Deep within the core area of the Bloodkeep stood a massive manor. In the darkened halls of the manor, the flicker of candlelight danced across the walls, moving long, dancing shadows over the stone.
The air was thick with the lingering scent of their passion as High Lord Dante lay back against the silken sheets of his grand bed, his breath still slightly uneven from the intensity of their lovemaking. His chest rose and fell slowly as he gazed at the intricately carved ceiling, one hand resting lazily on Ophelia's bare back.
Ophelia lay sprawled across him, her head resting on his chest, her raven-black hair splayed across his skin. Her fingers absent-mindedly traced the lines of his muscles, but her mind was elsewhere, thoughts drifting to matters that lay beyond their shared pleasure.
'You've been quiet," High Lord Dante finally said, his deep voice breaking the silence. His fingers brushed through her hair, but he coud sense the shift in her mood.
