The grand hall was silent, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. Shadows danced along the walls, stretching and twisting with a life of their own. Liora lingered near the edge of the room, her fingers brushing against the cool stone of the walls, every instinct warning her that she wasn't alone.
And then she felt it—his presence, an almost tangible weight in the air.
Dante emerged from the shadows, his movements unhurried but deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey. His pale eyes fixed on her, glinting with something darker than amusement.
"You wander so freely," he murmured, his voice smooth as velvet. "Do you have no fear, Liora?"
She turned to face him, forcing her voice to steady. "I have nothing left to fear."
He laughed softly, a sound that sent a shiver racing down her spine. "You lie to yourself so beautifully," he said, stepping closer.
Liora stood her ground, though her pulse betrayed her, quickening as he closed the distance between them. The faintest smirk tugged at his lips, but his gaze was far from amused. It was intense, sharp, and utterly consuming, as though he were stripping her bare with a single look.
"Your defiance is... intoxicating," he said, his voice low, a dangerous edge to it. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"
She blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in his words. "I'm not doing anything to you."
His smile darkened, and in a blink, he was before her, his hand pressing against the wall beside her head. The other brushed against her cheek, his touch cold but firm, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw.
"Not intentionally," he murmured, his voice dipping into something almost tender. "But you... you are a temptation I was not prepared for."
Her breath hitched as he leaned in, his face mere inches from hers. She could feel the coolness of his breath against her lips, the faint scent of iron mingling with something richer, darker.
"Your blood," he whispered, his gaze falling to her throat, where her pulse fluttered wildly beneath her skin. "Your scent... I can taste it without even touching you."
His lips brushed against her neck, not biting, just teasing, and she felt the scrape of his fangs—sharp and ready. But it wasn't just hunger for her blood that burned in his gaze. There was something else, something deeper, more carnal.
"You're mine, Liora," he said, his voice a low growl. "Even if you don't realize it yet."
Her hands came up to push him away, but the feel of his chest beneath her palms, solid and unyielding, made her falter. Her own body betrayed her, warmth pooling in places she didn't want to acknowledge.
"Dante, stop," she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.
His hand slid to her waist, gripping her firmly but not painfully, holding her in place as his lips hovered just over her skin. He inhaled deeply, his grip tightening as though he were fighting an internal battle.
"You make it so hard," he murmured, his voice strained, the faintest tremor betraying his struggle for control. "So hard not to take... everything."
The sharp press of his fangs against her neck drew a gasp from her, and her heart pounded against his hand where it rested on her waist. The edge of his control wavered, and she felt the dangerous heat radiating from him.
But then, just as suddenly as it began, he wrenched himself away, his chest heaving with restraint. His eyes, now glowing faintly, bore into hers, filled with both frustration and longing.
"Leave," he ordered, his voice rough. "Before I forget what little humanity I have left."
Liora pressed herself against the wall, her legs weak, as she watched him retreat into the shadows. Her neck tingled where his lips had hovered, and her body felt like it was on fire from the intensity of his presence.
Alone once more, she slid to the floor, trembling—not from fear, but from something far more dangerous. She knew this wasn't the last time he would come close to losing control. And deep down, she wasn't sure she wanted it to be.