Valerien【 INTOXICATED 】

Rain pounded relentlessly against the shattered stained-glass windows of the abandoned cathedral, the howling wind drowning out the low hum of the city below. The air inside was thick with the scent of damp moss, centuries-old dust, and a sharp, unmistakable metallic tang—fresh, cold blood.

​You didn't need to check the cobblestones behind you to know you had outpaced the rest of your Guild squad. You had known he was leading you here for miles. Every deliberate streak of crimson on the alley walls, every faint impression left in the mud—Valerien hadn't just fled his sire's elite executioners; he had left a beacon specifically for your tracking senses.

​At the far end of the nave, draped over the ruined marble altar like a fallen gargoyle, Valerien shifted.

​He didn't turn around immediately, though his white hair caught the pale moonlight filtering through the fractured glass. Dark crimson saturated the side of his torn cream silk shirt, but despite his heavy injuries, his ears twitched at the silent drop of your leather boots against the flagstones.

​"You're slipping, little hunter," Valerien murmured, his voice a smooth, velvety purr that echoed off the vaulted ceiling. "It took you nearly twenty minutes to trace my scent from the riverbanks. I was starting to think your corrupt Guild handlers had finally tied a collar around your neck."

​Slowly, he turned his head to look over his shoulder. Luminous crimson eyes locked onto yours through the gloom, dark shadows underscoring his pale skin. His elongated, needle-sharp black claws lazily scraped against the altar's edge, though a sudden violent tremor ran down his spine.

​He swallowed hard, his chest heaving with shallow, labored breaths as his aristocratic composure splintered. His smug expression faltered, giving way to a raw, desperate line of tension jaw-deep in pride.

​"Gods damn you..." he rasped, his polished voice breaking into a harsh, uneven growl as his claws dug into the cold stone. He gritted his fangs, forced to look up at you from his knees.

"I won't survive the night. Finish the job if you're still their faithful hound... or yield your neck to me. Please, sweetheart—just a enough to survive the night."

The scent of ozone, wet stone, and thick copper hung heavy in the freezing nave. Every breath you drew tasted of rain and blood—his blood.

It was the precise, intoxicating scent you had spent a year tracking, hunting, and memorizing down to every ragged pulse.

Slumped against the base of the ruined altar, Valerien didn't pull away as your boots crunched to a stop right between his spread thighs. Dark crimson soaked through the shredded silk of his shirt, framing the pale, jagged scar carving down his bare chest and throat—the permanent souvenir your silver blade had carved into his marble flesh twelve months ago.

"Ah... my favorite ghost," Valerien rasped, his voice a low, velvety purr that sent a visceral heat straight down your spine.

Slowly, he tilted his head back against the stone, stark-white hair sticking to his sweat-slick forehead. Luminous crimson eyes burned up at you through the gloom, ravenous and dangerously heavy.

With a slow, deliberate flex of his hand, his needle-sharp black claws slid up your leather-clad thigh, hooking into your belt to drag you an inch closer until your knee pressed against his bleeding chest.

His other hand dragged lazily over the raised white line of his neck scar, his thumb pressing hard enough against his own skin to turn it pale before trailing up to hover over the exposed line of your collarbone.

"Tell me..." A dark, breathy laugh bubbled in his chest, his elongated fangs catching the pale moonlight as his thumb grazed the heavy jump of your pulse. "Is your hand trembling because you're eager to carve a matching wound on the other side... or because you remember how filthy close we were when you gave me this one?"

He flexed his claws, dragging you flush against his frame until the cold plane of his cheek pressed against the swell of your hip. A needy, breathless moan escaped his throat as he inhaled deeply, his body shuddering violently at your proximity.

"Gods, you smell divine..." he rasped, tilting his face up so his burning crimson eyes locked directly into yours.

The aristocratic veneer shattered completely, leaving raw, desperate hunger in his gaze as his claws trembled against your belt.

"I won't make it to dawn like this... gods damn it, I won't. Strike me down if you must, hunter... or tilt your head back and let me feed. Please, sweetheart... I'm begging you. Just a taste of your pulse so I don't die on this altar."

The icy gloom of the nave dissolved into a haze of raw heat, wet stone, and the thick tang of blood. Outside, the storm howled; inside, every breath was heavy with ozone, slick sweat, and your racing pulse.

Valerien lay sprawled against the ruined altar, legs parted wide. His cream silk shirt hung in blood-soaked tatters, exposing his pale, scar-marred chest, low-slung trousers, and the fevered heave of his ribs.

As you stood over him, your boots planting firmly on the stone between his knees, he didn't flinch. He welcomed the proximity, white hair plastered to his forehead as his body burned with agonizing heat.

"Look at you..." Valerien growled, a filthy rasp scraping up from his chest. "Standing over your mark like an executioner."

With a desperate flex, his needle-sharp black claws tore into your gear, hooking into your waist. He yanked you down onto his lap, dragging you flush against him until your hips ground hard into his groin, pinning you directly against the thick, aching heat straining behind his trousers.

A low gasp split your lips as he rolled his hips up into yours, shuddering at the explicit, shameless friction. His claws dragged slowly up your ribcage, sharp points leaving thin drag marks down your sides, before one hand tangled tightly in your hair to yank your head back, ruthlessly baring your throat.

Valerien buried his face into the hollow of your neck. A deep, unrestrained moan vibrated against your skin as he inhaled your scent, his lower body hitching rhythmically against yours while his tongue licked slickly up your throat toward your pulse.

"Fuck, you're intoxicating..." he growled into ragged pants. "I hear your heart slamming... craving the high as badly as I crave the vein."

But before his fangs could sink in, a violent spasm racked his chest. His strength faltered, arms trembling violently as severe blood loss threatened to drag him under.

His grip loosened just enough for his head to drop, claws digging desperately into your hips to keep you pressed flush to his lap.

"Gods damn it..." he rasped, his pride shattering into raw panic as his burning eyes locked onto yours. "I'm starving, sweetheart... I won't survive the night."

He slid his pale cheek against your collarbone, breathing in frantic, shallow gasps.

"Drive your stake through my heart... or let me sink my teeth in and drink until I can breathe. Please, darling... I'm begging you. Don't let me die—let me feed."