The light in the room was low, a dim amber glow cast from iron sconces that flickered with uncertain flame. The stone walls surrounding her were cool to the touch, veined with threads of moisture that glistened like faint silver beneath the light. Somewhere beyond the invisible reach of this chamber, the sound of ocean waves broke rhythmically against a distant shore. They echoed faintly through the stones—ghostly and hypnotic.
Though no windows were visible, the salt-heavy air and the mournful cry of the gulls betrayed their nearness to the sea. The scent lingered in the room, mingling with something richer, more immediate—the musky aroma of earth and pine and something darker, something ancient. It clung to him.
Bells chimed distantly, the toll of the hour from a cathedral lost in the shadowed cityscape beyond. Murmurs rose in the air, soft voices carried through unseen corridors, speaking in reverent tones. She was aware of all of it, but most acutely, she was aware of him. Every movement he made pulled the air from her lungs, and her skin tingled as though he willed sensation into being.
He moved with unnatural grace, a predator cloaked in velvet—silent and sure. His eyes, impossibly deep and dark, watched her not with hunger but with an aching reverence. When they locked with hers, she felt unspooled. He looked at her as though he had waited centuries for her breath, her heartbeat, her trembling fingers.
He touched her as if unwrapping a secret, and she melted beneath the weight of his hands. There was no spell, no incantation spoken, but something ancient hummed in the space between them. Magic, perhaps. Or fate.
His fingers found the lace at her hip, and with slow precision, he peeled away the fabric of her gown. Each movement was unhurried, indulgent—as though disrobing a precious relic. The garment slid from her like a whisper, pooling around her, and she lay before him, trembling not with fear, but with anticipation.
Caralee's heart thundered like a war drum within her chest, each beat a rebellion against her quiet life before this moment. She squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed by the rawness of it all. When his hand traced the line of her throat, she gasped, and her lips parted just enough for a sound to escape—soft, startled, unbidden.
That sound thrilled him. She felt it in the way his body tensed, in the way his blips curled ever so slightly at the corners, and his mouth found hers with a kiss that was both tender and claiming. He kissed her as though he could drink her soul from her lips, and she, unable to resist, offered it freely.
She clutched at the silk of his shirt, fingers desperate to hold something tangible. He tasted of dusk and mystery, and the sensation of his mouth on hers stole all reason. He drew back only for a moment, long enough to look at her—truly look at her—as though she were the sum of every poem ever written. Then, with a fluid movement, he shed his shirt and revealed himself to her.
His body was sculpted, every line cast in moonlit shadows. She reached for him, timid at first, her fingertips brushing the hard plane of his chest. But something in the way he looked at her—the fierce tenderness—made her hesitate. She stilled.
He noticed.
With a soft chuckle, low and melodic, he closed the distance between them. "It's alright, my little blushing one," he whispered, his voice the velvet rasp of twilight. "You never need to hesitate when following your desires."
His hand found hers and brought it to his chest, pressing her palm against the space where his heart should be, yet she felt no pulse. It did not beat, and yet she swore she felt something stir beneath her hand—as though he lived only in her presence.
"Take what you need, Cara," he said, eyes gleaming with unspoken emotion. "You are not here by chance. You are mine, as I am yours."
She touched him then with growing confidence, her hands moving over his skin like a question waiting to be answered. He leaned into her touch, eyes closing briefly as though savoring the sensation. And when he opened them again, his gaze pinned her in place.
She gasped when his hand glided down her side, finding the curve of her hip, then lower still. His mouth followed, blazing a trail of kisses down her neck, over her collarbone, to the gentle rise of her breast. Her breath caught, and a shiver ran the length of her spine.
His hunger grew, not for blood but for closeness. He worshipped her skin with lips and hands, with an intimacy that left her breathless. Each brush of his mouth, each graze of his fingers drew her further from the world she once knew and into something eternal.
He traced the contours of her underfed body with his tongue. She noticed that her pale skin was now flushed with blood, and her starved body seemed brimming with vitality. Her hands glided down his back as he returned to her starved lips.
Suddenly, she let out a gasp, eyes growing wider as she felt his desire growing between her legs, and once again, nerves took root, and began to tie her stomach into knots. He paused only when her body stiffened, her breath catching with a sharp intake. Her eyes widened.
Will it hurt?
She did not know how her mortal form would fare against such ancient longing. He was built not just like a man, but like something carved from desire itself. Suddenly, the heat in her cheeks returned tenfold, and shame crept into her thoughts.
He saw it.
His voice wrapped around her like a lullaby. "Do not fear me," he said gently. "Look at me, Cara."
She tried to look away, but his hands were already capturing hers, lifting them above her head, intertwining his fingers through hers. The gesture was firm but tender, anchoring her, grounding her.
Her breath hitched as he knelt between her legs, easing them apart with his own. He did not rush, nor did he speak. He only looked at her as though he had never seen anything so divine. She felt him then, the breadth of him poised at her entrance.
Her eyes met his. And in that moment, she understood. There was no other. No before, no after. Only this.
He moved, and she cried out—a sharp, startled sound, half pain, half wonder. Her body resisted, then yielded. He entered her not like a storm, but like a tide. Steady. Inevitable. Infinite.
The pain was brief, a flicker eclipsed by the weight of his presence. Her body adjusted, wrapping around him, welcoming him. She felt full, complete, like the final piece of a puzzle had fallen into place.
He held her eyes the entire time. Never once looking away. As though anchoring her to him.
And then—
The fire roared beside them. Their kisses deepened. Her moans, once shy, grew bolder. She was no longer a girl in hiding. She was a woman being unveiled.
Their rhythm built like a symphony, slow and aching, then faster, desperate. Her fingers curled around his, their hands still joined above her head. Her body sang with sensation. Her voice broke on his name—Merrick.
Had he spoken it into her mind? Or had it lived there all along?
Time bent. Thought fled. She surrendered to the blinding crescendo, her cry echoing against stone. And in his arms, she burned alive. Not with pain. But with lust. With awakening. With everything she had never dared to dream.
She was his. And he, eternally, was hers.