warning: 18+ minors do not interact with this post, mention of blood, biting angst, tears, oral (female receiving), backshots
side note: request are open for short stories 
description: after a night of drinking, tonight is the night where Stack own up to his promise. Finally offering a life of eternity, but will she make it to the other side?
I also do not consent to my work being copied and paste it to other platforms/ being stolen 
His warm gigantic hands glides down my spine as he helps her take off her fitted dress.
Her breath hitched as her dress hits the floor with a soft thud and i feel his soft lips constantly peck at the skin on her shoulder near her neck..
The bedroom of his apartment being so dim and the only source of light is coming from the cinnamon candles Stack quickly lit to set the mood. Dark red rose petals scatter the hardwood floors with 2 glass of white wine waiting for the couple on the bedside table with a towel ready for any mistakes.
He mentioned alcohol helps with the pain.
A lacy pink lingerie underwear set is revealed to his eyes and he gently pulls her bra strap down her shoulder.
“You are so beautiful” He utters, sprinkles kisses down her arm, finally landing a final kiss at her soft fingertips. His eyes flash white orbs once as he takes a glance at her but blinks them away as her hand slips from his soft grip. “So intoxicating”, flashing a charming smile, laced with mischief and desire in every word he utters.
Walking away, her eyes never leave his brown ones as she takes a seat on the soft bed sheets. Taking a short sip of the white wine, watching him undress in front of her.
Never gets old.
His muscles just glistening before her eyes, abs good enough to lick. She groan under my breath and tilts her head backwards as her back gently lands on the cold mattress but he quickly leans over her body, closing the gap between them.
The lion over the defenseless lamb
He slips the drink from her hand and takes a sip himself as he stands between her legs.
He takes a second to take a deep breath, sniffing the aroma of the room,. Her sweet blood fills his nose, along with the cinnamon scent of the candles. He starts drooling a bit as he takes her panties off and lifts her leg over his shoulder.
Her eyes capture his every move as he lick his lips, kneeling at the edge of the bed and takes a lick between her folds. A soft moan escape from her mouth involuntarily.
“Elias” She breathed .
I’m not going to survive this, she thought to herself.
He hums in response, continuing to make a mess eating,while simultaneously taking his time making sure to get every drop of her cream.
“ I wanna try something.” he calmly speaks make sure not to scare her and his white eyes dart to her face, trying to scan for any uncertainty.
She slowly nods, trusting him and feels a slight pinch shortly after.
He lightly bites the inside of her thigh with his fangs and a tad bit of blood draws.
His eyes close in pleasure as he slowly licks the blood off her skin.
He was right the alcohol does help. She barely felt anything. He was fully in control of everything making sure not to bite too deep.
“Feel good baby?” he question as he returns back to her fold beginning to eat again.
“Oh Elias..” she groans, at the mix of pleasure and pain like his own special cocktail he whipped up just for her. “More bites please,” she pleads as she fastly approaches her peak.
Stack slowly nods, slightly surprised by her desire so he takes another bite on the inner part of her thigh.
Then another.
Then another.
Then-
“Ah” she hisses as the sharp pain on the last one makes her jolt backwards a bit.
Stack quickly pulls away, head perks up, looking at her for confirmation that she’s fine..
“I-I sorry angel. I might have hit a vein but are you okay? I can stop-“ he excuses himself while quickly starting to get up but pause his motion as her soft hands glide his shoulders.
“Please don’t stop, i need it” she utters breathlessly as her eyes lower a little, giving the notion that she’s drunk off the feeling of ecstasy and a bit of alcohol.
He slowly nods and continues to lick her up and down more often than biting her.
Their fingers intertwined with one another, hers tightly gripping his but he is unfazed by the tension.
“Fuck Stack, i am going to cum- fuck- ahh please-“ she cried out, as the worm sensation coats her body as her pleas fill the room over the low music.
“Just let it all out, I’m right here to catch every drop” he promises her and boy did he fulfill it
Her orgasm washes over her for the first time as stack lands one final bite to her inner thigh.
She probably marked up badly down there, but she doesn’t care.
He quickly grabs a towel and pets dry the parts that he bit, making sure that they’re not bleeding out.
She takes deep breaths, coming down from her high though she does look up at him as he undo his pants.
She quickly set up, eager to please him next, but he puts his hand up, stopping her in her direction leading her face to be scrunched up in confusion.
“I can’t?-“ she questioned.
“not tonight, darling. I want tonight to be all about you” Stack said having such a comforting smile that quickly ease her nerves.
She lays back down and Stack lifts her other leg on his other shoulder, positioning himself at her entrance.
He slowly enters, giving her a moment to adjust to his size.
Her back slightly arches at the slight discomfort, but she melts into the bed as she finally gets comfortable. Giving him a quick nod for him to keep going.
He starts to pick up speed, going at pace she can keep up with whilst the bed creaks with every thrust. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he groans lowly, hiding his face in the crook of her neck.
Their moans fill the room, “fuck, im not going to last” he groans, he slows down a bit and lands a hard powerful thrust.
He quickly pulls out and toss her on all fours. He enters again and things pick up again, hitting all her spots, leaving her breathless with nothing to do but utter moans under her breath. She feels herself letting go again being completely consumed by the mind numbing sensations washing over her mind and body like a powerful wave of water.
As he was hitting it from the back, he grips those hips, sending blows to her back. Her arch deepens as she takes it, he leans forward taking her neck in his grip and his lips mets her neck feeling her pulse under his finger tips.
His mouth salivating at the thought, but he tries to snap out of the animal instinct before he hears,
“Elias please ,” she is going through it, hair disheveled, sweat beads start to roll down her face, feeling Stack move her hair to the other side of her neck.
He takes the hint, biting his lip hesitating slightly before leaning closer to her ear, whispering, “I love you darling, I will see you soon”
With that, his bite was so gentle. The high of sex, mixed with alcohol makes the pain more tolerable. She groans softly as he holds her closer, one hand cup her neck as blood starts to spill onto the bed, the other hand cupping her breast.
A single tear runs down his cheek as his venom swims through her veins as they both reached their peaks together.
she starts to feel a little lightheaded, “Elias” she breathes and starts to grow a little weak, her grip on his arm loosen.
He quickly pulls out and pulls away from her neck with all the strength that is pulling him to keep going.
He grabs the towel, holding it to her neck, applying pressure to stop the bleeding but it continues.
His breath is caught in his throat as he listens in on her heartbeats start to slow down.
“Babe” he utters, quickly gets under the covers with her holding her in his arms. “Hey.. hey i am right here. I am not going anywhere” his voice cracks as the tears start to pool in his eyes. Anger slowly starts to creep up through the tears.
As he did understand that she wanted this just as badly as he did, seeing her in this state was something he used to have nightmares about.
Hurting her.
Being the cause of her pain.
Him ruining her chance to have a future, have kids, getting old, all that taken away with one bite.
“Elias” her voice cuts the noise of his overthinking.
“Yes! Yes babe… I’m not leaving” Elias pleas, he lands a kiss in her forehead, shaking slightly, trying to keep himself composed, but the tears leak out.
The first time she’s seen elias cry.
Her vision gets blurry and hearing goes in and out as she is losing consciousness.
“I love you” she breathes out for only him to hear, a single tear runs down her cheek, as her eyes don’t close steering to the blurry stack and everything faded to black.
Let me know how you like it/ if you want part three etc..
Summary: Stack’s slick talking still got his ass in trouble a whole century later…
Pairing: Elias “Stack” Moore x Black Fem!OC
Warnings: smutty smut, explicit language, use of the n-word, vampire!stack, vampire!oc, jealousy, oral sex (fem receiving), face sitting, overstimulation, edging, and aftercare.
Word count: 3.2k (sorry I got carried away LMAO)
For contest winner @aaliyah54 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾
The club buzzed with red and violet lights, but Aaliyah was the only thing Stacks wanted to look at. Her curls bounced down her back, wild and soft, catching every neon flash. Her skin, a milk-chocolate glow under the strobes, drew eyes without her even trying. The little glint of her gold tongue ring when she spoke was always enough to make Stack’s mouth water.
Decades had passed since that night at the juke joint, but they were bonded over dying human and rising cursed together. The two of them stitched a life together in the darkness. Two vampires woven together by hunger, loyalty, and a love too dangerous to say out loud.
Stack should have kept his eyes on her. He should have known better. But then, the bartender stepped up. A woman with a sharp jawline, deep glossed lips, and a smile that meant she knew exactly what she was doing.
"What can I get y'all?" she asked him, leaning a little too far forward, chest framed with neon. Her pulse fluttered in her throat. Aaliyah and Stack both heard it.
The bartender giggled. “You the type that likes somethin’… strong?”
“Mm,” he hummed, gaze slanting over her lips. “Sometimes.”
The air changed in that moment, and so did Aaliyah's scent. Sweet cinnamon and heat sharpened into something jagged and cold, lethal. Her fangs pricked down behind her closed lips. Even though Aaliyah didn't physically react, Stack noticed her fingers straining against the bar top.
As the bartender set down his drink, she lightly touched his wrist. "On the house, handsome."
Aaliyah didn't say anything. Not loudly. Not dramatically. But just silent in that dangerous, don't even breathe wrong way a vampire woman could.
Stack’s smirk faded.
"Aaliyah—baby—” he panicked, stretching his arm toward her waist.
She stepped aside as if he reeked of garlic.
He even caught her mumbling asshole over the bass of the pounding music. He could smell the spike of hurt and watched her curls sway as she walked toward the exit without looking back.
“Aaliyah,” he hissed under his breath, fangs out now. “Damn.”
He followed her immediately, pushing through the crowd like nothing could stop him. To be fair, nothing much could these days.
The night air hit Aaliyah first. It was frigid, sharp and so tranquil compared to the flurry left behind in the club. Her curls bounced with each step as she crossed the pavement, her heels clicking like a countdown that Stack wished he could end.
He followed right behind her, long strides eating up the distance. “Aaliyah—baby, can you just—”
She didn't look back. She didn't even slow down. Didn’t even give him the grace of a frustrated sigh.
Her scent stayed cold and furious, all edges and ice. Vampirism made emotions louder and stronger, and in this moment, her anger was so loud that it drowned out even the cars on the road.
"Aaliyah, please." His voice cracked, his fangs still out from earlier, visible breath gesturing to the cold. "You know damn well a nigga like me ain't interested in that lady."
She pulled open the passenger door of his blacked-out SUV with supernatural smoothness and slid in, curls spilling over her shoulder like a shield.
Stacks stood there for a beat, jaw tight, cursing himself in three different decades of slang.
Once he finally slid in the driver’s seat, it felt suffocatingly silent. Stack’s hearing was too good, so he caught every detail.
The faint click of her tongue ring against her teeth. The way her toes clenched and unclenched in her heels. Her refusal to look his way. He knew if her heart still functioned, it’d be thumping furiously.
He gripped the wheel, fingers tapping like an anxious tick, trying to keep his voice level.
“Aaliyah… baby, she was just being friendly.”
Still, she said nothing and refused to look his way.
He tried again, tone softening as he pulled out onto the road. “Angel, talk to me.”
She turned her gaze toward the window, city lights streaking across her skin like paint. The gold of her nose ring caught on a passing streetlamp, and damn, even her silence was beautiful enough to ruin him.
“Please don’t shut a nigga out like this.” Stack swallowed hard. “You know I hate that shit.”
And again, nothing.
He inhaled and winced. Her scent was a whole paragraph of jealousy and hurt, sharp enough that even his undead lungs felt tight.
When Stack pulled into the private garage beneath their sky-rise condo, Aaliyah was out and walking before he was even able to take the key out.
"Liyah—hold on!"
Of course, she didn't. She moved toward the elevator, a swirl of curls and fury.
Stack’s chest squeezed. He flashed forward, catching the elevator doors with one hand before they closed.
She still didn’t look at him.
“Aaliyah,” he breathed, voice low, finally honest, “I’m sorry, baby.”
She didn’t blink, but she uncrossed her arms, and her glowing eyes flicked over him behind her shades. Just once, and that was enough to tell him two things: She heard him, and he was going to have to work very, very hard to earn her forgiveness once that elevator stopped on their floor.
The elevator doors opened into their penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights like spilled diamonds, shadows making long stretches across polished floors. Aaliyah stepped out first, curls bouncing with each furious step as she stalked off toward the living room.
Stack followed sluggishly behind. Not because of his speed—he could cross the room in half a second—but because she was angry enough to catch fire. He had an unwavering respect for fire.
“Aaliyah…” he began softly.
She didn’t turn. She didn’t even flinch.
The only indication she was angry was the sharpness of her scent, a frosty metallic sharpness of a pissed-off vampire pride. He hated it. Hated that he was the cause of it.
She slipped off her heels, tossing them aside with supernatural accuracy. Then she marched to the window and stood there staring out at the skyline like she would rather talk to the damn moon than to him.
Stack ran a hand over his taper fade, his fangs still exposed from earlier, frustration building in his chest like an ache even though he did not have a heart to break.
“Aaliyah, please, look at me.”
Nothing.
He stepped closer, still not touching her, just stepping into her orbit. Close enough to feel the whisper of cold air around her skin. Close enough to smell the jealousy still clinging to her like perfume and punishment. "You know I ain’t interested in her." His voice softened. “You know I haven’t wanted anyone but you since the night we died together."
She stirred slightly; her curls swayed a bit, but she said nothing.
Stack blew out a breath, annoyed with himself, annoyed with the bartender, and annoyed with the time spent learning how to kill but not how to keep the woman he loved from walking away from him.
"Aaliyah," he said, stepping behind her. He didn't dare touch her, but he leaned down close enough for his breath to graze her shoulder. “She meant nothing. You hear me?"
In the glass you could see her reflection, her jaw tight, her eyes having that faint golden glow to the edge of her anger. And the gold tongue ring gleamed each time she clenched her teeth.
"You flirted back,” she said finally, her voice hushed and controlled.
It wasn't loud, but it was lethal.
He winced. "I—it wasn’t—I wasn't thinking."
"Oh, I know," she said, still staring out at the skyline. "Clearly you done drank way too much O neg this week."
Stack stepped a little closer, to the point he could feel the cold warmth of her body through the air between them.
"I apologize," he whispered, his tone heavy with conviction, as if the apology cost him his immortality to say.
Still, she didn't turn.
Again he tried, softer, almost desperate, as he reached up to pull the shades away from her face. "Liyah... don't walk away from me. Please, baby.”
Finally, she turned towards him, her eyes glowing fiercely, her curls wild, her jaw tense. The very picture of a vampire woman over her man’s bullshit.
"I’m not walkin’ away,” she said. “I’m waitin’ to see how you gone fix it."
Stack froze.
Her aroma and the challenge in her gold-ringed tongue. It hit him like a stake to the chest.
“Aaliyah…” he exhaled sharply, fangs extending fully now, hunger and guilt twisting together inside him.
She stepped backward toward the couch slowly, deliberately, expression unreadable.
“No more talking,” she sighed softly. “If you really want to apologize…”
She sank onto the couch, leaning back, legs parting to make her skirt ride up just enough to reveal she wasn’t wearing any panties. “…show me.”
Stack was on his knees before she even finished sitting down. That supernatural subtlety went flying out the window. He dropped so fast the air rippled, fangs flashing before he forced them back, trying to look less like a monster and more like a man begging forgiveness.
Aaliyah shifted back against the arm, steady, slow, creating space for him to lay back on the couch as the lights from the city turned her curls into a glittering crown of shadows and gold. Once he settled in, she hooked one finger under his chin and lifted his face.
"You wanna fix it?" She asked, calm but deadly.
"Yes," he breathed, his voice guttural and scraped. She yanked her skirt down and then off, the motion so efficient he hardly recognized it happening.
"Then earn it.”
She shifted forward, thighs framing his face, and he caught a glint of her gold tongue ring for half a second before she lowered herself onto him.
Stack’s breath vanished. His hands flew instinctively and grabbed her hips, fingers curling tight enough to crumple steel but gentle enough on her skin. He pressed his mouth to her heat like he'd been waiting decades for the chance, which, in a way, he had.
Aaliyah rolled her hips slowly, testing him, feeling his hunger rise through his cold skin.
He groaned into her. A low, ancient sound that vibrated through her whole body.
“Good,” she whispered, grinding deeper. “You stay right there.”
Stack didn’t move except to worship.
His tongue slid over her slit, slow at first, reverent, mapping every slick inch like a prayer. Then he found her clit, and the apology became real. He sucked it into his mouth, tongue flicking, pressure perfect, desperate, controlled only by his fear of losing her.
Aaliyah’s head fell back, a soft moan slipping out. Her thighs tightened around his face, and he growled. Not from anger, but from being home.
He held her steady while she used his face, guiding her with his palms, letting her take exactly what she wanted. Every roll of her hips made him hungrier, more frantic, and more devoted.
“Stack…” she choked on a moan.
He answered with his mouth, not words. Deep, slow strokes at first. Then faster and deeper, tongue sliding inside her while his nose brushed her clit just enough to make her moan louder.
Her hands slid over his head, gripping tight.
“You doin’ much better, baby,” she whispered breathlessly, “but you ain’t forgiven yet.”
He moaned against her, pulsing from the need to please, the need to fix, and the need to taste every sound she made.
Aaliyah ground down harder, thighs trembling. “Don’t you dare stop, Elias,” she warned.
He didn’t, of course. He licked her like she was salvation and he was starving. Tongue firm, angled, steady, drawing circles that had her breath hitching, curls falling wild around her pretty face.
When she got close, her scent sharpened with heat—not human warmth, but that electric, supernatural sweetness only vampires produced when pleasure crested.
Stack tasted it all. He wanted more, so he wrapped his arms around her thighs and held her down against his mouth, sucking harder, licking deeper, his voice muffled and frantic with devotion.
Aaliyah shattered. Her hips bucked, her thighs pressed tight around his head, and her fingers damn near crushed his temples as she cried out, long, breathless, and shaking. Her release coated his tongue, and he drank her in like she was the only thing strong enough to sustain him.
When she finally loosened her grip, he didn’t move an inch. His lips still moved against her, kissing her slowly, reverently, like he wasn’t done apologizing yet.
She exhaled sharply, chest rising and falling even without breath.
“Better,” she praised, stroking his jaw with her thumb. “But we not done.”
Stack looked up at her. Eyes darkened with lust but still glowing, lips wet, fangs sliding back down from pure hunger.
“Nah,” he whispered, voice cracking with pure need, “I know we ain’t.”
Aaliyah slid off his face slowly, her thighs still trembling, and her curly hair stuck to her cheeks. Stack sat up slightly, chest heaving even though he no longer needed to utilize his lungs, his lips soaking wet with her release. His eyes were even darker now, black-rimmed hunger glowing around the edges.
He looked wrecked.
Good.
Aaliyah cupped his jaw with one hand, and her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth.
“Ready to finish apologizing?” she asked softly.
Stack swallowed like it hurt him to do so. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Please. Anything you want.”
She smirked and stood.
"Take off your clothes," she ordered.
He did, of course. No questions asked. No vampire pride or the usual smart remarks. Just obeying her and doing it quickly enough that the moment she turned away from him and toward the couch, his shirt hit the floor.
He was already painfully hard and leaking, desperate beyond measure for her touch.
Aaliyah sat back down and crooked her finger. "Come here."
Stack climbed onto the couch, but she stopped him with her firm hand at his chest.
“Uh-uh,” she shook her head. “Lay back down.”
He did as he was told, his muscles tense and body trembling. The cold skin looked captivating in the city night. Hard edges, cut abs, and a thick dick standing straight up and throbbing like he was alive again.
Aaliyah straddled his thighs, taking her precious time and dragging her nails lightly across his stomach. His breath hitched strong, broken, and unsteady.
“Sensitive tonight, huh?” she murmured in a sultry tone.
“You the reason,” he rasped.
She smiled. “Mmhmm.”
She wrapped her hand around him just at the base, and Stack bucked up hard enough to make the couch creak.
“Aaliyah!”
She didn’t stroke him yet, only squeezed him tightly, and held him there, right on the edge of sanity.
“Flirt with her again…” she said low, leaning down so her curls brushed against his chest, and added, “and I’ll tear yo ass apart just like this for hours.”
He craned his neck and groaned deep and guttural, his fangs flashing.
“I’m so—sorry,” he whispered.
She tilted her head, unimpressed. “That didn’t sound convincing.”
Then she stroked him once, devastatingly slow, with a vicelike grip.
Stack’s entire body jerked, and his hands flew to her thighs, fingers squeezing hard enough to leave marks on a human. “Liyah—baby—please—”
She stroked him again, quicker this time, the grip easy, her tongue ring flicking against her teeth as she grinned at his unraveling.
“You always got so much shit to say,” she teased. “Where’s all that smooth talkin’ now?”
He gasped—gasped. A vampire. Gasping. “Aaliyah—ohfuckohfuck—I’m gonna come—”
She stopped.
His hips jerked into empty air, a broken sound tearing out of him.
“Not yet,” she singsonged sweetly.
His voice came out strangled.
“Angel…please.”
She grabbed him again, this time stroking harder and faster, with the rhythm steady and merciless. His head fell back, eyes flickering a bluish grey from hunger, fangs fully extended.
He was a monster unwound.
“Apologize,” she demanded.
“I’m—ngh—a nigga said he was sorry, baby,” he choked out. “I shouldn’t have flirted, shouldn’t have looked, shouldn’t have—fuckfuckfuck—Aaliyah—"
"Not enough," she growled, squeezing tighter.
He whimpered her name unashamedly.
“Aaliyah, forgive me—please—I love you—I’ll never do that shit again—pleaseee—let me—let me come, baby.”
That’s what she wanted to hear.
She leaned down, kissed him slowly, and curled her fingers just right. “Come for me.”
Stack came with a groan like glass shaking in the windows. He spilled in her hand with hot, desperate pulses, body arching, fangs slick with saliva, voice raw, like centuries of control just snapped.
When he crumpled into the cushions, shaking, muttering curses, and completely spent, Aaliyah kissed his jaw and smirked. “That’s better.”
Stack was still shaking when she at last dropped his softening length. Not from fear, but from the aftershocks crashing through him in slow waves, each wave easing his muscles bit by bit.
Aaliyah slipped off his hips and curled beside him, her dark tresses tumbling onto his chest, her hand smoothing over the cold planes of his stomach. He lifted her fingers clumsily and gently brought them to his lips.
"You okay?" she whispered.
He nodded, but it was small, nearly shy, which seemed ridiculous for a man who could snap concrete with his bare hands.
“Don't lie to me, nigga. That was some intense act-right teachin' going on…”
Stack snorted softly, "I'm good." He reassured, "Better now that you ain't mad at a nigga no more.”
Aaliyah giggled under her breath—a contagious kind of laugh that made something in his undead chest ache. She reached for the towel they kept draped over the couch for moments just like this, gently wiping him clean. Her touch was sweet and careful.
Stack's eyes were on her like she was the only thing steady in his world.
When she finished, he pulled her onto his chest properly, one arm around her waist, the other stroking her curls. She relaxed against him instantly, resting her head against the place in his chest where his heartbeat should've been.
"I love you," he whispered, meekly, almost like a confessional.
She looked up at him with her gold nose ring reflecting from the crescent moon peeking through the windows. "Oh, I know," she replied playfully and pressed a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth. "And I love you too, idiot."
Stack smiled, pig-headedly embarrassed still. He pressed his forehead to hers, their noses brushing light and easy.
“I won't do that shit again," he promised. "I swear it."
Aaliyah stroked the line of his jaw with one finger. "I believe you, baby. That's why I forgave you."
He kissed her slowly and deeply. She hummed softly as she curled into him, one leg thrown over his waist, fingering the tips of his ears.
"C'mon," she murmured. "We should probably go shower."
He tightened his hold, refusing to let her go. "In a minute, baby," he whispered into her hair. "Just...stay with me like this."
She didn’t move. She just let the night settle around them. They were two immortals, entwined on a couch, finding comfort in a world that was anything but.
ShaNiece swayed her hips to the newest TLC track, wine cooler in hand, curves dipping low with every beat. She was in her element. Vibing. Glowing. Free.
Her mama had finally caved and agreed to watch Shanaye for the night. Fifteen or not, that little girl had more energy than most grown folks, and ShaNiece—thirty, fine, and flying solo—needed a break.
Sure, she’d made what Big Mama still called “the biggest mistake of her life” at eighteen. But that baby saved her. Made her sharper. Wiser. Stronger. She went to college, graduated top of her class, and broke into finance like a storm in heels. In a world full of men trying to “rescue” her from single motherhood, she was already saving herself—six figures deep, child in tow.
She was good. Or so she thought.
“Damn, Niecy! Slow down on them drinks, girl!” Belinda—BeBe to the crew—called out, passing her a murky shot of something strong.
ShaNiece laughed, tossing it back without hesitation. The burn kissed the back of her throat and lit her chest with fire. “Girl, I don’t get out like this often. Let me shake this ass in peace!”
The bass dropped, and the house party roared to life. BeBe kept the shots flowing, and ShaNiece kept dancing like the night owed her joy.
Then he came.
He didn’t ask. He just stepped behind her like he’d been invited by the rhythm itself. He’d been watching, she could feel it. His body slid into place behind hers, close but not too close, letting the music guide them. He wanted to catch what she was throwing—and baby, she threw it well.
When the next beat hit, she paused, teasing, until his breath brushed her ear.
“You scared now?”
His voice was smooth, deep and sure. Her hips responded before she could. Fueled by liquor and laughter, she rolled her ass back into him like it was their song playing—and it damn sure was. He matched her every move, gripping her waist, hips meeting hers with intention. A few heads turned. Let them watch.
“That’s it, lil’ mama,” he murmured, before spinning her to face him.
ShaNiece caught her breath. His golds flashed when he smiled. Coogi sweater. Baggy jeans. Mustache thick and neat. Skin the color of sweet caramel. His eyes were hidden behind shades, but she didn’t need to see them to know he was fine. Real fine.
“You tryna fuck me on the dance floor?” she teased, snapping her fingers in his face. “Helloooo?”
“You always got an attitude like that?” he asked, raising one brow as he pushed his shades higher.
She smirked. “Only when men act brand new after grinding on me for four songs straight. What’s your name?”
“You can call me Stack.” He lifted his hand to show a gold-plated ring spelling it across three fingers. “Yours?” He already knew it. He’d heard her friend call her name throughout the night.
“I’m sure that ain’t what your mama named you,” she said, popping her gum and patting her finger waves. “But I feel you.” Her gold earrings swung with flair—Niecey etched on both. “My friends call me Niecey”
“So we friends now?” he asked, grinning.
“We danced, didn’t we? That counts.” She winked, stepping back into the crowd. “Later, Stack.”
“Hol’ up,” he said, catching her wrist.
A jolt shot through both of them. He dropped her hand like it burned and shook his head like he forgot what he meant to say. “Uh… take my number.”
She smirked as he scribbled digits in her palm before they vanished in opposite directions.
⸻
It was close to 2 a.m. when they stumbled out, trying to make the one-block walk to BeBe’s apartment.
“Biiitch, I’m drunk,” BeBe groaned, hunched over a fence. It was their third stop in a five-minute walk that was now dragging into twenty.
“You ain’t lyin’,” ShaNiece muttered, pulling tissues from her fanny pack to dab the sweat from BeBe’s face and spit from her mouth. “Here. Drink.”
BeBe slumped to the grass. “Go without me!”
“You dramatic.” Still, ShaNiece knew they weren’t making it home like this.
She pulled BeBe’s cell from her jeans and called the number in her palm. A shot in the dark.
“Hello?”
That voice. Smooth, like that dark brown liquor she’d been downing all night.
“Niecey?” His tone softened her name like he already missed her.
“Yeah, um… it’s me. I know it’s late but—”
“Where are you?”
She gave him the corner.
BeBe gagged. “I hope this nigga ain’t no murderer! What you know about him?”
“I know he’s giving us a ride. Hush!” ShaNiece palmed her blade, just in case.
Stack pulled up minutes later. The ride was quiet except for the radio—and his humming. She joined in softly, their voices finding a rhythm even without the music.
When they reached the building, he tapped her thigh. “Take your girl in. Come holla at me.”
She paused. “Or… you could come in.”
She wasn’t the one-night stand type. But something about Stack made her brave.
They carried BeBe to bed. ShaNiece made sure she was okay before returning to the living room, kicking off her Reeboks and tugging her earrings off with a chuckle. “We might’ve gone too hard tonight.”
Stack kicked off his sneakers and sank into the couch beside her. “This every weekend?”
She shook her head. “Not even. Between work and my daughter, I’m booked and busy.”
“Then let’s not waste this rare time.”
He leaned in. Kissed her neck. Hands roaming. Mouth hungry.
By the time their lips met, she was pulling him into the spare room.
Clothes hit the floor in rhythm. His Coogi sweater. Her button-down jersey. Her lace bra fell away and he growled, mouth on her chest. Her shorts slid down and she took him in—his strong chest, curved girth springing free. She reached for his glasses.
He pulled away. “No”
“What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer. Just kissed her deeper.
ShaNiece gently reached again, this time with both hands, easing the glasses off.
His eyes were unreal—shifting hues of shimmering silver, and something old. They sparkled like a curse and a promise all in one.
She couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to.
“Damn,” she whispered. ShaNiece kissed his lips to reassure him before leaning back.
She stroked her clit watching him take over. He kissed her down to her center, tongue working slow, fingers thick and skilled. She shook beneath him, whimpering, reaching for him.
“I need you,” she moaned, staring into those eyes. “Please.”
He slid into her slowly, possessively. With every stroke, he seemed to pull lightning from her bones.
“Yeees, Stack!” she cried out.
He zoned in on her neck.
Just a taste, he thought hearing her blood pulsating. Calling out for him.
“You like that, baby?” he whispered in her ear. “I’mma keep fucking you until I’m the only thing you think about.” He growled into her ear licking the tip of it.
She screamed his name, eyes wet with pleasure. He flipped her, stroked her deeper. She climbed on top, riding him backwards. He couldn’t resist that pulsating force.
When he bit her neck, she gasped. The bite—sharp, precise.
Pain bloomed, bright and quick, but it unraveled into something else. Heat. Wetness. A pull so deep it made her knees buckle.
She felt the suction of his mouth, the way he fed—not ravenous, but sensual. Worshipful.
Her breath caught, then spilled out in a moan. Her body trembled against his, hips arching, thighs clenching. It was as if he were drinking more than blood—like he was pulling memories, want, soul from her skin.
She was floating. Melting.
And Stack groaned against her, one hand sliding to pinch her chocolate perky nipple.
“You look so fuckin’ delicious,” he moaned, licking the blood. “Had to taste.” His eyes sparkled more.
She turned to kiss him, tasting herself and him and whatever magic sparked between them.
“You’re mine now, baby,” he whispered against her lips. “Whatever you had before—dead that.”
She stared, expecting a laugh. None came.
Their bodies slapped in time, her bangles rattling like wind chimes. She gave him everything—and he took it, pushed her further, until the world fell away.
When they were done, tangled and sweaty, he whispered, “You’re beautiful,” against her frizzy finger waves.
She laid there, one hand on his chest, circling gently.
He meant every word.
She told herself it was just the drinks talking. Tomorrow, he’d be a faded memory.
But tonight?
Tonight, he was everything.
⸻
Atlanta, 1992
Elias “Stack” Moore POV
He should’ve never touched her.
The moment her ass backed up into him on that dance floor, something in his chest cracked open. He hadn’t felt that kind of pull in decades—not since Mary. But this? This was different. This woman wasn’t casting a spell. She was the spell.
ShaNiece. Niecey. That name settled on his tongue like honey and heat.
When she called him later, voice soft and a little slurred, asking for a favor—he didn’t hesitate. He was halfway to her before she dropped the cross street. It wasn’t just lust pulling him. It was instinct. Fate. Hunger.
He helped carry her friend inside, eyes flicking to every corner. He didn’t sense any other presence. No one watching. No threats.
Except the one inside himself.
When she invited him in, he knew he should’ve said no. He had rules. Boundaries. Protocol. Fallon would curse his whole bloodline if she knew he was entertaining a mortal woman this drunk, this vulnerable.
But she wasn’t vulnerable. She was vivid. Fully alive. That rare kind of woman who knew who she was and didn’t apologize for it. And that laugh? It had weight.
He couldn’t explain it. Didn’t want to.
So he followed her into the back room, watching as she stripped with casual grace, like she’d done this dance a thousand times for no one but herself.
Then she reached for his shades.
“No,” he said too fast, too sharp.
She blinked but didn’t flinch. Just eased her hands back. “What’s wrong?”
But he saw it in her eyes—curiosity. Maybe a little hurt.
He couldn’t let her see. Not yet. Not until he knew what the hell was happening between them.
Because something was happening.
And it scared the hell out of him.
When she touched herself, moaning his name, his resolve cracked. She smelled like warm rain and vanilla and the faintest trace of something familiar. Not perfume. Not lotion.
Bloodline.
The first time he tasted her, tongue pressed to that aching pulse between her legs, it was electric. Tense. She trembled like her body already knew him—like her soul was calling out something her mind hadn’t caught up to yet.
Then she begged for him.
“Please.”
He gave in. Sank into her slow, controlled, trying to keep the beast leashed. But the moment her nails dug into his back and her cries filled the room, he felt it rise The thirst.
He pressed his mouth to her neck and just breathed, trying to ground himself. She smelled divine. Real. Unfiltered. Not the sterile, synthetic blood bags he forced on himself. This woman carried something pure—unspoiled by darkness.
Just a taste, he told himself. Just enough to remember who he used to be.
When he bit down, she gasped. He moaned against her skin.
The blood hit him like a lightning strike. A rush of her hit him—heat and copper, sun-drenched laughter, a child’s cry, an old gospel hum from a porch swing on a Sunday afternoon. Her blood poured over his tongue like silk, thick with grief and joy, survival and sweetness. It wasn’t just sustenance. It was a story.
He gripped her tighter as her body bucked beneath him, her moans hitching on the edge of pain and pleasure. Her heartbeat pounded in his ears, steady and brave. She didn’t scream. She gasped. Then melted.
“Damn, you look so fuckin’ delicious,” he groaned, licking the wound gently, sealing it with his tongue.
The moment he did, her body arched again. Her orgasm hit with tremors—shaking both of them. The taste of her climax still clung to his lips when she turned to kiss him, like she needed to taste what he’d taken.
She kissed him like she knew something.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t push him away. She turned and kissed him like she knew. Like she wanted him still.
He wanted to stop.
But he needed to finish.
So he fucked her like he’d been waiting lifetimes.
Because maybe… he had.
She came apart in his arms, all curses and moans and fingernails, and he held her through it, burying his face in her hair like a man at prayer.
Afterward, she curled against him, fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. Her breathing slowed. Her eyes fluttered closed.
He stared at the ceiling, wide awake.
Not from the sex. Not even from the bite.
But from the knowing.
ShaNiece wasn’t just some fling. She wasn’t random.
He’d felt this before—decades ago, in shadows and dreams. Every couple of years or so, someone would spark that flicker, but it always faded.
This? This burned.
He looked down at her, sleeping like she trusted him.
He didn’t deserve it.
He’d tasted her blood—and buried in it, something simmered beneath the surface. Not just sweetness. Not just warmth.
Something immortal.
Something dangerous.
And for the first time in a long time, Elias “Stack” Moore felt something close to fear.
Because he didn’t know if he’d been sent to protect this woman… or destroy her.
Atlanta, 1992- The Next Day
Elias “Stack” Moore POV
The sky was still painted indigo when he walked into the back office of the club. The city wasn’t fully awake yet—but Fallon was.
Of course she was.
She leaned against the desk, arms crossed, in a black turtleneck and gold hoops. Her eyes—that sharp hazel gold—tracked him like prey.
“Where the fuck were you last night?”
Elias didn’t answer right away. He took off his sweater, dumping it to the side. Peeled off the rest of his clothes one item at a time down to his boxers. He needed to shower.
Fallon didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
“You didn’t check in,” she said, voice low and flat. “And you didn’t feed yesterday.”
He looked up then, jaw tight. “I fed.”
“You fed,” she echoed, nostrils flaring. “Not from a bag.”
He didn’t answer. Just walked past her to the small bar and poured two shots of bourbon. It burned going down, but not enough. He still tasted her.
“I told you,” she said, stepping closer, “the girl from the party. She’s not clean.”
His hand stilled on the glass.
“I didn’t say she was dirty. I meant she’s… special. Like she’s different or something.”
“You think I didn’t feel that?” he muttered, turning toward her.
Fallon’s eyes narrowed.
“So you did see her?”
He didn’t respond. Didn’t have to.
Fallon’s jaw locked. “You bit her.”
He stayed silent.
“You fucking bit her?” Her voice dropped, but it hit like a punch. “Jesus, Elias. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“She was already in it,” he said quietly. “Before I touched her. Before I knew her name.”
“Don’t give me that ‘destiny’ bullshit,” she snapped. “You felt a pull? Great. You know what that means.”
He looked at her then, really looked. Her face was tight with fear—not anger. That scared him more than anything.
“She didn’t scream,” he said. “Didn’t push me away. When I bit her, she leaned in.”
Fallon shook her head. “You don’t get it. That’s worse. That means she already in trouble.”
He stilled. “What?”
Fallon lowered her voice. “Mary.”
A long silence stretched between them.
Then she whispered, “The Juke, Elias.”
“Don’t” he growled.
“They died, Stack. And it tore a hole in you big enough to crawl through. Don’t pretend like this ain’t déjà vu.”
He turned away, gripping the edge of the desk until the wood creaked.
Fallon stepped closer, softer now. “You said she was the only one who ever made you feel like this until she didn’t”
“She broke me on purpose.” He thought of her and the curse she forged in him.
“But this one,” Fallon pressed, “ShaNiece. She’s making you feel again.”
He nodded once. Slow. Painful.
Fallon’s voice trembled. “Then we got a problem. Because if you felt that bond, Stack, if you took ShaNiece’s blood because it called you—you know what comes next.”
He closed his eyes. “Mary.”
Fallon nodded. “She always knows when you give yourself away.”
