. A fellow misfit, he had joined their makeshift coven a few years ago. He would follow Rafayel around like a lost puppy, admiration prevalent in his eyes. Rafayel would ignore him, but never forced him away.
“No, he would very much like to get under your skin,” Rafayel increased his pace, to walk alongside her once more.
Literally. The young Huntress had seen the dhampir stare a little too long at her wrists, felt the burn of his gaze at her neck. Repulsion would skitter over her nerves, instincts screaming for her to run. She would find herself often taking a step closer to Rafayel. In her heart, she longed for the vampire to sling an arm over her shoulders, and hold her close.
But thoughts like those made Hunters such as herself weak. Even more so when an outcome like the one she desired wasn’t even a possibility. The last time Rafayel had touched her was when they first met, when his small hands had gripped her even smaller arms, and pushed her away.
Like any other growing woman - at least one with a crush - she had tried to sneak in a few brushes here and there. Rafayel, their self-proclaimed leader, often spent his evenings at a desk, an oil lamp flickering in the corner. There, he would concoct plans, negotiate bounties, and consider rations. He would ask for her input, in which she would readily provide, leaning over him to point to something on his parchment. She would try to get close enough her body might touch his, yet he would subtly move away. If they were walking, and she’d feel the heat of his fingers near hers, he’d step to the side.
She would never have the advantage, his senses much more in tune with his environment than hers were. Besides, she never wanted to give him something he didn’t want. Both had too many things forced upon them in the past, she wouldn’t add to that.
When Rafayel opened the door to the small shop, the bell atop the doorframe jingled. The Huntress didn’t miss the wince near the corner of his eye - the loud chime harsh on his sensitive ears.
“Welcome in,” an employee greeted, bustling between tables. “The table by the window is yours.”
Rafayel took a seat while she went up to place their order. The special that month revolved around pumpkin and spice, both bold flavors she figured the vampire would not appreciate. So, she ordered his usual, while she wanted the special. Handing over the money, the man who greeted them when they entered, handed her the change.
“It will be out to you shortly,” he smiled.
She nodded, and turned on her heel to make her way back to where Rafayel sat. She nearly lost her breath, taking in the sight of him.
Vampires were considered the spawn of something evil, the descendants of demons. Even so, she couldn’t help but wonder how Rafayel appeared divine. The light cascading through the window made his figure glow, the violet in his eyes echoing aspects ethereal. His legs were crossed, the foot dangling in the air moving restlessly, while his hand atop the table tapped its fingers. The lavender of his hair was messy, ruffled from his hand.
She loved him.
Whatever it was that made her chest hurt and her eyes heavy, she now knew it was love. This was no simple crush, because if it was, she would never recognize every inch of his body, every habit of his, every nuance of his speech.
There were times as of late she fixated on his mouth. The miniscule creases upon his lips, the soft texture of his tongue, she was curious about it all. She would lay awake at night, tossing and turning, crossing her knees to alleviate the pulsation between her hips. Because his mouth, in her fantasies, not only found hers, it found other places, too.
She wanted to collapse in the center of the teashop. Her knees would hurt on her landing, but that was the least of her problems.
She was in love. She wanted to cry, she wanted to laugh, she wanted to scream, all at the same time.
As if sensing her turmoil, Rafayel turned his head. She held his gaze, nearly stumbling when time slowed. She watched as he dragged his stare down, cementing to her boots. She wasn’t moving, she had stood still. When had she stopped? She must have looked crazy, standing between two tables, onlookers shaking their heads to themselves.
“Are you okay?” Rafayel mouthed, movements exaggerated so she could read his lips.
She shook her head, unable to lie. Her eyes wouldn’t leave his facial features, tracing his eyebrows, nose, lips, and jaw. She was seeing him in a new light, every little thing she could find amplified.
It made her heart thunder.
And that was her downfall, because supernatural eyes widened, pitch black pupils expanding. Rafayel inhaled, deep into his lungs. She could even see his shoulders rise. That was when the world fell away, and she was defeated. He knew. Maybe not exactly what she was thinking, but he would have his suspicions.
His fingers had stopped tapping, his index suspended in the air, frozen. He swallowed, Adam’s Apple bobbing as he cleared his throat. Then he tore his gaze away, frowning as he stared at the table, fingers drumming once more.
The moment was over. That was her queue to get moving.
When she got to her seat, she lifted the chair off the ground, instead of sliding it away from the table. It was one of the small accommodations she had made a habit of doing when around the vampire. The scrape of wood or metal used to force him to cover his ears when they were kids.
She wasn’t sure what to say when she settled. Rafayel was looking everywhere but at her. She knew her cheeks were flushed, and her heart still beat loudly against the top of her breast.
To confess was her first instinctual reaction. She was never one to idle, always understanding of her own reality. Feelings were easy to encounter, memories were not. This was a realm she was comfortable in.
“Ma’am,” the man from earlier broke through her thoughts before she could make her decision, “your tea.”
The cup was placed in front of her, the scent of Fall soothing her. Her hands curled around the base, warming her palms. Across from her, Rafayel looked at the waiter.
“And for the gentleman,” he did the same.
It was hard for the populace to identify Rafayel as a vampire. He was rare, Tempered at his young age. Rafayel was the same age as her, still growing and finding his way amongst his kind. Tempered was a state which recognized vampires who functioned without the interference of the frenzy. More specifically, on a daily basis, they were still susceptible to bouts at certain times. The older the vampire, the higher chance they were Tempered. The younger, the lower.
The events that matured Rafayel at such a young age allowed him to master the state long before his counterparts.
That wasn’t to say the man still wouldn't have addressed Rafayel as a gentleman. Discrimination wasn’t between species, it was between the elite and lower-class. Many would never suspect a vampire resided within the working class. Rafayel did not actively conceal his supernatural existence, but he never went out of his way to make it public, either.
“Anything else?” the man asked, smiling gently at the Huntress.
His nametag read Elias. Tall, he was lithe, slim with a strong jawline. Blonde hair was a mess atop his head, some hairs falling to intermingle with jade eyes. He was human, the Huntress could tell by the way he held himself, rigid beneath her scrutiny. Rafayel had taught her that no matter how hard she stared, no vampire would falter.
“Actually,” she finally answered, “do you have anything honeydew-flavored?”
Eager to please, Elias thought, rubbing at his chin with his index and thumb. “Ah, yeah, we have some yogurt.”
“Awesome, two of those, please.” She wasn’t ordering those for herself - honeydew always drew Rafayel’s attention.
Elias nodded, then departed, shoes clacking against the hardwood floor. He meandered through the scattered tables, disappearing through the door indicating storage.
“He likes you,” Rafayel stated, bland in his expression. He lifted his cup to his lips, sipping on the clear liquid. “His heart increases in rate whenever you look at him or you speak. Judging by his scent, he’s the same age as us, maybe a few months older.”
In return, she drank her own tea. Too much spice, indeed, she was glad she didn’t order any for Rafayel. “I’m not looking for anyone, right now. You know that.”
The vampire shrugged, “just thought you would want to know.”
“Well, I don’t. Humans can’t sense those things, so it would be wrong if I relied on that.”
She was angry, upset he would even suggest her spending time outside of their coven, with someone else. Especially now that he could sense her attraction. This must have been his way of forcing her away. The least he could do was tell her to her face.
Elias returned, decorated cups of yogurt on his silver platter. The cups were glass, tiny sundae spoons sticking out from the tops of the pudding-like texture. He placed them both down, rocking the fancy vase filled with sparse flowers. When the man left, she pushed her serving over to Rafayel.
His lips molded around the spoon immediately, his tongue playing around the stem.
Seeing him happy turned a dark world suddenly bright.
“He’s cute,” Rafayel continued, eyes down to watch the yogurt collect on his spoon.
“Even so, he’s not the one I would want.”
Oh how she wanted an attack to take place on the street outside their window. Anything to get her out of her seat and away, because it didn’t take a genius to know what she insinuated.
“Don’t finish that thought, Cutie,” Rafayel said.
Whether it was a demand or a request, she couldn’t tell. His voice wavered, that’s all she knew.
“A human would be good for me, right?” She could feel her chest turn, the thick syrup of defense drowning her mind. It was easier if she was alone, if she could never have him, she wanted no one. “But why should I put anyone through that?”
Her final words had a snarl warping the edges.
“No one wants damaged goods.”
It was low, and the urge to curl into herself after reminding them both of such a horrid past was all-consuming. The best thing to do would have been to gobble the words right back up, except that they had already made their presence known, practically a guest at their table. But she remained resilient, chin held up even when the vampire in front of her flinched. It was not one of her more prouder moments, lashing out in response to his rejection.
“That’s not what I - nevermind,” Rafayel clamped his mouth shut. Elias had returned, the bill for the honeydew yogurt in his hand.
Rafayel took it, paying attention to the man for the first time. He reached for his own wallet, pressing a few bills on top of the paper.
“She’s free tonight, eight o’clock. Townsquare, if you know what’s good for you.”
He had no right to make decisions for her, and she would be chewing him out later for that, but Rafayel didn’t seem to care, standing the moment he finished talking. He pushed his chair in, scraping the legs hard against the floor. Without another word, he made his way to the door, slipping through the threshold swiftly before the bell could chime long enough to bother him.
Elias hadn't noticed, staring at the Huntress. Hope was alive in his eyes, his fingers fumbling against his apron.
She wasn’t ruthless, so she smiled, “see you later?”
It had meant to be one date. Walking through the park wasn’t the worst thing, and she had told herself it would be nice to get out. She planned to turn Elias down afterwards, blaming herself.
But it hadn't turned out that way. Elias was a sweet boy, the exact opposite of Rafayel. He would fumble, struggled with social interaction, and stuttered every other sentence. When the end of the evening came, he grabbed her hand, stroking back and forth over her palm. She had never been touched intimately, never knew what it felt like to have an affectionate hand around her own.
It was their third date when they became official.
And they would continue steady for a couple years. Elias never knew where she lived, that some nights she spent covered in blood, cleaning the barrel of her gun. He never knew she lived in an abandoned flat with Rafayel and a few others. He was never by her side when they found Julian, cold and stiff, dead in the pouring rain. She would weep alone that evening, hugging herself in the corner of the kitchen while Rafayel hunted the vampire responsible. And she would be at Elias’ house the next day, meeting his parents for the first time.
Elias was intelligent, privileged to have a father willing to put forth a tuition for his boy. Elias never faulted her for her lack of education or ambition in the world of the working class. She realized he probably knew she was in some shady business, earning her living through bounty hunting. Yet, he still loved her.
Elias was her first kiss, her first exploration into the carnal pleasure found between bodies. His touch was never rough, always considerate. Whenever clothes would reveal skin, she made sure they were in the dark. The first time Elias had felt the Claim upon her shoulder, he traced it. She hated when he did that, but to explain why it bothered her, would expose the truth she tried her hardest to hide. Elias believed it was scarring from an accident.
“The scaffolding had fallen when I was playing beneath it,” was what she had told him, weaving a story about construction her non-existent parents had commissioned.
It explained all the other scars littered across her body.
But all that tracing, all that sweat and shared orgasms, made her ashamed to walk through the door at night. Rafayel had distanced himself since her relationship with Elias had become intimate. Vampires, and their heightened senses, sometimes made her feel violated. Rafayel had surely known what had transpired, what she had done. Even if he didn’t want to, his body naturally picked up on such things.
At first, she had told herself she could ignore it, rationalizing Rafayel had set her up with Elias in the first place. It was his fault. Which she would have told him if they spent time together like they used to. He had even begun to take bounties without her, leaving to execute them solo without a second thought. Too many nights she had laid awake, wondering if he would make it home safe.
Too many nights she wondered what in the world she was doing with Elias. He wanted a domestic future, one filled with children and hosting get-togethers. He wanted a beautiful, obedient wife standing by his side.
It was her twentieth birthday when she decided to track Rafayel down. Whether he wanted to talk or not, they were going to. Rafayel, despite being considered the superior species, listened to her more often than not, something she believed would bring him shame within the vampire community. It did, but that never deterred him from hearing her out, or accepting her defiance.
She found him on the top floor of their abandoned flat, where his bedroom was at the time. His door had been left open, bed empty and desk vacant. His balcony door was open, however. Outside, he sat on a stool, an easel in front of him. The paint at the tip of his brush catered to his every whim, flowing with each arc of his arm.
The Huntress walked past him, turning to lean her backside against the metal railing. It was brisk that evening, and judging by the white within the night clouds, there would be snow. The cold didn’t bother Rafayel, he was dressed down, a loose jacket, sweatpants, and fluffy socks. There was a small hole at the toe, and the zipper on his jacket was diagonal, hanging from the teeth.
“I thought you were with Elias tonight,” Rafayel assumed, continuing to paint. His tone was rather accusatory.
So it did irk him.
She almost chuckled at his antics, if it wasn’t for the fact he was bluffing, purposefully hiding his wants and needs.
“We broke up,” she said, and sat, pushing her legs through the space between the thin that made up the railing, facing her away from him. Her fingers wrapped around the cool metal. “I’d prefer to spend my evening with my favorite vampire.”
A jar fell, brushes clattering to the floor. She heard his whispered curse before he gathered his brushes, and set them aside. Then, he was sitting next to her, keeping enough space so they didn’t touch.
“Sorry that things didn’t work out.”
“You’re going to have to try better than that to hide your delight.”
His laugh was quiet, a sound she hadn't heard for a long time. “I thought he was dull in comparison to you.”
“Figured that out when I asked him to fuck me against the wall, yet he still led me to the bedroom.”
She nearly howled in laughter when he coughed. Anyone else, and she would have patted his back in jest, but she kept her hands to herself.
“I didn’t know vampires could get flustered,” she teased.
“I guarantee we could go into town and ask anyone their thoughts on that, and I’m positive they’d be flustered. I’m a vampire, not emotionless.”
They fell into a comfortable presence. Everyone who lived with them were out and about, enjoying the spoils of their week at local pubs, restaurants, or underground casinos. It was the weekend, afterall. Rafayel enjoyed when they left, he could bask in his own presence, the solitude of his own company.
Not that he minded having his Huntress by him.
She swung her feet idly, the heels of her boots tapping against the side of their flat. The breeze moved her hair, and she giggled to herself, wrapping it all over her shoulder so she could braid it. It exposed a mark beneath her ear, a small bruise.
It smelled of sandalwood, sticky with the scent of saliva.
Rafayel needed to leave.
“I got something for you,” he said, removing his legs from between the spokes.
The Huntress hummed, watching him return to his room. She remained, eyes drifting to the street below. A cart had stopped in front of a lamp, the horses still and docile, aided by their leather blinders. Bags of flour were being loaded, dirt-covered boys in raggedy shirts and fraying suspenders swinging the ingredient. The driver was an elderly man, his clothes in no better shape.
Her own work would begin in a few hours, her target a young female vampire, notorious for luring men and ending their lives after light petting. She figured she might begin around the blood banks. If she were a vampire, it would be easier to tempt a man addicted to the bite. There were always too many alleys around those places.
Her Claim thrummed, asking for attention. She rubbed it in soothing circles. Whenever she hunted, every vampire had some despicable comment about her mark, especially if Rafayel was by her side.
“It’s not much . . . but it’s something.”
Rafayel was next to her once more, after throwing a blanket over her shoulders. It carried his scent, and she reached to pull it further around her. The bumpy texture of it told her it was the blanket from the foot of his bed.
A red velvet cupcake was held out in front of her. No candle burned in the center, it was instead a match.
“Hurry, it won’t last long,” he rushed, nudging the cupcake closer.
“Aren’t you going to sing for me?”
“Cutie, we don’t have time, hurry, hurry. My hand can’t hold this forever, are you going to let it fall off? How will I paint? You will ruin this precious artist’s career-”
She closed her eyes, and blew. Rafayel whistled in celebration, using his free hand to clap the top of his thigh.
“Congratulaions on getting old,” he finished.
“Need I remind you we are the same age.”
“Take the damn cupcake before it freezes.”
She did, gently pinching it to make sure their hands didn’t touch. His palm was flat, reminding her of when children were taught how to feed animals so teeth wouldn’t scrape. She split it in half, and took the first bite, moaning when the flavor slithered across her tongue. Sweets were the most expensive items in their city. Those, and certain metals.
Rafayel took the other half, eating it in a few bites before sucking his fingers clean.
“It’s snowing,” she realized, holding her hand out.
Flakes trickled down, tiny and bountiful, telling them the snow would last a while, and stick.
“Take my jacket,” Rafayel suggested, “it’s going to be cold tonight.”
“I know how vampires work, Raf. You want your scent on me, why?”
Crimson seized his skin, tinting his cheeks. Caught, he was embarrassed. She thought he was even more beautiful when the deep color graced his pale features.
“Because you’re collecting a bounty alone. They should know you have a vampire by your side.”
It was a lie. The Claim upon her already did that, tainted with a subtle scent that was embedded into the scarring of her skin. Vampires were sensitive to the hormones released in saliva, the chemistry that allowed biology to identify a suitor. They could scent it.
On top of that, Rafayel was no threat to most vampires, considering his age and ties to humans. He had no mentor, no Pureblood to guide him. He was a loner.
She wouldn’t call him out on it, and he didn’t add anything, either.
It was when she stood by the door to leave, he removed his jacket to hand it to her. She threw it on, and he grabbed the front to adjust it over her body. She could feel his breath on her face, the tremble through the fabric.
“Any birthday wishes for me?” she asked.
He smiled, his fangs on display. All it did was confirm he wanted his scent on her for a specific reason.
“I wish for you to have a long, prosperous life, full of plentiful bounties, clean guns, and most importantly, an endless amount of surfaces to be fucked against whenever you want it.”
It was the first night without the presence of another.
The Huntress rolled, facing the glass doors that gave way to a large balcony. Her bed felt too large without Rafayel, too cold, too . . . useless.
So she rose, donning a silk robe over her frame. The full moon shone through the glass, illuminating the guest bedroom with an eerie glow.
Sylus’ mansion was straight from a gothic novel. Built in shades of red and black, and blanketed in a glow born from candles, she felt phantoms roamed the halls. And she wandered with them, trailing her hand over the polished railing that led downstairs. The stairs themselves were carpeted in vermillion hues, mixed with swirls of gold designs.
The plush threads of yarn beneath her bare feet silenced her steps. She slowed her breathing, trained from a young age on hunting those with heightened senses.
When she made it to the bottom, she scurried across the entranceway, pressing her back to the wall adjacent to the door to the dining room. The door was cracked open enough she could decipher pieces of the conversation.
“You’re weak,” a voice she recognized as Sylus’s stated.
“Sylus,” the gentle one warned. She had encountered him only once, when she was introduced to her room for the next week. Xavier was pretty, delicate and lethal.
Rafayel blew out a hot breath. The Huntress could picture it, the skin around his lips inflating. “I am,” he stated, “incapable of protecting her.”
“The Huntress?” Sylus took a guess. “The Claimed one?”
Rafayel’s silence was the answer.
Vampires were odd to humans in that way, comfortable with long instances of silence. She supposed they communicated through other methods, relying on their other senses to discover deception.
“You’re wasting a lot of potential for something that isn’t even yours,” Sylus continued.
“I suppose not,” Sylus mused. The Huntress heard glass clink as if a cup was being set down. “I would say she’s more like a cat.”
“A cat?” Rafayel asked.
Sylus hummed, the low timbre of his voice echoing in the depths of his chest. “Yes, a cat. She’s curious, exploring places she shouldn’t, uncaring of the consequences. Isn’t that right, Kitten?”
Her gasp was loud, and she didn’t cover her mouth in time. The slap of her palm against her lips furthered her predicament, so she exhaled loudly, defeated. Vampires didn’t scare her, not as much as they used to. But Rafayel? How he would interpret her act of eavesdropping made her uneasy.
“Well come on in, Kitten, don’t try to claw, you’re sorely outnumbered.”
She pushed the door open, stepping into the room. All eyes were on her, and she stared at the ground, ashamed she was caught. At the same time, she was aware Sylus was no meager vampire, clearly experienced. Whenever she was in the field, it was very rare when vampires noticed her presence.
“Don’t be like that, take a seat,” Sylus had an amused note in his voice, one she wasn’t sure if she was fond of or not. It teetered on being condescending, but not overwhelmingly so. She could relate it to when a close friend was teasing, mocking in a way to create familiarity.
In the middle of the large dining room was a banquet table, made of ebony wood, covered in a white tablecloth. Chandeliers lined the ceiling, and candelabras centered the table. Oil lamps were the new and improved way of furnishing a home, but Sylus kept it warm with candles. Antique shops would adore him, she vaguely thought.
So the Huntress walked, clad in her silk robe, to take a seat next to Rafayel. She didn’t notice the look between Sylus and Xavier, the narrowing of Rafayel’s eyes when the two other vampires silently communicated.
“It doesn’t bother you?” Xavier asked.
“What?” she returned when she pulled her chair in, close to the table, hoping to conceal her bare legs. Her thighs, although thick, were another place vampires might be intrigued to bite.
“Sitting so close to him.”
She looked to her left. Her and Rafayel were a foot or so apart, she had been closer to him before.
“I don’t know why it would be.”
“Interesting,” Xavier mused, more to himself.
It would have been better not to dwell on it, so the Huntress didn’t. She took a minute to analyze the pale-haired vampire, and the way in which he held himself. Rafayel had taught her in the past how to distinguish between the different types of vampires. Xavier, and the sharpness of his movements, the imperfections of his face, and the elegance he exuded told her all she needed to know.
She was in the presence of a Pureblood.
Xavier was not turned, he was born between two vampires. It was difficult for vampires to conceive, but when they did, the child was considered regal, superior to other supernatural beings.
Sylus had been turned at some point in his mortal life. It would be hard to explain if she ever was asked how she knew. It was prevalent in the ruggedness of his stature, the hard emotions his voice portrayed. The hardship of being turned, stuck with a vampire for their entire existence.
Xavier and Sylus were like fire and ice, night and day, yet she didn’t need to be told they shared a special bond.
Rafayel, sitting in this room full of wealth and arrogance, looked out of place. His trenchcoat had been hung by the front door, leaving him in a vest, long sleeves, and his pants tucked into knee-high leather boots. His vest was still stained from his bounty the night before, two small holes revealing where the vampire had bitten his chest.
Then his human, dressed in a robe and bare feet, appeared just as lost.
Not her brightest idea, leaving her gun in her room. Even if she had it on her, she was confident she and Rafayel didn’t stand much of a chance against Xavier and Sylus.
“Calm, Kitten,” Sylus leaned back in his high-backed chair, sipping on his meal, watching her from over the top of the glass, “we won’t hurt you, unless you’re interested in testing your skills.”
Rafayel bared his fangs, lips lifting to expose just the points. His hiss was low, quiet in the back of his throat.
Sylus laughed, tipping his glass as if acknowledging Rafayel. His laugh was loud, staccato and punctuated. He finished his drink, then licked his lips.
“I won’t touch her.”
Rafayel visibly relaxed, and reached for his own glass. She watched him lift the rim to his lips, and inhale. He placed his cup on the table, tapping his nail against the glass. Blood rippled, he watched it make miniscule waves with each input of his finger. He was playing with his food.
“Doesn’t suit your taste?” Sylus observed. The smirk on his thick lips was so subtle, it was missed by human senses. Those ruby eyes of his held Rafayel in place, calculating, assessing the truth of the situation.
He would have to tread carefully, expressing his distaste for another’s blood would reveal too much.
“I’m not that hungry,” he said.
Lying was pointless, so the Huntress knew Rafayel wasn’t. It didn’t stop Sylus from chuckling. That vampire seemed as if he knew the answers before even asking the questions.
They needed him as an ally.
“Are there any more vampires that live here?”
“Eager to get to know us, Kitten?”
“You could say that,” she played along, fingers pulling on the lace lining the tablecloth. Fidgeting often portrayed doubt. Beneath the table, she hoped the supernaturals around her didn’t hear the motion.
Xavier smiled gently. Just the corner of his mouth. He too was devious, but if she had to choose, she figured she might befriend him first. Which wasn’t something she looked forward to either way. In the past when she got near other vampires, her skin felt as if it was trying to crawl, separate from her muscles, and flee. It was unbearable.
Rafayel was the only vampire she got near, she believed it was because he was the first she ever had met.
“There’s one other that lives with us,” Xavier spoke. His voice was special, a comfortable melody to descend into. Purebloods were like that, otherworldly just in their presence alone. “His name is Zayne.”
“Turned and Tempered, if you must know,” Sylus added. “One might consider him our resident doctor.”
“He should actually be returning soon,” Xavier finished his drink, not a single drop staining the pure white of his outfit. “Spent a week or two with a pack of werewolves.”
“Werewolves?” Rafayel questioned.
“Surely you know,” Sylus tapped the side of his nose with his pointer finger, “they have a much stronger sense of smell than we do.”
“Even a Pureblood?” The Huntress placed her attention upon Xavier.
He nodded, “Zayne has been researching a cure for victims of the Frenzy, or anything that will lessen the effects. He won’t stop until he has done it.”
His reasoning was left unsaid. The Huntress suspected Zayne had traumatic motivations. The majority residing this part of the world often did.
Sylus was watching her once more, she felt the heavy weight of his gaze. His elbow was propped on his armrest, his fingers bent to hold his jaw, his pointer finger now tapping his temple. He appeared amused.
“You’re interesting,” he returned to the subject of her presence, “a little bird fluttering about her predator’s territory. Will you be captured? Yes, no, maybe so?”
“Sylus,” Xavier warned.
Rafayel stood abruptly, his chair falling backward. “A week, no longer, then like I said, we will be gone.”
“That’s not a problem,” Sylus tilted his head. “Need I remind you, we never kicked you out, you left first.”
A clock ticked somewhere behind her, the only sound audible. She couldn’t breath, the tension palpable.
Rafayel grabbed her wrist and she was standing before she could protest. He led her to the door.
“But a lot has changed since you’ve been gone. No one is safe here, not you, not your Huntress, not a single creature within this town. The recent murders of Purebloods has created discourse,” Sylus explained, even as Rafayel continued to walk.
It didn’t stop him.
“So whatever you do, don’t stir up trouble.”
Researchers had done enough of their studies to understand the basics of vampires. When vampires were first introduced into society, some willingly volunteered to be run through trials. Afterall, the frenzy was something that affected them all to some extent. It was common knowledge amongst the people that vampires craved blood, had heightened senses, and a hierarchy.
What wasn’t studied was the relationships between humans and vampires. Sex won funding as it was the primary interest for those curious, so that’s what they focused on. Blood banks welcomed doctors and scientists, where they examined why some became addicted to a vampire’s bite.
From what little the Huntress had found, she deduced one person published a study, then everyone followed it, using it as a basis to publish their own. It was argued humans enjoyed the idea of sustaining a powerful creature, the thought that a beautiful being such as the vampire had to rely on them to live. Poetic, maybe even a little co-dependent, but the Huntress found her own reasoning.
As she looked at Rafayel, she knew her desires weren’t born from something so clinical. She wished they were, because admitting she wanted his bite just to feel his hot breath on her skin, his moan when he swallowed, and the movement of his body as he restrained himself, felt too indecent.
She doubted he would want his fangs anywhere near her vein, anyways.
“Where are you off to?” She asked, needing to change the subject, and fast. Her eyes lingered on his lips, his fangs retracted as there was no need to have them on display.
Rafayel didn’t look at her, adjusting the lapels of his trench coat so it fit snug around his shoulders. The inky tones of the fabric blended well with the lavender of his hair. Effortless, all of it was effortless with him.
“There’s no food here for you, Cutie,” he responded, “gotta keep that human body of yours sustained. I don’t think Sylus welcomes many humans. He has nothing for you in the pantry.”
“And you’re going alone?” She accused him.
That was what he enjoyed about his Huntress. While many feared vampires, she was always blunt with him. The majority of his kind wouldn’t stand for her defiance, drunk off the powerplay, eager to see fear in a human’s eyes. He also figured she liked to rile him up. He appreciated her for it.
“This town isn’t like the one we came from,” he did his best to explain. The second he saw her eyebrow arch slightly, he knew it was futile.
“If you’re concerned because vampires are the majority around here, you know I can handle myself just fine.”
It wasn’t that, per se. Rafayel was well aware his Huntress could stand her ground. She was just unfamiliar with the customs amongst vampires, socially.
“You smell good,” he blurted, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he felt the heat creep over his cheeks, he looked away. “So if you want to come with, you need to stick close to me.”
That was his problem? She had to bite her lip to prevent herself from laughing. “So? It won’t be a problem walking by your side. We do it all the time.”
He still couldn’t meet her eyes. The idea of his independent Huntress having to rely on him tickled a part of him he rarely entertained. That part of him, so primal and driven by instinct, was a part of himself he despised, yet equally relished in. It felt good to play, to just breathe and wonder.
“I may have to . . . touch you.”
Finally, she cracked. She cleared her throat, crossing her arms across her abdomen so her right hand grasped her left wrist. “Touch me how?”
Rafayel was selfish. The night she was attacked and he hugged her, gave him a drop of what he had been missing. Without her permission, he had marked her. It was despicable, and luckily not permanent, but throughout their ride to the next town over, he could scent it - his claim.
All it had done was prove why he had fought so many years not to even brush against her.
“I may need to hold your hand,” he responded.
The slow beat of his heart got dangerously sedated. His breath was sealed in his lungs, burning his throat and nose. He had to breathe, but he couldn't, not until she said something, anything.
His Huntress reached for her own jacket on the coat rack. She slid her arm through the sleeve then the other, correcting its placement around her neck. Once again he was captivated by the rush of her hair falling down her back, the split second he could see her neck before her hair concealed it. He swallowed, loud in his own ears.
As they stood in front of the door, she extended her hand out, looking at him. “I don’t just hold anyone’s hand,” she joked.
It was true, though, and he knew it.
He slid his palm underneath her hand, skating fingers up her arm until his thumb found her wrist. The pad of his thumb rubbed over the faint veins there, infusing his scent into her own. The thrum of her blood, the delicate, thin skin covering the channels of her essence sent skitters of heat over his nerves. He wanted to raise her hand and nuzzle his lips over the space his thumb traced.
Together, he could bask in their fragrance. He was rich, dark with tones of what others might relate to bourbon. It was strong, overpowering, reflective of his status. But she diluted it, introducing citrus and frost, melting his presence into something approachable.
“Raf,” she warned, breathless. His nail followed the lines of cerulean to the base of her palm, then back up again. His eyes were powerless against the beauty of her, trailing the white tip of his nail over her skin.
“Sorry,” he whispered, rotating his hand so their palms fused together. His fingers spread hers so they could entwine, long fingers pillowing the back of her hand. “Are you ready?”
Nowhere near it, no. The tingle along her wrist lingered, making her subtly shiver beneath her jacket. His touch had been so tender, it barely caressed the fine hairs atop her skin. Vampires and their ways of mating were notorious for being rough, quick, and transactional, a way to puncture skin and claim.
How wrong the world might be.
Rafayel never let her go as they walked through town. They didn’t swing their hands like cheerful lovers, instead he kept his grip firm, kneading the knuckles of her thumb with the pad of his.
“What are you scared of?” She found herself asking.
“I’m not scared,” he fired back quickly. “Just concerned.”
“About?”
The vampire didn’t say anything, squeezing her hand.
“I can handle it, whatever you don’t want to tell me,” she pushed.
He exhaled, slow and controlled. The grimace on his lips irked her. So she dropped it, ready to wrench her hand out of his hold, but he clasped her even harder. “No,” he denied her.
“No?” There it was again, her defiance. “Rafayel, let me go.”
He grunted, yanking her closer to his side. “Don’t, not here.”
This was his fault. Vampires around him glared, some scoffed. The complicated dynamics within his kind should have been taught. She meant no offense, he was aware, but the others weren’t.
“Cutie,” he ground out, voice low. “Just this once, please.”
Some vampires heard him, senses matured enough to pick up the shallow frequency of his words. One vampire walking down the street a few feet ahead of them came to a stop. Rafayel shouldn’t be begging for a human to obey. When the male in front of them shifted to turn around, Rafayel moved.
The Huntress never teleported. She’d seen Rafayel do it enough times to understand he couldn’t move far. It was an ability that was practiced, but also reliant on age. Rafayel, still a fledgling, was sometimes uncoordinated, maybe a little unrefined.
Her stomach dropped, breath rushing from her lungs. Perhaps it wasn’t teleportation, perhaps he utilized speed, perhaps it was somehow a little bit of both. She wasn’t sure, it was a question she would ask him when she had him alone.
When they materialized, her back was pressed to a brick wall that lined the edge of a flat. An alleyway, she realized. Torn, moldy posters hung from the wall opposite to the one she leaned against, behind Rafayel.
He wasn’t crowding her like when he was succumbing to the frenzy, but he was certainly close. His right hand was flat against the wall by her head, the other remained at his side, clenching then releasing.
“Rafa-”
His free hand covered her mouth, cobalt eyes darting to the streets, analyzing. “Trust me,” he was hushed, breathing languidly.
She did, she always would. But this wouldn’t have been an issue in the first place if he had just spoken with her. It was the secrets, the hesitation, that drove her mad. At the same time, she was aware he wouldn’t act like this unless something was terribly wrong. So she relaxed, watching him.
Across the street, striking gold eyes surveyed the road. The vampire tilted his chin up, nostrils flaring as he inhaled. It made Rafayel step forward as if his body could prevent the predator from scenting his Huntress. Their stalker wrinkled his nose.
“I’m going to take your hand again, then we are gonna move. Okay?”
She wouldn’t say ‘no’ again that evening. The Huntress nodded, raising her hand between them.
Then they were running. He didn’t lead her back out into the public street, but deeper into the alley. Years of experience as a Bounty Hunter told her the weight on the back of her neck was a pursuer. She was tempted to look behind. Rafayel’s sudden tug to the right forced her to follow and focus.
The maze of alleys they escaped through were littered with trash, stray dogs combed through it, and condensed muck from steam coated the walls. It was gross, and the Huntress knew they were heading deeper into town, where bots were stored and the lower-class lived.
Nearly out of breath, they finally broke through to a public road. It was desolate compared to the main road they entered town on the night prior. Street shops were empty, decorated with barren crates, rotten fruit, and tattered overhangs. Some people drifted, heads covered by dank blankets. A steam bot with a broom malfunctioned, banging into a curb repeatedly. The only source of light was the full moon overhead.
Rafayel scoped out the area, eyes frantically trying to find anywhere to hide. An abandoned flat with broken windows would have to do. Leading the Huntress that way, they jumped into the living room, barely missing the shards of glass lining the windowsill. It was too dark for human eyes to navigate, so Rafayel found the nearest closet and pulled them in.
The Huntress kept space between them, about a foot. Their hands remained interlocked. Her eyes closed, mentally transporting to calm visions, keeping her heartbeat steady.
Glass crunched, scraping as a heel of a boot skid. Once their pursuer found his footing, he methodically sought them out. Each echo of his footstep urged the Huntress to reach for her gun holstered at her waist. When her hand wrapped around the grip, Rafayel hauled her towards him with the other.
She fell against him, his hand releasing hers to sneak an arm around her waist. The other went to secure the closet doors. Unsure where to place her own, she slipped her hands beneath his arms and curled her fingers over the backs of his shoulders.
She was touching him. Time slowed, his breath stirred the hair atop her head, warming her scalp. His chin bumped against her forehead until his head tilted down to observe her. The only indignation was the tip of his nose slid to touch her hair. She couldn’t see him, so to conceal her expression, she ducked slightly to rest the side of her face against his chest. There she heard the beat of his heart, lagging in comparison to hers. It lulled her into a sense of security, even as the opposing vampire shuffled just outside the doors.
She never wanted the moment to end.
But it was too quiet. The male outside wasn’t moving. She knew he was staring at the closet doors, his presence slithered up her spine between shoulder blades. He would remain until they attempted to exit. She could tell by the breath that filtered through the crack between the bifold doors.
A low rumble buzzed outside the doors, the nature of it volatile, increasing in volume the longer the vampire hummed. His fangs would be extended, lips peeled back to reveal a wet smile. The vampire’s breath was damp, coating the side of her face, almost as if a long, thin tongue licked up from chin to temple, marking her.
Which he was.
Rafayel saw red. He released his Huntress, throwing the doors open to plunge his blade deep into the shoulder of his opponent. Both hands encircled the hilt, awarding him leverage to push the vampire backwards until they rammed into a bookshelf. As the other screeched, Rafayel twisted his blade. His placement was strategic, meant to torture and prolong the pain as silver sizzled in flesh.
It was a risk driven by instinct. He had already bestowed his mark, declaring his possession through his scent. How dare another challenge him in an attempt to establish ownership.
Deep within that fury, his rationale lay dormant. He knew he should have delivered the final blow on his first attack. He knew better. But watching the vampire crease his features in pain satisfied instincts.
His opponent snarled, and Rafayel smelt his own blood before the sting of claws rooted in his forearm. A hiss escaped through his fangs, anger overwhelming the slice of nails. He tore his dagger from the sinew and muscle, making sure to pull at an angle, ruthless. He bore down once more, aiming for the vampire’s side.
The other sidestepped, rotating to grab the back of Rafayel’s head and force him face-first into the wall. Bracing himself with firm hands, Rafayel pushed back, jerking his body to disrupt his assaulter's balance. It worked, and he swiveled, using his dagger to swipe at the vampire’s jugular.
He missed, grunting in frustration, impressed by the speed the other commanded.
“Raf!” The Huntress called, not desperate nor in fear. She was providing information, directing him to her voice.
They had fought side-by-side long enough he knew exactly what she wanted.
With a burst of adrenaline, he managed to materialize next to the vampire, lifting his leg to shove the creature with the sole of his boot.
Vampires usually didn’t trip or stumble, so he took several, rapid steps to the side. He traveled a couple feet, but it was enough for moonlight to highlight his silhouette. The Huntress stood in the corner of the kitchen, angled so the window above the sink aided her sight, gun cocked and ready for her input.
Before he could register where he was located, the Huntress pulled the trigger twice, embedding one bullet into each thigh. It drove him to the ground, landing on his knees. Blood oozed, coating the exterior of his pants. Sulfur didn’t permeate the air, the scent of his blood didn’t make the Huntress want to wrinkle her nose or rub her eyes. He wasn’t a slave to the frenzy, he was conscious, fully aware of his actions.
Rafayel stepped behind him, wrapping his hand around their pursuer’s throat. The strength behind his grip had the vampire leaning back, the tips of his hair layering against Rafayel’s vest.
When the captive’s nostrils flared once more, Rafayel squeezed harder.
“Stop,” the timbre of Rafayel’s voice stilled the air in the room. “I think we are done here.”
“I’m not your enemy,” the vampire responded, cocking his head in the direction of the Huntress. “I want her.”
The Huntress watched Rafayel bare his fangs, the pointed canines elongated to their full length. It distorted his mouth, wrinkled the skin around his nose, and spittle shimmered in the moonlight as he hissed. It was truly feral, an instinctual reaction to another challenging his temporary claim.
It tugged on a desirable heat - his raw emotions. She wanted his head thrown back in pleasure, moans loud, while her mouth worked between his legs. His fangs pricking his bottom lip as he struggled to maintain composure.
She could be swept up in such fantasies so easily.
“I'm looking out for you, Fledgling,” the vampire continued. He raised his hands to signal surrender. How he addressed Rafayel confirmed he was indeed older, far more weathered, far more powerful. It made her raise her gun to aim at the creature's skull.
“Raf, we need to get out of here,” was all she said, wincing when her voice wavered.
But he was too far gone, prancing through his mental haze. Magenta glowed eerily in the dark, narrowing into slits when his eyelids lowered. Rafayel bent, tilting his prey's head back further. He didn't stop until his cheek pressed to the vampire's temple.
“You will not touch what is mine.”
“Yours?” The other chuckled, his amber eyes blossoming with brighter tones. “I can scent another.”
Ice trickled down her spine, freezing her, splintering in her lungs. Shame coiled and lay deep in her sternum, planning to stay.
“I shall do you a favor and drain her dry.”
Pity? Was that what his kin was offering? Did they think he wasn’t capable of handling his own situation himself? Besides, his Huntress didn’t need to be taken from him. Without her, he’d been lost long ago. These thoughts swarmed, interfering with his focus, making him susceptible to the frenzy.
The Huntress recognized it.
“You don't want this blood,” she counseled, “it's not worth the fight.”
“You're mistaken, human,” he chuckled. “I'm not here to savor you. I’m here to help a brother who is blinded.”
A means to an end. She could use that to her advantage. Because despite Rafayel and his desire to protect her, they were outmatched.
Her gun fell to the floor as their opponent broke free from Rafayel’s grip. It all happened so fast, the heavy weight of the vampire’s arm wrapped around her body, pinning her arms to her sides. He stood behind her, tall and overbearing. His other hand gripped her hair, yanking her head back against his shoulder. The sound of his mouth opening wide on a victorious chuckle, chilled her.
Her scream was tortured, the monster’s fangs much thicker than Rafayel’s. He gulped long pulls of her blood, ripping into her flesh with each swallow. The clamp of his teeth was ugly, no refinement in his technique.
Once, long ago, when Rafayel’s underdeveloped fangs punctured her tiny wrist, no pain had radiated, just a quick pinch, then warmth. Even in his state of agony, waiting at death’s doorstep, he had been gentle.
She could see those now developed fangs beneath a stretched lip as Rafayel yelled. What he said, or even if said anything at all, was unknown to her. The male at her throat was drinking too fast, rendering her defenseless.
But, she was still conscious enough to raise her hand, pointing her fingers towards the ceiling, signaling Rafayel to wait. He had to have noticed she didn’t put up much of a fight.
He obeyed, staying rooted to his spot just a few feet in front of her. Their eyes held one another, and she watched as he fell apart, as tears collected at the base of eyes. Anguish complimented no one, yet somewhere in her muddled mind, she realized every expression made was beautiful when laid upon his face.
She was asking him to do the impossible, to not interfere in her pain. How cruel she was.
“Trust me,” she mouthed.
He nodded, just as her attacker bit down harder. She yelled out, the room beginning to spin. Any second now, and she’d be victorious.
She heard the sizzling of flesh first. The male behind her tore away, the movement a harsh jerk that hurt more than the initial bite. He wailed in pain, stumbling back till he fell onto his back, body writhing as he clawed at his face.
Rafayel caught her as she fell forward. He slumped to the ground with her, supported in his arms. Kneeled, she laid on the ground against the bend of his elbow, her cheek against his chest.
Rafayel made sure to grab a rag before pressing it to her wound. Her blood was poison to him, altered by a concoction she drank before emerging from the closet. Hunters were skilled alchemists, educated in multiple potions, tinctures, and medicines. It’s what allowed them to survive in a world where they were at a natural disadvantage.
She wouldn’t die, even as her body shivered. Maybe a few more pulls, and she would have been close, but the potion she drank purposely took longer to take effect. The more a vampire consumed, the higher the chance of a lethal dose ingested.
And much to her satisfaction, it had been enough. Biting without permission was a violation, an intimate act that would leave disgust weasling its way through her soul once she had registered the trauma. For now, it was what she had to do to save them both.
“You crazy, foolish, silly girl,” Rafayel pushed her hair back from her forehead, rocking them both gently. “You did so good, so brave for us. I’ll take it from here.”
Her breathing was slow, heart languid in its beat. She might have been hallucinating the ripple in his sapphire eyes, the large tears spilling over his cheeks.
Baser instincts were in charge, prioritizing her survival. Her body told her to conserve her strength, to stay close to the vampire who held her like glass, to trust a creature the majority feared. She would listen.
Her body also wanted to reassure him. She wanted to lift herself, wrap an arm over his shoulders and bring him down so lips could merge. She would kiss him in a way that conveyed life still ran through her, energy made to protect him, a male her very being recognized as her other half. She wanted him to know she appreciated the trust he had in her.
But because it was her instinct, she knew better than to touch him.
Gratitude was on the tip of her tongue, but her voice wasn’t functioning, and it came out a weak, garbled mess.
Rafayel hushed her, reaching beneath her knees to lift her off the ground. “Rest, darlin’, I told you I’ll take it from here.”
If his Huntress wasn’t within his arms, he would have been a slave to the frenzy, tearing apart the vampire in front of him.
And he would have let it, even if when he came to, he’d be a vile creature, covered in the blood of his enemy. A small price to pay for the violation his kin had committed.
Said vampire was using his claws to grip the counter, leaving long gashes in the material, climbing up to lean against the drawers below. His mouth was burned, skin disintegrating from the acid he had consumed. Soon, the white of his jaw would be visible. Rafayel would have his Huntress long gone before she could witness that.
If she was even still conscious by then. Against his shoulder, her forehead rested against the side of his neck. He could hear each beat of her heart, methodical as it worked to replenish what she had lost. The citrus within her natural scent had soured, revealing she was in pain.
Alchemists had warned that Hunters using the poisons on themselves would take their toll, damaging their bodies if used too often. She rarely used any amplifiers or poisons, relying solely on her aim and physical prowess. Whatever made up his constitution as a vampire admired her tenacity, recognized her as an equal.
All dangerous things in his eyes.
“You’re a disgrace,” the vampire who struggled to lean against the counter spat.
If they knew what he truly was, the vampire would have never spoken to him like that. Maybe there was a dark part of himself that reveled in his hidden power, the shock factor it might invoke.
Rafayel enjoyed deploying dramatics when it worked in his favor.
He ignored the vampire, adjusting his human in his arms. She was so light, limp in his hold. Her hand held the cloth to her wound, the other gripped her hip with her arm crossed over her abdomen so she wouldn’t touch him. Before he lifted her, he had seen it in her waning eyes, the need to touch him, the affection she would bestow without hesitation.
When he was around, her scent would sweeten, crisp like a winter morning. Whether she realized it or not, she was calling for him. And she had, for years.
Temptation was a vice, he wanted to answer her call since he first felt it.
“Fledgling,” the vampire tried to get his attention once more.
“You don’t have much time left, spend it wisely.”
“Are you not old enough to realize you are courting a Claimed human?” the vampire snarled.
Rafayel froze the same time the Huntress flinched. A mixture of pride and fear battled within. Pride because yes, he was very aware, and he would do everything within his ability to prove he was a capable mate. He had, without even his own agreement, begun to court her the second he touched her after the attack.
But fear rivaled that precious pride. Fear of what he would do to obtain her, fear of her acceptance. What terrified him the most was what he would do to keep her by his side, the human life he would eventually desire to make immortal. A vampire’s love was eternal, and he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to conquer that.
It was too late, he could hide no longer. The Huntress was struggling to breathe, her heart hammering in anticipation. She liked it, the idea of him courting her. That in itself could bring him to his knees. For so long he wanted her. Pushing her away had done nothing but lacerate his heart, finding warmth in other women had made him bitter, angry it wasn’t her scratches down his back. He wanted her marks, her existence branded into his skin.
It was the raw, primal attraction his kind lived for. There was nothing more real than that.
He was hungry.
Confident, he chuckled, unwilling to show skepticism in front of an enemy. “Yeah, I’m courting her, what of it? Since when have vampires gone out of their way to mess with another’s business?”
In disbelief, the vampire went lax against the edge of the counter, falling slowly to lean against the cupboard with his back. He laughed, defeated. His lip was sagging, nasty with how low it hung. Talking was useless, his lips wouldn’t purse correctly to create anything comprehensible. He would die, although a slow, haggard death.
Rafayel felt no remorse.
He left through the broken door, uncaring of how much noise he made. With the Huntress still being carried by him, he was in no particular rush.
“We never got you anything to eat,” he said, eyes forward. He worried they had made a grave mistake, quite possibly instigating a war between covens. He could only hope the vampire she killed wasn’t affiliated.
She hummed, as still as a corpse against him. She might get sick later, sweaty with a fever: the aftereffects of poison. He had already failed in finding her sustenance, he wouldn’t leave her in a time of need. It was all natural, his senses in tune with her.
Unfortunately, they didn’t make it to a soft bed before she fell ill. A Hunter in her most vulnerable state, partnered with a Fledgling vampire, was a pairing susceptible to disaster. He quickened his stride, trying to at least make it to a better part of town.
They made it to the main street. Eyes, both human and vampire, lingered on their combined forms. It did them no good that the street was well lit with oil lamps and strings of lights criss-crossing from building to building.
Rafayel found the nearest hotel and gracefully entered for someone carrying an adult woman.
Cloth couches lined the lobby, archaic in design. It smelled of dust, the oil lamp on the table housing newspapers, flickered. He spotted a young man behind the receptionist desk, rows of keys hung from the wall, along with sets of bells associated with room numbers.
“I need your most secluded room, quickly.”
The receptionist paused, looking Rafayel and his human up and down. Dry blood was caked to the Huntress’ neck, Rafayel’s arm wounded with claw marks. They both had seen better days.
“It ain’t cheap,” the man finally responded. Rafayel didn’t catch a nametag, but the human carried the scent of cleaning supplies. The chemicals made the vampire wrinkle his nose. Some establishments purposely avoided unscented detergents and cleansers, hoping to deter supernatural folk.
Of course this was the one he chose.
The Huntress lolled her head away from Rafayel, tipping over his arm so it swayed loosely. Her hair fell in waves, suspended in the air. She had told him once the first time he witnessed her effects that she always felt the room was twirling, progressively increasing in speed. Every vein in her body burned, limbs cramping down to the individual segments of her fingers. He wished she would just expel it, but this specific liquid seeped into her system, transforming her blood. She would have to wait it out.
He would much rather have his fangs pulled than attend the battle his Huntress would fight alone.
“That’s fine,” he was gruff, foot beginning to tap in annoyance.
After naming a ridiculous price, the man watched as the vampire in his lobby maneuvered to dig through his pockets. It was uncoordinated, contrasting with the rumors humans heard about the species. The vampire produced a few coins, not even half the price of the room.
Rafayel clicked his tongue once, frustrated. Which was risky. His mind recognized it as a shortcoming, something that made him fail as a mate. The room warped, his jaw noisy as he grinded his teeth. Frenzy lurked in the corner, smiling to reveal jagged teeth, curling its ugly fingers, beckoning to him.
He shook his head, fangs elongating.
“Please,” he begged, hugging his human closer, “if not for me, do it for her.”
Vampires were pretty, the man agreed with whomever stated that. But they didn’t beg. Alarms rang in the back of his head, this had to be a trap, an elaborate ploy concocted by a vampire and his human companion. Yet the hopeless tint in his eyes told a different story, one full of struggle, in need of a helping hand.
He sighed, tossing the key on the counter, “keep your money, just be out by noon.”
Through Rafayel’s eyes, the room cleared. The dark, foreboding cloud of hysteria vanished when a solution for his human was attainable. He thanked the man beneath his breath, grabbed the key, and skipped stairs as he climbed.
Their accommodation was on the top floor, at the very end of the hall. It was huge, shades of black, greens, and reds collaborated to create a shadowed room. Furnished with a sofa beneath the window, a fur rug lay in front of it, crushed by four legs of a small table. An open book with stained pages sat adjacent to a melted candle situated within a gold holder. A grandfather clock was in the corner, a few bookshelves lined the walls, scattered. Against the wall was a four-poster bed, a thick, navy blanket atop the mattress.
He laid the Huntress there, lightly placing her head on the fluffed pillows. Her eyes refused to leave him, weak in the moonlight. He understood why she stared, not once had he directly taken care of her. Even when he knew she wept the night Julian passed.
A nightgown hung near the door to the bathroom. Rafayel snatched it, sneaking a peek into the bathroom. Tile floors and walls encased a rusting tub, the mirror cracked at the corner.
Rafayel sat on the foot of the bed as she changed, listening in case she was too weak. With a few grunts, he heard fabric slide over skin, leather release, and a gown fit over her form.
He acquired a basin, filling it with water and fetching a cloth. Rolling up his sleeve, he cleaned his own wound in the sink, then brought the basin to the nightstand.
Her ailments affected her, lips trembling as she shivered, cold in a warm room. She whimpered, eyes squeezing shut. Her veins were no longer their alluring turquoise. It seemed as if tendrils of ebony swam beneath her skin.
The vampire dabbed her forehead with the bunched washcloth, dotting her temple, down to her neck. Gingerly, he wrapped the fabric around his forefinger to outline the wound at the side of her neck. The need to brush her hair aside, massage her joints, and whisper words of encouragement hooked into his skin.
“It won’t last long, just a quick, raging pain, and all will be well,” he repeated what she told him, when he asked why she continued to practice alchemy. “When you awake next, you will feel like yourself, ready to return to the field.”
She didn’t hear him, head thrashing back and forth, her knees rising to bend her legs.
And he was helpless.
His hand grabbed one of hers, and he moved to his knees, elbows sinking into the mattress, pressing her fingers to her forehead. If anyone walked in, they would think he was praying.
The first cry out cracked his armor.
The second demolished him.
He was reliving it again. The day of her Claiming. He was no longer with her in a room, transported to stand in the crowd. All the vampires present were silent, yet as he tried to push past them, he could see expressions of captivation. His kind hated humans and their habit of watching executions, but they were no different. His opinion held no weight, he barely reached the chests of his fellow vampires at that time.
He was powerless.
“Raf,” a hand flexed within his own, and his focus tunneled back to the present.
His Huntress never explicitly relied on anyone. She was proud, maintaining a facade to parade confidence. In the dangerous world they lived in, it was a necessity.
Knowing that, he heart softened when her form filled his senses. He could just scoop her up, and do his best to curl his body around hers. He could place firm kisses down the back of her neck while his hands explored her front. He was doing it again, he was fantasizing.
“Feeling better?” He guided her hand to rest on the bed, effectively putting space between them once more.
“Just . . . a little groggy.”
“Just a little?’ Rafayel could picture himself kissing those ruddy cheeks too easily. He smiled, both at her lie, and the mental image.
In the old days, when they used to visit their small, local teashop, he disliked when she would warm her hands around the base of her cup. It was his job to reach across the table and rub her hands, cup them and blow air onto her skin. When snow would collect outside, he always wondered what it would be like to step out of the teashop with her hand in the pocket of his trenchcoat.
“Think you could manage some sleep?”
Since when had he become so soft?
She nodded, sitting up briefly to shove her legs underneath the blankets, scooting down till she was swaddled.
His fearsome, perfect human was sometimes the cutest thing the world could offer. He was sure many vampires felt the same when eyeing the source of their courtship.
Standing, he meant to make his way to the sofa in the room, and he would, but first, he had more pressing matters.
He lifted the edge of the blanket closer to her shoulders, and felt something in his chest tingle when she snuggled into the mattress.
“G’night, darlin’.”
The Huntress awoke a couple hours later. That grogginess she had confessed to Rafayel about had retreated from her body, her mind. She laid on her side, facing the windows, away from the door.
A silhouette leaned against her bed, his body bottom on the floor, back against her mattress. It left everything from the tops of his shoulder up, visible.
She could have sworn after he had literally tucked her in, he had walked to take a seat on the sofa. She had even heard the shuffling of book pages as he read.
“I didn’t mean to,” Rafayel whispered, “I just need to be here.”
She stared at the back of his head. Any other situation and this would most certainly be creepy. But it was Rafayel, and judging by the slight tremble in his stature, this was against his conscience.
“Raf, do you not want to court me?”
I wouldn’t want to, either. She kept that thought to herself. Self-deprication had never been her vibe, not after she took responsibility for the Claim she already wore. It didn’t mean she wasn’t scared, terrified he would leave should she push too far. She knew he was aware of her feelings. Despite his rejection, she had promised to love him silently.
“You’re aware what courting entails, correct?” he asked.
She missed who he was: a young vampire curious about life and all it had to offer. The Rafayel she knew so well was an artist, someone who found inspiration in the mundane. Now, he was caught up in everything he had no control over. It reflected in his voice. His question was asked with no inflection, simply a statement laced with disappointment.
The Huntress slid her hands beneath her pillow. “You identify me as a potential mate.”
All he did was nod. It was one, slow movement. What was he expecting? He was acting like she would press the barrel of her gun against his skull.
“How can you say it so easily?” he huffed, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. She liked when he made movements like that, it brought his bangs to rest over the top of his head. “This isn’t something trivial. It’s a permanent bond.”
“I know that,” she reached and ran her fingers over the bedding near his head, “vampires just so happen to be my area of expertise.”
He chuckled, the sound bending to relay he was smiling. “It freaks me out that you aren’t freaking out.”
“I worry for you,” she revealed. “Courting me is a risk, you are in the eyes of your species, challenging a Claim.”
“I am,” he turned to rest his arms on the mattress, folding them so his chin rested on his forearms.
“Then for your safety, stop.”
“You think I can? You think I haven’t kept my distance because I’m not worried about what I’ll do? Just looking at you makes me want to protect and possess. Your scent, mixed with my own, feels right. It eases my nerves.” His nostrils flared, sapphire alight in his irises. He exhaled, frowning. “I can hear your heartbeat, you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared,” she held his gaze, “I like it.”
He paused, eyes trailing over her features, down her neck, then to the top of her nightgown. It was thin, doing little to cover her breasts. “You’re fragile,” he reasoned, “my instincts have prepared me to mate another vampire, someone equipped to handle the bond.”
She took no offence. Because she understood. If she were the same as him, she’d parallel his concerns. There were complications, many they would have to consider if she didn’t separate from him and prevent the bond from progressing. And considering she had no intentions of separating, they would have to encounter this development head on.
“Have we not already been interacting like a mated pair? Aside from the more intimate aspects?”
She wasn’t sure if the attraction was a one-way street between them. Some vampires claimed a mate solely to protect, using it more of a declaration of ownership, not as a partnership. Transactional pairs also existed - a human addicted to a bite, a vampire in need of a constant blood source.
“I don’t think you truly understand what courting is really like.”
Challenge burned her veins, “then show me.”
She blinked and he was gone. The bed dipped, her body leaning back as he laid behind her. He remained atop the blankets, but his body molded to hers. His arm slipped beneath her head, the other draping over her side to pull her closer.
“Humans do this too, we call it cuddling,” she teased.
“It’s not the same,” he struggled, she could hear it. He was still holding back, restraining himself.
The air itself grew dense, heavy with their combined scent. As she was a human, she couldn’t identify exactly what he was doing, could only sense subtle changes. She could only imagine this room was flooded, an obvious claim of territory. A giggle bubbled low in her throat, daring to escape. Vampires openly scrutinized werewolves, yet in some instances, they were the same.
“Raf, you said you would show me, so show me.”
He whined, “I need you beneath me.”
Now that wasn’t what she was expecting. The tip of his nose trailed over her neck, rubbing back and forth over the puncture marks of the vampire from earlier. It wasn’t healing right, mainly because the vampire’s exit had been sudden, against his will. His fangs had torn at her skin. The wound would scar.
Rafayel gently pushed on her shoulder, and she obeyed, rolling forward till she was on her stomach, her head turned. He followed, throwing his leg over her hips so he straddled her backside, his chest pressing into her upper back. Defiance took hold of her joints, but she fought against her own instincts. This was her chance to prove to him she accepted him and everything he would offer.
His hand traveled up her arms to rest over the back of her hand, fingers interlacing through hers. The flat of her palm was pressed into the bed. Although intimate, he was holding her in place. His weight was deliciously heavy. Instead of danger, her mind thought it was comforting and secure. Even if he could do anything he wanted.
“I hate this,” his voice was deep, vibrating against her shoulder blades, “that I like that I have you defenseless, my strong, defiant Huntress under me, letting me dominate her.”
She nearly moaned, the heat of his breath brushing over her chin. He was so close. She had waited for him to be within her space for years. And nothing could have prepared her for it. Nothing at all.
“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed. Trembles still wracked his body, increasing in strength the longer he hesitated. He wasn’t referencing touch, she knew that. Neither of them were strangers to the pleasures found deep into the night.
“Whatever feels right, Raf,” she soothed.
His hand that wasn’t tethered to hers, snuck to lift her chin, tilting her head back, exposing the wound. Rafayel was quiet, no witty remarks, no demands. She could almost hear the turning of gears in his mind. The suspense was borderline arousing, building her up, waiting for him to finally surrender.
“I need to heal you.”
The sensation of his wet tongue over her wound had her squeezing his fingers between hers. She rolled her bottom lip beneath her teeth, fighting the urge to make a sound. He was so damn slow, gliding his tongue from the top of her shoulder up to her ear. Without waiting for her reaction, he latched onto her recent bite, sucking on skin as if he was trying to leave a mark.
It stung, pinching on the edge of the punctures. But not to the point it was unbearable. He wasn’t trying to punish or assert himself, he wanted to erase the other’s scent.
“He smelled of dirt,” Rafayel explained, laving over her wound once more with the flat of his tongue. “Doesn’t smell right with your citrus, fuck, only I can provide what you need.”
She shuddered. He pressed down harder. His lips wouldn’t leave her skin, his kisses unlike those of a timid lover’s. These were messy, some so open she felt the dull fronts of his fangs. She wanted the sharp points, she wanted him to dimple her skin with pressure.
He thought she couldn't handle him? It just might have been the other way around.
“Can I provide what you need?” she questioned, turning her head to meet his eyes.
She had never seen his eyes like they were burning now. Cerulean flecks rotated amongst those of indigo, bright and dark. His eyes, and their ability to create two different irises, never failed to take her breath away. Both were beautiful, both mazes to be lost in.
The Huntress arched, lifting her upper half so her spine curved uncomfortably. It was enough for her to get just a tad closer. Their noses touched briefly, his eyes widened.
“You have always been what I need,” he confessed.
“I’m stubborn,” she was transparent, listing things he already was aware of. “I sometimes don’t listen, I sometimes push back, and I sometimes get in over my head.”
Rafayel hummed in acknowledgement. His hand shifted from her chin down to her throat. He was feeling for her pulse, it was a common attribute many vampires couldn’t resist.
It turned her mind to mush. Wherever they touched had her stomach dropping, her sex responding. Her only other partners had been men, humans who feared her likes and dislikes. They served their purpose when the itch got bad enough, just as she did for them.
None had ever made her want to lose herself as badly as Rafayel did now.
Once he had massaged her pulse, his fingers trailed over her shoulder, gripping the edge of her nightgown. He tugged it over the curve of her shoulder, resting the fabric at her upper arm. There was no point in exposing her, he wasn’t even sure why he did it.
“I’m greedy,” he mirrored her earlier confessions. “I won’t leave you alone, not until every inch of this perfect body is marked. You drive me crazy. Did you know what I went through when you would come home, smelling of sex and another man?”
She could only imagine. Probably something similar to what she felt when she glimpsed a few of his lady friends leaving his room early in the morning. She wouldn’t disclose that, intrigued by him in this state.
“Jealous, Raf?”
“Jealous? Obsessed,” his canines found her skin, a phantom of a bite teasing his jaw. She shivered, moaning quietly. He wouldn’t survive, not with the knowledge she liked his fangs. “I wanted to grab you,” he whispered, “kiss you, taste you. That night, on your birthday -”
She thought back to that night years ago. No details needed to be disclosed, she knew he was referencing her twentieth.
“I wanted to be the one fucking you,” his voice was nearing more of a growl. His mouth was by her ear again, tongue mapping the shell. He bit the top, and sucked, “it was supposed to be me taking you against every surface we could find.”
He wasn’t done, prone to his desires.
“It was supposed to be my name on your lips, my hands on your body, my teeth on your skin, my taste in your mouth,” he was out of breath, as if he had run himself to the bone.
“I wanted that too,” she reassured, “it was always supposed to be you.”
“Less talking,” Rafayel seemed drunk, head tilting to rest against hers. His request was almost cute.
“More what?”
“More whatever this is.”
She couldn't help herself, she teased, “this, like I said earlier, is cuddling.”
“Oh stop it,” he mumbled.
It was made known she pushed limits, and perhaps never knew when to stop. She was playing a dangerous game, riling up a vampire, a creature who could have her drained dry in a minute or two. What it was in her that made her want to toe a fatal line urged her on.
She smirked, “make me.”
Warning radiated in his gaze, honed with furrowed brows.
“Careful, darlin’,” he growled. “If I identify you as prey I will hunt, and I will not stop until I have you right where I want you.”
“But you won’t,” she ever so slowly rolled beneath him, placing herself on her back. Now she could look up at him, see how the restraint took its toll on his body. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking near the base of his jaw. “If you see me as a potential mate, you won’t hurt me.”
“Hunting doesn’t always end in pain,” he whispered, resting his weight on his elbows. The tip of his forefinger stroked over her pulse point, tickling the base of her neck. “Your pleasure, your surrender to me, would be my reward. To have you, would be all I desire.”
“Sounds like sleepless nights, if you ask me.”
“Always have something to say, Cutie,” he drawled, and that spark of frenzy ignited, dilating his pupils. “But hell, do I love that mouth on you.”
“Makes you want to put me in my place, don’t it.”
“Fuck the attitude right out of you,” he smiled, impish. Mirth commanded his features: an arched eyebrow, a tilt of the corner of his mouth.
Before she could stop herself, she lifted her hands, cupping his jaw. Her thumb traced his lips, following the lines of his smirk. He turned his head, kissing her palm. Rafayel was gentle, appreciative of the little things. It’s what made her heart yearn for him, not because he was a vampire with enticing fangs, he could have been a human and she’d love him just as much.
“What are we going to do . . . about this?” She bent her head to the side, revealing the Claim. Her hair usually hid the mark, the scarred skin shimmering a flawed silver. It reminded her of the meat she would see butchers trimming, the shine the discarded connective tissue emitted.
Rafayel observed the area for a minute, reflective of the odd patience vampires exhibited. When he had moved her nightgown aside, that was originally what she thought he was going to mention or touch. But he didn’t. Now, she was beginning to venture it wasn’t a good idea bringing up the Claim in front of a very possessive vampire.
“This will do nothing to us,” he stated, pressing the pads of his fingers to the puncture scars. “He has no power here, and will not dictate when we Claim each other. Even if it's in our own way, even if I can never mark you.”
His touch against the scar felt like sandpaper against a burn. She flinched, pulling her shoulder back into the mattress. “Sorry,” she muttered.
Rafayel couldn’t sink his fangs in over the scar, it wouldn’t relinquish the Claim. It did not matter who inflicted the scar, it was permanent. The status of a vampire only affected how a Claim could be abolished, if at all. She wasn’t all too familiar with the why, though through the rare texts she had come across, many hypothesized it had something to do with the potency of a vampire’s venom.
“It doesn’t recognize me, it’s okay,” Rafayel removed his hand, skimming his nails over the other wound upon her neck, then cupping her at the base of her jaw. It rested his fingers behind her ear, his thumb stroking her cheekbone.
Her heart pounded, he smiled.
“I’m not going to kiss you tonight, Cutie,” he did, however, place his lips on her opposite cheek.
To have him next to her senses, led her hands to grip his back. The broad expanse anchored her, and she could feel the muscles beneath his thin shirt, could feel them flex as he held his impressive body over hers.
“I’m touching you,” she exhaled, and that uneasy burn filled her nostrils. Her vision blurred, and her arms crossed over his middle, her next words wet. “I’m touching you.”
“And I’m touching you,” he kissed her chin next, rotating to place his mouth near his thumb. He raised to kiss her forehead, the bridge of her nose, then the tip. Rafayel never mentioned the water at the edge of her eyes, the small hiccup in her chest, the slight shake in her body.
“Why won’t you kiss me?”
The Huntress sounded defeated, much smaller than her usual vibrato.
Rafayel ran the tip of his nose up along the side of hers. It brought his lips close to her own, she arched, tilting her chin up. He pulled away just in time.
“Because,” he nuzzled his nose against hers when she stopped attempting to kiss his mouth, “if I’m going to court you, I’m going to court you right. You deserve the full experience of a vampire attempting to attract his mate. You may not understand at first why I do what I do, but I will do my best to explain it every step of the way.”
She didn’t care what he did, honestly, just as long as his attention was on her.
“I want someone who can keep up with me, someone who matches my wit, who matches my fire, someone who isn’t scared of pushing me, making me work for it.”
She sucked in a harsh breath, it was starting.
His eyes dropped to her mouth, but he didn’t move. Instead, he met her gaze. The natural violet in his irises had returned, emotions stabled, and adrenaline quelled.
Rafayel leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers,
After they resolve their feelings for each other, Princess reader gives her vampire hubby Rafayel a blood vial pendant filled with her blood for him to wear at all times 😵💫
GENIUS. GENIUUUUUUUS. 🤤🤤🤤
gosh, yeah!!!!! ugh, can you imagine his reaction to that???? his sweet (and maybe crazy) princess gifting him a pendant with her precious blood? a pendant he will always wear proudly around his neck, showing off that he is yours as much as you are his??????
all i can think about is rafayel having to leave the castle for some boring event! he hates to meet with other people, especially when his darling is not around.
but ahhh, now he has the vial! the beautiful pendant with your blood 🤤🤤🤤 i can picture him opening the small bottle cap and popping a boner just from smelling the blood 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤
that man is jerking off all night (he doesn't need to sleep so he might as well indulge), fist pumping harsh against his cock as his other hand holds the open vial at his nose
“ah, so aromatic.”
“my ugh– irresistible wife, why must we be separated?”
and he's been thinking of drinking it, satiating his hunger... but he doesn't want to ruin his gift! you'd surely be disappointed to see the pendant empty when he returns.
buuuuuut...
“ah, ah, m–maybe... just a drop?”
bad idea. he spills all over his hand as the blood hits his tongue, groaning like an animal at the seductive flavour.
Note: This is the longest one I’ve ever written. I hope this a really good addition to this story. I never expected anyone to want a part two, but I’m so happy that you did. It’s been reread several times, but I’m sure there may still be some typos and grammatical errors that I’ll eventually find and correct, so please forgive me for that. I wanted it to be as detailed and immersive as possible and I really, really hope you enjoy, my luvlys! ♡
Link to Part One ♡
Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT Interact!!
Warning: Smut, You and Rafayel drink blood, You’re a Vampire now, Loss of virginity
Word Count: 4,782
Summary: You finally wake up, only to find that your life really is completely different.
VampireLemurian!Rafayel/Princess!Reader Pt.2
The first thing you do when your eyes open is panic. But it’s not the type of panic that has you screaming, crying, and running around frantic, looking for answers. It’s a panic that has your heart racing, your body paralyzed, and your entire being confused. You don’t know where you are, but you remember where you were before you got here, wherever here is.
Rafayel, the blood, and the people. You remember him in between your thighs, showing you a pleasure that your fingers could never compare to. You were close, you were right there, about to fall into his arms and welcome all the things he spoon fed you. It was just as you were about to crash that he stopped, and made you feel a pain so bone deep that it felt like your heart had stopped entirely.
Then it was sleep. Was it sleep or did I pass out? You wondered this to yourself as you lay in a room so much more opulent than what you have been accustomed to. Riches and luxury was not a foreign concept to a princess such as yourself, but this? You never even knew such a thing could exist in this world. Gold, blue, and purple was the encompassing theme of the space with ceilings so high that you wondered how anyone could get up there to clean the dust.
You take note of your changed clothing. The plain lilac purple silk material lays comfortably against your skin. I wasn’t wearing this before.
The bed you occupied was the softest material you’ve ever felt. But you couldn’t make yourself feel comfortable, couldn’t make your brain relax. In truth? You were scared and confused.
Every time your throat moved to swallow, it felt like a scalding hot branding iron was being shoved down your throat, fresh from a raging fire. The pain and discomfort is almost as, if not more, painful than what you felt before you lost consciousness.
You remember how Rafayel offered to make you like him and how you told him yes. How you nodded your foolish head not once, but twice. You didn’t know if you really wanted it, you didn’t even know if he could really do to you what he said he would. Nor did you know that he would actually do it—whatever it was—to you without warning. All you recall is how he put his lips on your needy cunt and as you were about to come, somehow his teeth was in your neck. Everything after that, you’re uncertain about.
Were you dead? Did the ship crash and this whole experience is just a trick of the mind? Have you gone mad?
No. No this was real and because of that, your breath refused to settle. Your nerves wouldn’t allow it. It was like you had absolutely zero control over yourself. And you couldn’t understand why you felt so hungry. So, so hungry.
Was that where the pain was stemming from? How long have you been unconscious? You’d never be certain.
You wanted to get up, but you felt so week and disoriented. A tear fell down your temple and you couldn’t even move to swipe it. Many times have you felt mentally weak by the expectations set upon you in life, so much so that it took a toll on your body. You knew what that could feel like. But this was a type of exhaustion and weakness that you couldn’t fathom.
It felt like you were giving up on yourself, but then you heard an instrument. A flute? It was a beautiful tune, so much more calm and comforting than the situation you’re shackled in.
You looked at the large golden doors, your body tensing as you waited to see who would enter. A soft flurry of familiar purple hair is what you see first before your eyes land on the beautiful face of the man who you are now unsure of.
He smiles at you endearingly. He was the one playing—what you were right about—the flute. He shuts the door behind him as he sets it down on the table right when he walks in. The hunger in your throat grows the closer he gets to you.
Your eyes burn with tears at the need to satiate this aching hunger. You try and distract yourself, taking note of his attire. He’s wearing things you’ve never seen on him before.
His nails are painted black and red and blue markings and designs decorate different parts of his body. In simple dark brown sandals, he pads towards you carefully and the gold accessories he wears glimmer beneath the torch lights he walks past. When he’s finally close enough, the fabric resting on his shoulder astounds you as you notice it seems to be made of… scales? It glimmers, like small sparkles are hand stitched into the material.
“You’re awake,” he announces. “How are you feeling?”
You move your mouth to speak, but it’s so dry and you feel so parched that the words don’t even want to try to come out.
“Your transition was rather… different. It concerned me, but only for a moment.” He studies your body before looking back into your eyes. “Hungry?”
You nod desperately. If you had it in you, you’d get up and stab him with your dagger for laughing at you. But if that whole thing on the ship actually happened and this man was unfazed with a sword to the abdomen, you doubted a dagger doing any better.
“Bare your fangs then, pretty. Let me see.”
Your face contorts in confusion and he raises a brow. “Here, watch.”
With a gentle raise of his cheeks, his top two canine teeth elongate and grow sharper. Your eyes widen. You remember seeing those same intimidating teeth, you felt them. And now he’s saying that you have them?
You feel embarrassed to try it, but you do. Just to see if he’s tricking you. But he’s not, because when you do the same gesture, you feel how your teeth change. You run you tongue along them, flinching at the sharp points. What… what did he do to me? Your chest rises and falls with a rapidness that makes you believe you’ll die of a heart attack.
“Perfect,” he grins, leaning in to touch your cheek. You gently pull back, mingling with the pillows with whatever energy you surprisingly have, and that makes him frown.
He seems to understand your hesitance, nodding once and resting his hand back at his side. “You need to feed, and then we can talk.”
Feed? Why would he say that like you’re some animal?
You watch with wary eyes as he pulls the blue sheer scaly fabric down. Your mouth waters as you stare at his strong and thick neck, wanting to pull him towards you. Your eyes never leave it as he sits, the bed dipping with his weight.
You ache to sink your teeth into him, to taste his blood on your tongue, feel the thick liquid pour down your throat.
What the hell am I saying? This is wrong. This—me, it’s all wrong. I need to go home, I need to get out, I need someone to fix me, I need—
“I know the feeling,” he interrupts your internal battle. He doesn’t give you time to try and pull away again, digging into the pillows behind you and cupping your head in his hand to sit you up. He brings you to his neck, your breath tickling his skin.
He smells so good. If you could just—
“Eat,” he interrupts you again.
No longer capable of holding back, your body instinctively moves to do something you never would’ve believed you’d be capable of. You thought you’d cringe and throw up when you felt your teeth pierce his skin and his blood rush into your mouth. Instead, you hold onto him tight. He groans, rubbing your hair as you drink. You feel your cunt start to flutter, feel the ache similar to what he made you feel on the ship.
For some reason, you go to palm him trough his pants, but his other hand stops you. You ignore that, sucking his blood up like your mission is to drain him because even with the sudden need to have him inside of you, erasing this hunger is more important. But the desire to be filled is a very convincing rival.
“Control,” he pushes out, hissing as your knee brushes against his hard cock. This is turning him on too. What is this about?
You adhere his command, not only because you start to actually become aware of what you’re doing, but you don’t want to kill him or something. Even after what he’s done.
You lick up the blood that starts to trickle from his wound, finally pulling back and having the energy and strength of a hundred soldiers. With this feeling, you use it to jump on top of him and place your hand around his throat. He looks up at you with surprise at first, but it turns into a smirk.
“My queen likes it rough, I see,” he teases.
“What have you done to me?” you growl, your hand tightening. He doesn’t wince or anything, though.
“I gave you what you asked for.”
“I never knew it would be like this… feel like this. I want to go home. I want you to rid me of this… ailment.”
“Ailment?” he laughs. “You are the complete opposite, miss. You are immortal, and you are home. Have you forgotten what we spoke about before I tasted you?”
Your eyes narrow. How could you forget?
“Where am I?” you change topic.
“Lumeria,” he answers simply. “Everyone is so excited to meet you. You’ve been unconscious for days.” He sighs, resting his forearm over his eyes, reminding you of his dramatic behavior. “I wanted you to open your eyes so badly. So much so that I considered waking you up myself, but because it was taking you longer, I didn’t want to interrupt your process, however your body was accepting it.
He feels your grip loosen, like just the little information you received is too much.
It is too much. You were on your way to start a life you didn’t want, now you’re not. You have never heard of a Lumeria in your life. And now, you’re…
“Am I dead?” you whisper with shaky breath.
“You are not, my sweet.” Your hand falls away from him entirely, but he grabs it before it falls completely slack, kissing your palm. “You are a Vampiric Lumerian. Pure blood, to be exact. As I am born of royal Lumerian blood and have turned. You now possess the same attributes as I.” He looks up at you with adoration. “You are alive and well… with me.”
“Rafayel, I didn’t think you were being—”
“Serious?” He caresses your hand. “I have always been serious about you. Have all the conversations we’ve had not proven how infatuated I am with your every breath?”
“My family, my kingdom… I’ve abandoned it.” Your large pretty eyes sadden, but he won’t have you sulking. Not over them.
“Wrong.” He’s swift, making your back hit the bed as he looks down at you. “They abandoned you the moment they put you on a ship. They took you away from what you thought was home and I’ve simply brought you to your real one. Our real one.”
Your eyes feel so much more enhanced and you’re so aware of your surroundings that it’s surreal. You can see every inch of Rafayel so clearly and that only makes him more captivating. You wonder if it’s because you’ve actually gotten your strength back. Because you drank from him.
“Did it hurt?” You raise your hand to touch the area where your teeth impaled him. “It’s healed now. Am I capable of the same?”
“You are. And no, I’m used to it. One of the good things about being a Vampiric Lumerian? We can feed off of each other, but the only thing is—”
“It’s arousing,” you groan.
“Correct,” he smirks. “It’s typically a thing shared strictly between lovers.”
That makes you smile. “And are we lovers, Rafayel?”
“Oh, my queen.” He kisses your neck, wedging his body deeper between your legs. “I am your soulmate, as you are mine. It’s fate, I’ve seen it.”
You gasp as he nips at your flesh. “Have you? Tell me where.”
“Do you trust me?” he pants as you arch into him.
“Do I have a choice?”
“I told you, I’d give you the opportunity to make as many as you’d like. But I think we both know that besides your curiousness about what your new life means, you want to be here.” He kisses your chest. “You want me.”
You can’t bring yourself to deny that. Despite your initial shock and worry, the way you feel, it’s the most alive and free you’ve ever felt. And the way he is able to effortlessly read you before you can even analyze your own pages is… oddly comforting, in a way. His lips starts to trail down further, but a sound so distracting removes you from the moment.
“Raf.” You call him with the nickname only he allows you to use. “Is that—do I hear water?”
His head falls between his shoulders as he chuckles. “You do. Shall we save this for later and I show you where you’ll be ruling right alongside me?”
“I would like that,” you smile softly. “And don’t push your luck about a later.”
“Resisting me is a feat not even I can accomplish,” he winks. “Shall we?”
When you take his hand and leave the room, you can’t believe what you’re looking at. Above and all around you, a long hallway is made entirely of glass.
“Is that… are we looking at the ocean?” Your eyes bulge at the dozens of pretty fish swimming all around, swaying kelp, and colorful coral. “How is this even possible?”
“It’s a delightful sight, isn’t it? I created it myself. It’s good for inspiration, although it can get repetitive and boring. It’s still very motivating, though.” You walk beside him, your hand running along the cool surface. “It took me decades, but with my abilities, patience, and my genius, I was bound to do something extraordinary.”
You snap your head toward him. “Decades? How? You don’t look—”
“One thing at a time, my sweet,” he smiles softly. You drop it, for several reasons. Maybe you’re not really ready to hear that truth just yet or to even admit that this is actually real. Or that you are now someone who needs blood to survive.
“Do I have to harm people?” you say abruptly. “I can’t do that. If I have to do that to survive, I won’t?”
He shushes you gently. “Calm down. That won’t be necessary. Here in Lumeria, we are a very bountiful mix. We’re not all vampires. We have willing individuals who receive compensation for letting those of us who are, drink their blood.”
“Is that the only thing we are able to consume?”
“No.” You release a breath after he says that. “But, it is crucial and most important. You can eat as much food and drink as much water as you like, but it will never replace blood.”
You nod. “And what do you do? Do you strictly drink from the willing here?”
“For the safety and protection and Lumeria, yes. We have thousands here who are very accepting of this. It would be foolish to try and feed of a human on land. All they do is pillage and—well, I’m sure you understand where I’m coming from. Just do your feeding here.”
“I will,” you confirm. “This is your home?” you ask as you past several doors until you reach a stairway.
“It’s ours.”
You find yourself smiling again as you follow him in his descent. Once at a door, he opens it to reveal what you presume to be Lumeria. It’s absolutely gorgeous and astoundingly massive.
People are absolutely everywhere. Selling goods, conversing, laughing, living. It’s all so breathtaking.
“By the Gods… They can all breath underwater?” you look up at him.
“No, but all of Lumeria is protected by a bubble triple its size. It protects them. Surrounding you with one is how I got you down here. And we’re deep enough in the water that no person above would dare to traverse deep enough to get here. If they wished to live, that is.”
“And you rule this?”
“I do.”
“How do you expect me do so by your side?”
“I vow to guide you through every step. We have eternity to perfect it.”
Like you’ve had to continuously do, you put your faith in him. There really was no other option to do otherwise. He is the only person that you trust to help you understand this new person you’ve become. Even if it means leaving what and who you knew behind, you felt like this is where you were meant to be.
You continue your exploration, seeing structures that seem to be sunken colosseums be reused in a way that provides useful to the large community. Rafayel guides you through it all, introducing you as his queen to the people who bow to him and you. They all greet you with love and excitement, clearly excited to have someone like you beside their ruler.
You take note of merchants, beautifully crafted homes and furniture, particularly curated staircases to reach higher places with trees and plants so exotic that you’re sure they don’t exist up above.
“Rafayel… this is divine,” you gush.
“Thank you. It is your home now.”
“It will take some adjusting.”
“I’m sure.” He holds out his hand. “Come. I have one more thing I want to show you before tonight.”
“Tonight? What’s tonight?” Your hand falls into line with his.
“The celebration of Lumeria’s new queen, of course.”
You follow Rafayel to a waterfall deep within the community. It’s loud and the mist of water that hits your skin as the heavy stream falls into the large pool below it makes you hum in content. You look into the body of water, admiring the colorful plants and aquatic marine life. It’s so crystal clear that it looks fake, leaving you in awe.
“Where are we going?” You look at him as he kicks his sandals off. He leans down and you hold onto his shoulder as he removes the simple slippers he gave you to wear before you left.
“Trust?” he asks as he stands. You nod your head and he kisses your nose. He grabs your hand, walking into the water fully clothed. Warily, you follow his lead, expecting frigid waters but, it’s surprisingly warm.
Rafayel goes deeper and before he goes under, he speaks. “Trust your instincts. Let it guide you.”
You don’t exactly understand what he means, but you decide to just let what’s bound to happen, happen naturally. Entering the water, you take a deep breath, but when you’re under, your body tells you to relax, to let go. And you do.
You find yourself able to breathe as if you were inhaling fresh air and you can leave your eyes open without feeling any burning sensations. They’re enlarged when you look at Rafayel who winks at your surprise.
You swim with ease and grace just like him. The fish that glide past you and the familiarity of the water is an experience that you can’t even begin to try and explain. Your hair swims around you like a halo and in this moment, you really do feel like the queen that he has always viewed you as.
Eventually, you two reach what seems like a cave. He holds your hand behind him as you swim inside. You curve, swimming upwards for a short while and your head pops out of the water right after his. You look up and your jaw drops.
Long purple and blue root-like tendrils coil around each other and they glow. The cave is cast in this gentle yet astounding shimmer of colorful light.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” you say in disbelief. “This… you’ve seen things like this your whole life?” He climbs out of the water and onto the rocky surface, then reaches for you and pulls you out.
“I have,” he wipes water from your face. “This is one of my favorite places in all of Lumeria. Only I know of it. It’s that special to me, just as you are. It’s why I’m sharing it with you.”
You don’t have any words. You’re just so overwhelmed in the best way possible, a feat you never believed could exist.
“If it ever feels a little too much,” he places a hand on your chest above your heart. “Come here and I’ll come for you. Always.”
Your mouth attacks his. You can’t seem to understand why you just felt the urge to kiss him, but it was the right decision because not only does he welcome and melt into it, but it calms this burn in your chest that only he is able to suppress.
But knowing Rafayel, he doesn’t he want to suppress it. He wants it to intensify it because you deserve to be radiant. He could never imagine wanting to make your flame settle.
Your mouths never lose their rhythm, sucking each other’s tongue and hands grabbing at anything that’s accessible. He carries you, never letting the kiss stop. You wrap your legs around him as he walks deeper into the cave, but you’re so engrossed in his captivating mouth that you don’t notice where he’s brought you until he lays you down on something that’s definitely softer than rocks.
The sight of the deep ocean above you makes you choke on a breath. It’s like he carved a hole in the hard material to make a dome that reveals the thalassic depths that surround you. Made of the same glass he used in his home—well, the home you now share—it allows a soft light to flow inside, working with the glowing plants to create an otherworldly atmosphere. You look around from where you lay, realizing your laying on soft and dark green moss.
Tears prickle in your eyes. “I never knew life could be so beautiful,” you admit softly.
“I will do anything to make sure everything you experience in the life we shall share, makes you feel this deeply. It’s heartbreakingly beautiful.”
You use your strength on him again, switching your positions. You sit on top of him, crossing your arms at the hem of your drying gown and pull it off your body. Your breasts are heavy with desire and your pussy leaks with it.
“Does my queen want me to make her feel good?” he licks his lips as his hand caresses your nipple, making your breath hitch. You start to grind your hips, your bare pussy gliding against his pants.
“Yes,” you whine. “Please, I want it. I need it.”
He needs you just as much and the way you grind on his cock is all he needs to harden like steel. “Am I your first?”
You nod, still grinding your clit on the rougher material. “I’ve never…”
He sits up, still holding you close as your hips slow because of his movements. He doesn’t need you to explain. “Let me take care of you.”
You shake your head, impatience and desire painting your features. “Like this. I can take it like this.” Hungrily, you tug at his pants, wanting to release him from his confines. “You said you’d let me—”
“Make your decisions, I know. I always will.”
He helps you, getting his pants down and all the way off. Your nipples grind against his hard chest and his tongue licks your neck, your jaw, and your lips.
You bite his ear, making him groan as his hands trail up and down your back before using both of his large palms to grab your ass tightly in them.
His cock stands tall between you two, creamy liquid trailing down the flushed tip and onto your thigh.
“Lift your hips,” he says against your lips. You listen immediately, rising yourself just enough so he has room. You’re so soaked that he squeezes inside you without resistance. Not an ounce of pain is felt, not like your mother used to tell you you’d feel. Instead, you feel so completed.
Your pussy grips his cock so tightly that he wishes he could live inside you for eternity. You start to rock back and forth, letting him slide in and out, letting his cock massage and stimulate your walls in a way you have never had before. He hits a spot inside of you so deep that it makes your fangs bare from how good it feels.
You tense, embarrassment disrupting your bliss, but Rafayel grips the back of your neck, pressing your forehead to his as he looks into your eyes with his hooded ones and bares his own.
“Embrace who you are,” he breathes.
You fall back into the pleasure with ease at his words. He helps you in your desire to come, using his strength to guide you up and down his length.
“Gods…” he murmurs. “You are everything I have ever dreamed of. You are the salvation I’ve waited for.”
“Rafayel…” you cry as you lick his neck. His words makes your pussy tighten in a way you can’t control. You want him deeper, you crave him in in every way possible that it frustrates you at how unable you are to properly express it.
His teeth graze your neck as you ride him, your wetness echoing in the cave. “May I?” he begs. “I’ll be gentle, I promise. I just need to taste you.”
“I don’t want gentle,” you confess. You feel him smirk against your skin.
“Neither did I,” he reveals. His teeth enter your neck and the pleasure multiplies by the thousands—no, the millions.
As you feel your blood pull out of your body and go into his mouth, you uncontrollably come around his cock. You can’t stop how you gush around him and how your orgasm rushes from you. He slams into you harder, chasing his own release and using your cum and sweet juices to help him get there. The way he fucks you is so calculated, yet incredibly sloppy as your slick sticks to your skin.
You cry out, your head falling back as he pumps into a few more times before his own cum floods your insides. Your body moves a little more to ride out the intensity and you jolt at the sensitivity of your clit. He pulls away, licking his lips, but you put your mouth on his, tasting your blood on your tongue. The exchange makes you pulse around him and you feel like you could take him all over again in every way possible
His kisses your chest and your face as he remains inside you while you rub his hair, looking up at all the swimming fish and shimmering waters that shine above you.
“Will I ever get to see my family again?” You interrupt the moment, but it doesn’t bother him. Nothing you do could bother him.
“I can’t make promises I am unable to keep.”
“They’re aware of my disappearance, though?”
He kisses your jaw. “Likely.”
You sigh, looking down and into his eyes. You smile. “I can’t worry about that right now. One thing at a time, like you said. I have to get ready to help lead our own kingdom.”
That makes him beam with excitement. “Yes, you do.” You rest your head on his shoulder as he stays inside your body, as you both remain as one for just a little while longer.
He won’t tell you that you’ll never see your parents or your kingdom again, not if he can help it. Not because he’s keeping you from them, but because he knows they won’t accept you for what you’ve turned into. It wouldn’t be out of fear, it would be regret. Because he knows what they’ve done. He knows what they were trying to marry his precious girl into. It’s one of the reasons why he did what he did to get you.
He’d die a thousand deaths before he lets anyone harm you. And he’d wreak havoc upon humankind if it meant having you in his arms for the rest of his life.
It’s officially my 1-year anniversary playing Love and Deepspace so I wanted to do a DTIYS (draw this in your style) Challenge to celebrate, and yes, it is Vampire AU themed. I decided to go with that because I have had so much fun writing/drawing for this AU (and also we’re still celebrating canon vampire Sylus in this house so it’s the perfect timing.)
CHALLENGE INFORMATION
When: The DTIYS will run from now (December 29th) through March 1st to give participants time to work on their pieces.
Challenge Theme: LaDS Vampire AU! This can involve specifically my own vampire AU stories (you can redraw any of the art I did or draw/write something based off my fics) or you can make your own vampire AU. As long as it involves either vampire LIs or MC, go wild!
How to Submit Your Piece: You can post your submission on any of your socials. Make sure to tag me and use the hashtag #ladywladsdtiys to make sure I see it.
My Handles:
Tumblr: @lady-wallace or @ladywindeepspace (my LaDS sideblog is preferred but either will do)
Instagram: @/ladyofinkandpaper
Twitter: @/ladywallaceart
Bluesky: @/ladywindeepspace
Prizes: Everyone who participates will get a chibi couple sketch from me of your MC and LI of choice. I will also be choosing a winner from each category who will receive your choice of either a colored art of your MC and LI of choice or a short one-shot fanfic (you pick the prompt) I will also be doing a showcase post at the end of the DTIYS to show off everyone’s work
What can you make for the Challenge?: So everyone can participate even if you are not an artist/creator, I’m going to be doing different categories for this DYIYS
Art: An art piece in your style, either based off my Vampire AU or your own. It should be a finished piece upon submission, but does not have to be a full color piece if you prefer to do sketches/black and white art.
Fanfic: A fanfic either based off of my Vampire AU stories or your own AU. No word limit; it can be as short or as long as you want and if it is a multi-chapter you only have to have the first 1-2 chapters done by the deadline.
Crafting/Other Media: You can also do other kinds of art/crafting if that’s your preferred medium like sculpting, plushies, collage, cosplay, anything you can think of!
Glint Photobooth: If you are not a crafty person or don’t have time to make a full piece, I’m also opening a category for Glint photos: make your MC and/or the boys look as vampire-y as possible or go with some vampire AU vibes. For these you can make up to 5 photos for your submission (in case you want to do one for each LI)
*Absolutely no AI submissions*
Please feel free to reach out if you have any questions. I can’t wait to see what you all come up with!
When he grabbed her wrist, her shriek was shrill, tapering off into a flurry of giggles when he yanked her back, mouth attaching to her neck, messy as he fought to control his breath.
His fingers unbuttoned her trousers, rough with his ministrations as he split the fabric and dipped his hand inside. Slick skin met his hand, her knees buckling when he groaned, registering the evidence of their chase.
She whined, hips grinding over his hand with each stroke, reaching back to grip his hair. Her head turned, and his tongue was flexing against hers, long fingers sinking inside just to curl and caress.
“I can feel your cock,” she sighed, “Raf, don’t make me wait, please.”
His other hand bracketed her throat, holding him to her.
“I won’t run,” she assured, sensing his need to keep her close. “You have me, I’m yours to take.”
His voice was dark, belonging to temptation, the shadowed figure in stories girls were told to stay away from. “I’m going to fuck you right here, darlin’. Stretch you out on my cock until you scream my name,” he moaned as if in his pain, “tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”
“Raf,” she sounded desperate, utterly destroyed from their foreplay alone.
The vampire removed his hand from her soaked heat, earning him a harsh jerk on his scalp. He relished in it, bringing his fingers to his mouth. Their eyes met, his lips parted, the flat of his tongue running from the base of his middle and forefinger up to the tips.
His eyes closed briefly, opening to reveal raging sapphire. Fangs appeared when his top lip stretched in a smile. Rotating his hand, he licked the opposite side, slow as if savoring dripping syrup.
“You wouldn’t taste this fucking good if you didn’t want it, huh.”
“I felt it between my thighs early on,” she guided his hand back down, only releasing him when he returned to his previous position. Her head fell back against his shoulder, taking her pleasure, “I’ve been like this the whole time.”
“I know,” his tongue found the line of her jaw next, tasting the salt of her sweat. “I could have caught you so much earlier, but I enjoyed watching you play, letting you think you had a chance.”
She clenched around him, and he hissed. Her following words were brittle with lack of breath, “I like that.”
“That I was in control the entire time?” He mused, the patience in his voice otherworldly. They moved together, his hips urging hers over his fingers. “That if I truly desired it, I could have fucked you anywhere I wanted?”
She nodded, frantic. His human was close, he could tell by her heartbeat, her scent.
“Why do you think I waited until we got here?”
A response fizzed out of her mind, useless. She fell to her knees, Rafayel going with her. Their thighs aligned, knees resting wide so he could reach deeper. His palm was drenched, slippery where she needed him the most.
“Because, my love, when you come on my hand, I’m going to pin you down and you’re going to open your legs for me, yeah? Then I can taste you. Here, you don’t have to hide, you can moan or yell, bite and scratch, writhe or thrash. When you come on my tongue, I’ll use my cock, fill you up, and sink my fangs into your neck as we come together.”
Excerpt from Chapter Six of Crimson Steam (coming soon) but I really couldn't wait any longer to share!!
Pairing: 18+ | Vampire Rafayel x Vampire Hunter Reader
Tags: Gothic, Victorian, Steampunk, slow burn, violence, friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, dirty talk, explicit consent, biting kink, mates, smut, primal kink, 3rd person pov, all 5 LIs are included
Summary: In a world riddled with danger; vampires, werewolves, and humans co-exist. Rafayel, a vampire with a hidden motive, disgraces his kind by spending his days with a Huntress, a woman who hunts his own. Together, they are misfits, bonded by a traumatic past, paving a new path side-by-side.
Word Count: 5.2k
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight
Instead of "you," reader is addressed as "her." This is also a much darker fic in comparison to my other works.
“We should probably get the sink fixed soon, cutie.”
As if taunting them, another droplet of water splashed and echoed in the steel sink. Just a few feet to the right, a chunk of the countertop was cracked.
“I don’t think that’s in the budget this month.”
Rafayel looked to the Bounty Huntress, the young woman sitting in their recliner; a book in one hand, the fingers of the other picking at the loose strings of fabric beneath her. On the coffee table between them, her gun, disassembled, was left next to her cleaning supplies.
He scooted near the edge of the couch, and pulled his dagger from the sheath on his thigh. Examining the blade quickly, he put it back in its home as he stood. “I’ll take an extra job tonight, then.”
Finally, her eyes met him from over the top of her book. She watched as he grabbed his trenchcoat off of the coat hanger, shrugging it on. He donned his leather gloves before looking back at her.
Silent words were exchanged. Come home. Don’t overdo it.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” was her verbal response, his head nodding to let her know he heard. Then, he was out the door.
When she heard the latch click, she walked over, making sure the additional locks were secured. Now with Rafayel gone, she made her way down the short hall to their bedroom. Unbuttoning her Victorian blouse in the process, she shrugged it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground.
Their bed was on the floor, the materials needed to make bedrames limited, resulting in the recent inflation of prices. The blankets atop of the mattress were an ugly green, the pillow cases an even uglier copper. Rafayel had given her a major lecture when she brought those home, something about color theory, and how someone of his caliber couldn’t be caught dead in something so atrocious.
She smiled to herself. He slept harder than she did.
Kicking off her boots, the Huntress crawled in, laying on the side furthest from the door. Pillows were rearranged, then she relaxed, cocooned. It gave her the false sense of another’s presence. Even when Rafayel would eventually join her, their bodies never touched.
Night was the worst time for the Huntress. She curled into herself, bringing a hand up to run down her neck. Her neck was smooth, until her hand followed the slope to the base of her shoulder. There, where the strap of her tank top rested, were two punctures, about two inches apart from one another. Small rivers of phantom blood flowed down past her breast, the others her shoulder blade.
That’s where the infusion of ‘his’ scent was the strongest, or that’s what Rafayel had told her. He had always despised that conversation, the look on his face would never fail to be savage.
Rafayel had been the only witness, in which he had chosen to remain. While she never had blamed him, he never forgave himself.
As much as he brought her comfort, there were some topics that were forbidden, untouched, and ignored. Her eyes grew heavy the more she thought, the more she wondered why they never talked.
Ignorance, after all, was bliss.
A hard thump against the wall startled her awake. Instinct had her reaching for her gun, only for her to remember she had left it on the table, unable to use.
She closed her eyes, calming her breathing. A small part of her sincerely wished if she ignored it, whoever was in the house would go away. There was barely any money to their names, nothing within worth any value. Not even her blood.
That thought allowed her to rise, and she slowly tiptoed to the frame of the bedroom door. She peeked out, the living room down the hall dark, except for the faint light that spread from the kitchen.
Near the door, two glowing orbs of blue were looking straight at her. It scared her for a split second, before she calmed.
“Rafayel,” she whispered, taking the step out of their bedroom slowly. His eyes followed her movement, he jerked forward.
“Careful,” his voice was deep, “slow and steady.”
That was how she would proceed, exaggerating every movement till she pulled the chain connected to the overhead light. It flickered before settling, revealing Rafayel, breathless.
And bloody.
“Yours?” She asked, keeping her eyes on him as she reached behind herself for the medical dressings on the counter. It took her a few attempts before she felt them.
“Some of it.”
With a wince he let his trenchcoat fall, sliding off his shoulders. When he had to shimmy to make it fall a little more, he hissed. Fresh blood surfaced at his chest from two tiny holes.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Pretty sure she didn’t know whether she wanted to fight me or fuck me,” he smirked. “I mean, you have eyes, can you blame her?”
With said eyes, she rolled them, slowly unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the wound. He looked down to watch her ministrations, placing him so close, his bangs brushed against her forehead.
“Did she . . .?” She hated the implication, her own scars burning.
“No,” he whispered, helping her press the gauze to his wound. “Even if she had, she’s dead.”
She had to apply more pressure, causing him pain. His head tilted back till it hit the wall, he grimaced, baring his teeth.
Two lethal fangs poked out from underneath his top lip. She imagined they had to be throbbing, begging him to find a source of blood from a person, an animal, anything. He needed to heal.
The sight of them used to invoke fear, especially when she first met him. Now, he could expose them to her when teasing, when fighting side by side.
“Keep the pressure,” she commanded, and walked over to her wallet, pulling a meager amount of cash. Flicking through the paper, she counted, relieved she had a few dollars to spare. Once she replaced his hand with hers, she waved the money in front of him. “Take it.”
Blue eyes softened, hesitation swirling within. “I don’t need -”
“You do,” the Huntress shoved the wad into his front pocket. The majority of his money had recently gone to gear, leaving him with nothing much. “Go.”
She had to look away as his eyes tried to hold hers, silently asking her to stop him. He knew he was her weakness, especially when he looked at her a certain way.
When he still hadn't moved, she huffed. “Give me one reason not to go.”
Words didn’t leave his mouth, instead his eyes landed on her shoulder. She couldn’t tell if that was in reference to what had happened, or his need to protect her.
“Not going just makes it real what happened,” she turned away, taking a seat in her usual spot, that god awful recliner. Gently, she added, “I’ll be right here when you return.”
When she grabbed her book, he realized no argument would win her over. It never did.
He stepped out of their humble flat, shutting the door behind him. His trench coat still hung loosely over his shoulders, the white of his shirt underneath his buttoned vest ruined with blood.
Rain pelted off the cobblestone, the oil light within street lamps reflecting from the puddles. Heels clicked, and boots trudged through water. Top hats tilted in favor of listening to women, some brims held in gloved hands as the owner was involved with his lover.
As it was the dead of the night, all eyes glimmered in the darkness, fangs hid behind soft lips.
The hiss of steam echoed in the distance, and gears clanked after initial pauses, stuttering minutes later. When the sun would shine again, the poor would get to work, manufacturing whatever was the hype amongst industries. Horses would roam the streets, carriages carrying those with money inside.
With a sigh, Rafayel began the walk, his head low. When the Huntress was at his side, he was confident, defensive. Sometimes she even would say territorial. He had to be. Now, he would prefer to stay out of trouble, his wound not only slowing him down, but his sense of frenzy stronger.
His fangs, they ached ever so terribly. It was all he could think about.
Hands in his pockets, he made it to his destination, the red glow of light seeping from the curtained windows. He felt he was going to be sick, eyes closing as his fangs elongated a smidgen more.
A hand slid over his shoulder, the strong scent of perfume wafted through the air. The paper in his hand crumbled, eliciting a crisp crunch as he made a fist. He had to do this if he wanted to protect her, if he wanted to stay by her side.
She had sent him to a blood bank, a place where humans gathered, those who were addicted to the bite. Within fangs a potent venom was stored, if released, it created a heavy, dense pleasure. The victim was then prone to whatever the biter sought. It was up to the vampire whether they wanted to bestow such a high on their prey. If they wanted it to hurt, in the midst of battle, their fangs did nothing but tear.
These humans, they were addicted.
And Rafayel wouldn’t contribute to their enslavement.
He turned to look at the woman, her low-cut dress revealing she had already given her very essence for the evening. Her green eyes, most likely full of life hours prior, were dull, looking at his mouth.
His heart nearly gave out when she smirked. “A young one,” she observed. Before he could stop her, he knew she had been in a bank for too long. “A Tempered, at that.”
Rafayel pushed away, taking a few stumbling steps back. The younger the vampire, the more prone they were to falling prey to the frenzy. It meant he was also weaker than his counterparts, no match to those who threatened him and his Huntress, unless they couldn't control their instincts.
He grabbed her wrist, the woman’s eyes lighting up in delight, turning her vein up to him. She frowned when he shoved some of the money into her palm. No matter her profession, she needed to live. This is what he did whenever the Huntress tried to convince him to feed. He didn’t want it to be a waste of money; however, coming home with unspent money would reveal his deceit.
The woods were plentiful with animals that were easy to hunt. She never caught the scent of dirt.
Following his usual path, Rafayel skirted through multiple alleyways, sticking to the brick walls. He made it to the iron gates, a small smile molding his lips when he spotted the guard. It was an old man, hunched over, a walking stick in his hand. A hood covered his face, preventing others from seeing who he was. Rafayel only knew he was an elder human due to his scent, his impending death stuck to his skin.
He handed the rest of the money to the guard, leaving the gates to enter the forest. This place was forbidden to the majority, full of danger and the unknown. Rafayel’s bribes over the years had made him the exception.
The evening’s hunt went smoothly, the small animal seemingly admitting defeat the minute blue eyes landed on it. He had made sure the poor thing hadn't suffered, draining it of everything it had to offer.
A nod from the guard was all the greeting he got when he returned into town, his wound healed, energy revitalized.
He followed the same pathways he took to get there, returned to the bank, then followed the same route back to his home. It was mindless, and allowed him to indulge in his thoughts.
The Huntress had promised she’d be in the exact same spot. He could envision it - her book in one hand, feet off the ground, heels pressed to the back of her thighs. Sometimes, she’d attempt to explain the plot. That was when he could absorb her animated gestures and expressions, and he’d learn what made her kick her feet, giggling at a declaration of love written on a feeble page.
She would be within his territory, protected by what he had declared was his. That warmth she provided, the life that kept his heart beating, would welcome him when he’d open the door. She might have thought he felt obligated to remain by her side. She was sorely mistaken.
Except, he wouldn’t be opening the door.
It was already open.
In a blur of mist and shadow, he was through the threshold, body materializing to collide with another.
He heard it before he felt it. Wood splintered just as a gunshot rang through the air. A bullet nicked his calf, searing the skin. The scent of burning flesh wrapped around his gag reflex, tightly, irritating him. As if that hadn't been enough, the table him and the other vampire landed on pierced them both. The leg of the piece of furniture went through the lower abdomen of the intruder, entering Rafayel at his hip.
He hissed, baring fangs.
“Raf!”
He knew she had been alive before he even entered their home, having scented her prior. Hearing her scream his name, soothed his pain as he rose, ignited his will to fight.
Rafayel ran his hand over his hip, feeling the sticky, thick, coagulating substance. After he had just gone through efforts to heal. Luckily, his catch’s blood still coursed through him, and his skin was beginning to close, as if an invisible needle and thread sealed him shut.
He looked around the room, cataloguing the bullet holes in the wall, the shattered window, destroyed table, and pushed over couch.
Now that leaking sink was the least of their problems.
His Huntress had put up a damn good fight, and he’d bet good money if he hadn’t of moved their enemy, the bullet that had struck him, would have ended the life of the vampire laying the ground. There was a reason she was one of the most requested Bounty Hunters this side of the forest.
The vampire was reaching for the wood embedded in his stomach, body convulsing as it continued to succumb to insanity. He reeked of frenzy, eyes dilated and fangs dripping with venom. He would continue to fight until he was unable to move even if his limbs failed to function.
Rafayel took a few steps to stand in front of the Huntress, taking her gun from her hands slowly. Then he returned, kneeling by the vampire on the ground. He placed the barrel to the intruder’s forehead, then shielded his own face with an open hand.
He pulled the trigger.
Blood splattered across his open hand, little droplets slipping past his parted fingers to land on his cheek, forehead, and ear.
He didn’t have time to fuss about that. Anger resonated deep within him, something volatile. It surged, curled. He felt this once, long ago.
Already kneeled, it didn’t take much for him to fall forward onto his elbows, holding his head in his hands. The floor was cold against his forehead. He savored the sensation.
He wanted her to leave - no, stay. He didn’t know. She was everywhere in his mind, every sense rushing to locate her.
He could do nothing to stop himself.
His arms caged her, palms flat against the wall. A lamp lay broken on the ground, flickering. His breaths were harsh, fangs biting into his bottom lip as he battled within. She kept her hands at her sides, fingers tucked in against her palms. He whimpered, lifting his head to look at her. The step he took forward, made him stand straighter. The smirk gradually forming on his lips told her one thing - he was losing control.
Rafayel pressed the side of his face to hers, inhaling deeply. His entire body crowded hers, trailing the tip of his nose from her pulse point up to her hair.
“This isn’t enough. The desire to devour and consume someone . . . you feel it too, right?”
Her reaction was involuntarily, liquid fire dripping down her veins, pooling where she refused to acknowledge. His voice had enough roughness to it, teasing a side of him she secretly desired, maybe even dreamt about.
His chuckle was rapacious, sensing her reaction. He needed to push her a little more. His fang grazed the base of her jaw, near her ear, his movements predatory. “Doesn’t it sound fun? It’s like taming a wild animal.”
The power he had over her was growing stronger. His pull was resolute, overwhelming, so damn tempting. Danger, to some degree, was alluring.
“Come on, cutie,” he drawled. “Tame me.”
“Not tonight,” she hissed, pushing on his bare chest, hard. It allowed her enough space to gain some leverage. They collapsed to the ground, her body landing over his to straddle his waist, hands wrapping around his wrists. She held him there, hands next to his head. He stared at her in return, eyes entertained.
Thanks to years of hunting his kind, she knew it wouldn’t be much time before he was overpowering her again.
“When I thought about this -” His eyes roamed down to where their hips were joined, and he arched, just enough to apply pressure for the both of them. “It was usually you beneath me. But this . . . I could get used to this.”
“Well don’t.” Her act was to appear annoyed, aware she was his prey. Any falter in her facade and he’d go in for the kill. Staking his claim on her would do nothing but bring him danger.
Vampires were possessive, unspoken rules upholding the foundation of their culture. They were also fierce lovers, loyal beings who would sacrifice their all in order to protect the one they devoted themselves to. No vampire was ever rumored to take a second - their vow was eternal.
Sometimes, when she allowed her mind to wander to forbidden territory, she wondered where he would lay his claim.
If he would even want to, at all.
Her mind flirted with such dark and heavy desires, then as quickly as it played with them, it would run away. Desire was a cornered animal. Whenever she reached to touch, its ugly teeth would snap, threatening her, keeping her away.
Then, she would try again, slower, even more methodical. Someday, she expected she might not get the same result.
Some might call her a fool for continuously trying.
She needed to make a decision. Time was ticking, slipping through her fingers like sand.
She knew he was deep inside of himself, the vampire constantly locked in a battle between who he was and the part of him he branded as imperfection.
Talking sense into him would do no good, he would twist every word, every meaning. She needed to shock him, catch him off guard.
She swallowed, feeling some sort of crazy.
Without a second thought, she leaned down, mouth finding his neck.
Her teeth were blunt, and the mark would fade within a week or two, but the connotation remained the same. Slowly, she raised her head, unsure how he might react. She had either proposed a temporary claim, or challenged him. As a human, she could never fully understand his perceptions.
“Where did you learn to do that?” When she heard his voice, she fully sat atop him, hands leaving his wrists to rest on his stomach. As a result, his thighs bore most of her weight. He seemed completely unbothered by it. Now, he appeared shy, head turned to the side so he wouldn’t meet her gaze.
The room was rather dim thanks to the destroyed lights, but she was convinced she could see the redness of his cheeks, even his ears.
She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, embarrassed.
“So easy,” he whispered, beyond pleased, then her world shifted.
Once on her back, he grabbed her ankle, pulling her down as he leaned over her. His hand had caught her wrists, one hand large enough to keep her wrists pinned above her head.
“This human thinks she can claim me?”
She gasped, fear constricting her lungs.
She was a prisoner within his hold, hands clenching as she attempted to wiggle her wrists out of his grasp. It amused him instead, his head tilting as he observed her. A smirk formed, showing a glint of his fang, blue eyes narrowing.
If he was in control of himself, if they were in a bed, sweaty and connected, his smugness alone might push her over.
His hand reached to his own neck, feeling over the mark located there. He removed his fingers to look at them, entranced, as if the mark itself left residue on his fingertips.
“Let me go, Raf,” her plea brought his eyes back to hers. Intense, he seemed conflicted. If his instincts accepted her claim, he wouldn’t harm her.
His gaze drifted to her shoulder, fingers finding the claim tainting her skin. He wanted to replace it with his own, and own every inch of her body and soul. She would be his, just as she made him hers.
Ah, but it wouldn’t be forever. Her lifespan was merely a blink of an eye compared to his.
His fangs would need to sink into her skin -
Pain sprouted from within, images racing across his mind’s eye. The day he had felt so helpless, immobilized by the shackles of fear as the scent of her blood, sweet and delectable, permeated the air.
Someone, who they both had called a friend, betrayed a trust they all had imagined was unbreakable. Stronger than Rafayel, he could do nothing, as she pleaded he shouldn’t lose his life.
From that day forth, he had devoted himself to becoming her shield, asking for nothing in return. His failure that day was all he would ever take from her. Other vampires scorned his existence, but that was a small price to pay, if it meant never seeing her life drain from her eyes ever again.
He found himself once more.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his body lying over hers and his arms curling around her shoulders, supporting her head. “I’m so sorry.”
As if he was someone she had never met, her hands hesitantly came to rest on his back. Rafayel wouldn’t dare to look at her, scared if he saw her fear, he’d never forgive himself. He’d see ‘him’ in his reflection.
That thought made him flinch, seeking comfort in the body beneath him.
“We can’t stay here,” her words brushed past the shell of his ear. Arousal was the furthest thing from his mind, yet he still melted, vulnerable.
“Are you afraid?” The question wasn’t complete. His eyes closed, “of who I am, I mean.”
She sat up, pushing him up with her. He sat defeated, straddling her legs. The pout on his lips acted as cold water, snapping her out of the intense moment.
She stood, reaching out her hand to help him up. Once he grabbed it, she hauled him to his feet, meeting his gaze. “The scariest I’ve ever seen you was that day you couldn’t decide on an outfit for your date last year. Destroyed even my side of the closet. If I can handle that, I think I’m fine.”
He remained still, watching as she quickly grabbed a small, leather backpack, and began filling it with their essentials. Drawers and cupboards banged shut, cutlery rang out as utensils fell, all loud sounds that made him wince.
Rafayel took a step back, mind calculating what it would take for him to run, how far he could get before she realized his absence. He had heard her heartbeat, loud and clear. She wasn’t lying.
That bothered him.
“You should be afraid,” he was weak in his resolve, stamping out all embers of hope that burned within. “I don’t know who I am in those moments.”
The Huntress didn’t falter in her step, walking past him to grab her trenchcoat. “Rafayel, when someone says they aren’t scared of you when they should be, you shouldn’t try to convince them to think otherwise.” She held out the bag to him. “And you wonder why you’re still single.”
He made no comment, slinging the bag over his shoulder as she pushed her arms through the sleeves of her coat. Even the simple action of her pulling her hair out from beneath the collar grounded him.
“Ready?” She prompted.
He looked around one last time, knowing more vampires were on their way. His eyes focused on their small kitchen.
“Glad we never fixed the sink, cutie.”
They hitched a ride on the back of a cart carrying supplies out of town. Both of them sat on the edge, legs hanging off the side so boots dangled haphazardly above the cobblestone.
Marsh was what they saw for miles, the air humid and thick with a scent that had the woman gripping the wood at her side. She couldn’t imagine what Rafayel was enduring. Aside from the creak of the battered wheels, the water at their sides bubbled, and crows screeched above, her companion remained silent.
The lamp next to the driver swung with the sway of the cart, casting shadows across Rafayel’s face. He hadn't told her where he planned to take them. She had simply followed, allowing him to take the lead. The dead of night was his domain, where his blue eyes would flash and fend off any hungry creatures.
She had learned early on that the claim on her shoulder held no weight if the vampire who bestowed it upon her was nowhere in sight.
She had also learned that many vampires lost their respect for Rafayel when he defended one who wasn’t his.
Judging by how the female vampires eyed him, he was special, strong and beautiful. He must have been wasting his potential on the likes of her, is what she could only assume they thought.
She never took it to heart, but it would be a lie if she said it didn’t deflate her here and there.
Not that she expected their relationship to venture into romantic territory.
Him embracing her after the attack earlier that day was the first time he had ever purposely touched her.
His comments about imagining them, about her being beneath him, she had attributed to his frenzy. Vampires wanted to claim, sometimes dominate, and were rich in seduction and sex. He never looked at her with eyes that told her that was true when he was in control.
Instead, deep within those violet galaxies, was only hesitation.
She shook her head, physically trying to dismantle those thoughts. She must have looked like a wet dog drying, since Rafayel snorted by her side.
“We’re almost there,” he said, not bothering to tease.
Almost there turned into a few more hours. Again, she had to consider he was a vampire, their flow of time was different.
This town was lively. Paperboys ran through the streets, earning coins from passerbyers. Shops embedded within brick buildings had their lights on, seamstresses hard at work designing clothes. Butchers hacked away at meat, throwing scraps to the dogs that roamed amongst shoppers. At the corner of one street sat a mechanic, tinkering away at a steam bot. The Huntress had seen one of those once, a small machine full of cogs and liquid that made it connect two pieces of fabric to another. He probably had planned to sell it to the seamstress a little ways down.
Rafayel hopped off the back of the cart. His leather boots nearly slipped on the damp cobblestone. His Huntress landed next to him, eyes surveying the assortment of people and buildings. Or rather, the assortment of people, buildings, and vampires.
“Where are we going?” She finally asked, following the vampire along a route he clearly had travelled before.
What she didn’t know was that it was many years ago.
“To the leader of the local coven,” he responded.
She didn’t reply, fascinated by more trinkets hidden within shops. The town they just fled from was far behind the times, a dystopia Rafayel thought he would never escape from. While she was curious and lost in a world of wonder, he was on high alert.
Up a small hill sat a mansion, dark and foreboding. Only when Rafayel began the ascent, did the Huntress become a little concerned.
Yet she never expressed that, even when they reached the door and Rafayel used the knocker.
No footsteps were heard, not even a breath. She could have sworn no one was residing in the house, until the door opened.
He made Rafayel appear small.
His boots were pristine, clearly polished that same day. His slacks didn’t bare a single wrinkle, and his belt buckle glimmered under the porch lamp. The cuffs of his white shirt were rolled up, exposing thick forearms. Atop the shirt was a black vest, and similarly to his pants, had recently been ironed. A single band of leather wrapped around his upper arm. What that was for, she had no inkling.
Red eyes, as bold as rubies, landed on her. Occasionally when the early morning breeze came by, strands of silver hair flitted past the vampire’s heavy gaze.
Unconsciously, the Huntress stood behind Rafayel, looking over his shoulder.
“You came back.”
This stranger’s voice was deep. Rough in all the right places. She wasn’t sure if it would be better used as a lover’s whisper, or to soothe one to sleep after a nightmare.
“We need a place, for a bit,” Rafayel remained steady with his tone, not backing down.
Whoever this man was, exuded strength, confident in his demeanor and stance.
“And why should I let the vampire who hunts his own into my sanctuary?” The vampire looked over the Huntress’ form again, this time pausing at her shoulder. “And one who travels with a claimed Huntress, it seems.”
Rafayel narrowed his gaze, “because-”
“Sylus, he’s one of ours.”
The voice that said such words projected from behind Sylus, but the origin remained unknown. Whoever it belonged to sounded gentle, reminiscent of a plush pillow and warm blankets heated by the morning sun.
Sylus didn’t make much of a change in facial expression, if anything the lack of a welcoming smile made him almost appear perturbed by their intrusion.
“A week,” Rafayel calmly pitched. “That’s the longest we need.”
Sylus chuckled, amusement loud in his action. The Huntress frowned, it seemed condescending, as if he knew something they didn’t.
The silver-haired vampire stepped aside, smirking. A glint of fang stuck out from beneath his top lip.
“Welcome to my humble abode, Hunters.”
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