Chapter Six: The Hunger Within
477 Words
The hunger came in waves.
At first, it was a slow ache in her chest.
Then, it moved deeper—low in her belly, pulsing between her thighs, a fire she didn’t know how to extinguish. Her skin was hypersensitive. Even the brush of silk against her bare legs made her gasp.
She tried to ignore it. She tried everything.
Baths. Cold water. Herbs. Prayers.
Nothing worked.
Her blood was burning.
---
She stared at her reflection.
Her eyes looked darker.
Not evil—just deeper. Wild. Like something inside her had woken up and was watching from beneath her skin.
She remembered the taste of Valerius’s kiss. The way his tongue had moved against hers. The pressure of his hands at her waist. The sound of his voice saying her name like a secret.
Her knees buckled.
She gripped the edge of the wash basin.
Gods, what was happening to her?
---
The door opened.
She turned quickly, thinking it was another maid—
But it was him.
Valerius.
He looked… ragged.
Like he hadn’t fed.
Like he hadn’t slept.
His shirt was open at the chest, revealing lean muscles traced with ancient marks. His eyes were red—not glowing. Burning.
"You feel it too," he said hoarsely.
She swallowed. “No.”
“Liar.”
He was across the room in an instant.
His hand slammed against the wall beside her head. Not touching. Not yet.
“Tell me to stop,” he growled, “and I will.”
She couldn’t speak.
“Tell me you don’t want it.”
Still nothing.
His other hand slid up her thigh, just below the hem of her nightdress.
“Lyra…”
“I hate you,” she whispered.
His mouth brushed hers.
“You hate how much you want me.”
And then he kissed her.
---
This kiss was war.
Hot. Desperate. Starved.
Their mouths collided—teeth, tongue, breath. She moaned into him. His hands tangled in her hair. Her body pressed into his, heat meeting heat. Her thighs parted without her thinking, and he lifted her effortlessly onto the dresser, pulling her legs around his waist.
The bond flared.
She felt his hunger, not just for blood—but for her. Her moans, her scent, her surrender.
He pulled back, panting.
“If I take you now,” he whispered, “there’s no going back.”
“I already can’t go back,” she gasped.
His lips crashed into hers again.
---
But just as his hand slid beneath her gown—
He stopped.
He was trembling.
“I’ll break you,” he said, voice cracked. “If I keep going, I’ll lose myself.”
She touched his face.
“Then break me,” she whispered.
He stared at her.
Then vanished.
---
She was alone again.
Shaking. Aching.
And emptier than before.
- Writer
