I nodded, unable to speak, knowing that my fate was now tied to his. As he turned away, I crawled back into the cage, the collar still in my hands. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the strange sense of belonging that settled over me, a feeling that both terrified and comforted me in equal measure.
Thales watched as I collapsed onto the cage, exhaustion overtaking me. He pulled on his jacket, his mind already elsewhere. In a flash, he disappeared from the room, reappearing in a secret chamber known to very few.
The room resembled a lab, with scalpels and surgical instruments neatly arranged in one corner. Two operating tables lay diagonally across from each other, bathed in the darkness that filled the room. An eerie howling filled the air, the faint cries of the damned spirits- these were spirits who were tortured to death and their souls trapped and brought back as vengeful and evil spirits echoing in the distance. But Thales, ever the picture of cold ruthlessness, remained unbothered.
From the shadows, a woman's voice emerged, her presence so subtle it was impossible to tell if she had just arrived or had been there all along. Thales, still gazing out the window, didn't bother to turn.
"What's wrong with her blood?" he asked, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.
The woman hesitated, sensing the tension in the air. Before she could respond, Thales stretched out his hand, and a black mass squirmed beneath his palm.
"I told you," he said softly, his tone chilling in its gentleness. "You do not keep any information from me, no matter how trivial."
Despite the softness of his voice, the cruelty behind it was unmistakable—a cruelty that had defined him long before he earned his infamous title.
Duke Thales Rexhard Gravesend of Adinburgh, the Devil's Red Rose. His victims often died with a smile, torn between agony and ecstasy in their final moments.
He released the black mass, which dissolved to reveal a woman—a dark elf, her beauty as haunting as a moonlit night. The last of her kind. She whispered the results of her findings, her voice tinged with madness. As Thales listened, a dangerous light gleamed in his eyes. Without a word, he vanished, leaving the dark elf alone in the chilling silence.
The dark elf whispered to herself, "Poor witch," her eyes gleaming with a happiness that contradicted her statement.
CHAPTER 6
Thales reappeared beside Seraphine picking her up from her little cage like a lioness picks her cub, his eyes gleaming with predatory intent. Without hesitation, he sank his fangs into the soft curve of her neck, drawing blood in a slow, deliberate motion. The taste was exquisite—rich and intoxicating, a blend of her fear and desire. Seraphine awoke to a jolt of pleasure, a gasp escaping her lips as her body surrendered to the waves of ecstasy coursing through her. Her mind spun, her thoughts dissolving into the overwhelming sensations that wracked her every nerve.
Instinctively, she reached out, her fingers trembling as they found purchase on his cold, powerful form, pulling him closer. Thales responded in kind, his grip tightening as he pressed her beneath him, his dark presence suffocating yet electrifying. He spread her legs apart with ease, his hand trailing up the sensitive skin of her thighs, his thumb brushing against her clit in a maddeningly gentle tease.
Seraphine trembled uncontrollably, a low moan slipping from her lips—she had never felt such pleasure, such a profound loss of control. Her back arched, hips lifting to meet his touch, her body desperate for more, for anything he was willing to give. Just as she was teetering on the edge of pleasure, he withdrew, leaving her on the brink of madness.
"Clean up," he commanded, his voice cold, detached, as if nothing had just transpired between them. With that, he left her there, her body still humming with unfulfilled desire.
"What the hell was that?" Seraphine's voice was barely a whisper as she looked down between her legs, noticing something dripping. She hesitated, then reached out, scooping up the liquid and bringing it to her lips. The taste was unmistakable—it was hot and thick, also slimy and salty. A shiver ran down her spine, a mixture of shame and yearning. "Duke Thales…" she moaned gently, the mere thought of him reigniting the fire within her.
She was on the verge of losing herself to the memory when a rough grip seized her wrist, yanking her back to reality. Thales's hand was iron around hers, pulling her to her feet with an effortless strength that left her gasping.
"Touching yourself?" he rasped, his voice grinding against her already heightened senses. The words, laced with dark amusement, sent a fresh wave of heat through her. She was hot, so unbearably hot, her mind a mess of confused emotions. All she could see, all she could think about, was him.
She reached out again, desperate to touch him, to feel his cold skin against hers. But before she could make contact, her world went black, her body collapsing into unconsciousness.
Thales looked down at her limp form, a mixture of frustration and fascination flickering in his eyes. He understood, perhaps too well, the potency of what she had experienced—it was exactly as the elf had warned.
He turned towards the bed, then back at her, his mind calculating his next move. With a sharp, precise motion, he pinched her neck deeply, eliciting a wince of pain that shook her awake.
"Clean up," he ordered, his voice laced with irritation.
"This damn Duke," she cursed inwardly, bowing her head in submission. "Yes, Lord."
As she moved to change the beddings, Seraphine couldn't help but steal glances at the Duke. He had a lean, powerful physique, his reddish-violet irises catching the dim light with an otherworldly glow. She stared too long, her breath hitching when his eyes met hers. A small hiccup escaped her before she quickly swallowed and bowed. "My Lord."
"Change all the beddings," was all he said, his tone indifferent as he turned away from her.