By the time Lydia summoned the maids back into the bathing chamber, Caralee's head was still swimming with all that had been said. Her mind reeled between disbelief and fragile hope, clutching Lydia's words like a drowning soul might cling to driftwood.
The women moved in near silence, their hands reverent as they helped Caralee from the fragrant bath. Steam curled around her like a veil, softening the candlelit edges of the world. One by one, they dressed her in a simple, flowing gown of pale linen, so fine it felt like whispered silk against her skin. It hung light and airy from her shoulders, unbound at the waist, allowing the fabric to shift with every breath as though she were clothed in mist itself.
They left her hair loose, cascading in wild russet waves down her back. Lydia, with steady fingers, tucked a single pale flower into the thick curtain of her hair, just behind her ear—a fragile white bloom, the kind that only opened under moonlight.
"You are ready," Lydia murmured softly, stepping back as though to admire her handiwork.
But Caralee's throat felt tight, her heart hammering in dread as the maids bowed and slipped out, leaving only Lydia once more by her side.
Together, they left the chamber, moving through the quiet castle halls. Their soft footfalls echoed faintly as they climbed higher and higher, ascending an endless spiral staircase that wound like a silver thread toward the heavens.
Caralee's breath grew shallow. She recognized this path now. She had seen the tower from the courtyard—had wondered, on more than one occasion, what lay within its looming silhouette. Now she knew.
At the final landing, a heavy oaken door stood slightly ajar. Golden candlelight flickered from the sliver of space beyond. And standing before it, clad in nothing but a pale linen tunic and trousers and barefoot upon the stone, was Renauld.
He turned the moment they arrived, and the breath caught in Caralee's throat.
Gone was the polished lord in rigid regalia. Gone was the quiet, disciplined feeder. Standing before her now was something far more disarming—Renauld, the man. Vulnerable, his hair falling loose around his face in soft waves. He bowed deeply, pressing a closed fist to his heart, his mesmerizing eyes lifting to meet hers with quiet reverence.
Lydia reached for Caralee's hand, giving it a final, gentle squeeze.
"My lady," she whispered, voice thick with emotion, "I leave you in Lord Renauld's care."
Without waiting for permission or reply, Lydia bowed low to them both and turned away, disappearing down the tower steps.
Caralee swallowed the knot rising in her throat. Her feet felt like lead as she took one timid step forward, then another.
Renauld reached for her hand. His palm, warm and steady, closed around hers as he pushed the door open wider. Without a word, he led her inside.
The chamber was nothing like she had imagined.
It was round, as if carved from the stone itself, bare save for tall, narrow windows set evenly along every curve of the wall. Through them, the full moon poured silver light like liquid silk, bathing the chamber in a celestial glow so pure it stole the breath from her lungs.
In the very center, draped in glowing white linens, sat a single low bed—circular, wide, and inviting. No pillows, no finery, only purity. It looked like something from another world, set in a sea of moonlight.
Renauld guided her to its edge, then knelt slowly, drawing her down to face him in the center. They sat together on their knees, hands intertwined, breath mingling in the cool night air.
His heartbeat thundered in his chest—she could hear it, feel it. It mirrored her own frantic breathing, both of them trembling beneath the weight of what was to come.
Renauld's voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. "You are a vision, my lady."
Caralee's breath quivered. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.
Without breaking their gaze, Renauld reached for the hem of his shirt and drew it slowly over his head. The fabric fell away, revealing the expanse of his bare chest, chiseled and luminous beneath the moon's touch.
Caralee gasped softly, her cheeks flushing crimson as she averted her eyes, only to find that her peripheral view betrayed her again. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.
"You may look, my lady," he murmured, his voice like honey. "After tonight, it is yours—only yours—to behold, to enjoy."
Tentatively, she turned back, her breath catching in her throat as she drank him in. To her astonishment, he had shed his trousers as well, revealing the full breadth of his masculine form—hard, sculpted, and fully, gloriously aroused.
Her hand flew to her mouth in shock, color blooming even deeper in her cheeks. She dared not breathe, dared not move. But Renauld reached for her face, cupping her cheek with a single finger, tracing down the delicate line of her jaw.
Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to her trembling lips, soft at first, then deeper, claiming her mouth with growing hunger. She melted against him, her hands finding his shoulders, clutching him as though afraid she might fall.
His hands slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him. A small, helpless whimper escaped her lips as she felt the heat of him pressing against her belly, hard and urgent. She arched into him, her body betraying every shred of modesty.
His kisses grew bolder, his tongue teasing the seam of her lips until she parted them, allowing him to taste her fully. He moaned softly, his hands wandering, gripping the hem of her gown and lifting it over her head in one smooth motion.
Her bare skin prickled under the cool air, her breasts spilling free with a slight bounce that made her want to vanish into the floor. But Renauld only stared, his eyes wide with wonder.
"You are a dream," he whispered reverently, cupping her face again before capturing her mouth in another fevered kiss.
His hands roamed lower, cupping her breasts, teasing her already-pebbled nipples until her fangs descended of their own accord. She broke the kiss, gasping, trembling with both fear and desire.
Renauld leaned back on the bed, baring his throat with a quiet groan of surrender. "Come here, my lady," he whispered. "Let me guide you."
With shaking limbs, she climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs. His hands slid to her hips, guiding her with infinite care as he aligned himself with her entrance.
"Breathe with me," he murmured against her lips.
Slowly, achingly, he drew her down onto him, inch by exquisite inch, until he filled her to the brink. She gasped, clutching his shoulders, trembling with the overwhelming sensation of being stretched and claimed so completely.
He moaned low in his throat, gripping her hips tightly as he lifted and lowered her again, each thrust deeper, slower, more devastating than the last. Their breaths tangled, their bodies moved as one, the rhythm building, cresting like a tidal wave threatening to drown them both.
When she began to ride him in earnest, grinding her hips with growing urgency, Renauld groaned aloud, burying his face between her breasts, kissing and sucking at her sensitive skin until she was gasping his name.
She rolled her head back in ecstacy. He could feel her inner folds quake and slowed his rhythm. "Not yet," he said breathlessly.
At the edge of their release, he stilled her hips with trembling hands and tilted his head, baring his throat once more. "Now, my lady," he rasped. "Take what is yours."
Her hunger roared to life, her fangs piercing his skin with a cry of desperation. His blood flooded her mouth—warm, thick, intoxicating. She drank deeply, greedily, her body quaking as at that exact moment he continued to thrust up into her with savage need. Both of them were soon at the precipice of climax, and as she took the blood into her mouth, quenching her thirst, his pleasure at its peak from her venom, and just as she reached her climax, their pleasure spiraling higher and higher until—
—until the world broke apart.
The sensation of her soft warmth tightening around him like a vice pushed him over the edge, and they both rode a tidal wave of amplified pleasure into oblivion, floating in space, swimming in moonlight. Something magical happened.
In that moment of emotional ecstasy, she started to feel something tingling in his blood as she gulped it down, it was as if electricity was arcing within her, zapping her from the inside. The arcs of electricity seem to solidify and elongate, stretching from her belly, up her throat, out her mouth into his neck winding their way through every vein, and from the opposite end winding, coiling around her still, unbeating heart.
She opened her eyes wide and as she looked around, feeling like they were floating above the bed, swimming in the light of the full moon. Naked, and still connected they rode out their climax together. But she could see more, she could see the golden tendrils shooting back and forth between them weaving in and out. Just like when she exerted her will before, but this was different.
This must be their combined will, the will of the natural world, of the blood itself. Once it had woven its way into every blood vessel and vein of his body, entered his arteries and heart's ventricles. Coiled tightly around her heart, dug its roots down into the flesh of it, suddenly, the tendrils acted like some sort of defibrillator, and like the electricity it had been before, it pulsed. Shocking them both from the inside out. In sync. Caralee clung tightly to Renauld as her breath was stolen from her chest. She tried to gasp, her eyes wide as can be. She looked at Renauld, who wore a look of concern as he held her tightly.
Caralee's body seized as something electric crackled through her veins. The blood between them shimmered, the golden tendrils of light erupting from her mouth, and woven through every fiber of Renauld's body. They floated, weightless, tangled in moonlight and magic, their souls laid bare.
Her heart—silent since the night of her turning—lurched in her chest with a violent shudder. She gasped, her body convulsing, clutching Renauld as her lungs dragged in a ragged, trembling breath.
She felt her heart beat, in perfect syn and unison with Renauld. As if they shared but one heart.
Renauld held her tightly, his face alight with wonder. "Cara," he whispered, brushing tears from her cheeks. "Cara, my lady… your heart… it beats."
She collapsed against him, sobbing, trembling, and breathless.