The Blood That Sings

Chapter 4 -The Quick Fall

I should walk away. I really should. But his eyes, those magnetic burgundy eyes, held me captive. And a part of me, the part that had been yearning for something more than my mother's troublesome shopping habit and this gilded gallery, whispered back: Stay.

To break the crushing weight of his gaze, I took a step back and glanced around the exquisite room, forcing my voice to sound professional, neutral. "The gallery is wonderful, truly a wonderful collection to marvel." I tried to distract myself, not just from his eyes, but from the sudden, aching absence of his hand on my arm. I missed his touch on my back and wanted it there once again; I didn't know why, but the longing was a shocking physical pain.

Rhys smiled, the devastating smile of a man who knows exactly what he owns. "My dear sister would very much love that compliment. She worked very hard on the museum."

I blinked, momentarily thrown. I had assumed that since he shared the name of the gallery, he might be behind it. “So you’re not the man behind this wonderful collection?"

He chuckled, a low, melodic sound that seemed to vibrate through the very core of my heart. “I know my way around art, but it's not part of my expertise. I handle a different side of the family business, a more... dangerous one." He leaned in just slightly, hinting at the dangerous one with a subtle inflection that lowered the temperature around us. His proximity made my skin shiver, but not from fear—it excited me, sparking a desperate, reckless euphoria.

I countered, my voice barely a breath. "Should I be afraid of what you do?"

Our eyes held, his gaze a burning match against my own mounting desire. He was searching, assessing. His mask slipped a fraction, revealing genuine confusion beneath the practiced charm. He was grappling with something internal, something primal.

Rhys’s mouth quirked in a knowing, almost pitying half-smile. "Maybe... but I think what I am might frighten you more."

I should've questions what he meant by it, but when I met his magnetic eyes unflinchingly, the reckless euphoria overruled my senses. A little sense of bravery took over, "You don't scare me, Mr. Marnach."

His voice dropped to a near-silent warning. "Maybe I should. Alicia."

The air thickened, suspending the world outside our charged bubble. His words were a challenge, an explicit invitation to the precipice. It's like every breath I take, I am drawn closer and closer to him. I blinked and took a step back.

"Something about you is genuinely fascinating, Alicia," Rhys admitted, his voice dropping to a raw, honest register. "But I am yet to decide whether to run away or to act on this undeniable pull we have."

Realizing that this pull was not one-sided, I can feel my cheek warmed and in that moment, fueled by the champagne, the crimson dress, and a sudden, shocking desire to burn down my own carefully constructed life, I let go of every fear.

"Act on it then," I dared him.

A flash—a dark, possessive flare—ignited in his burgundy eyes. The smile vanished. The pretense of civilized charm evaporated. He moved, not with the languid grace of the gallery owner, but with the ruthless speed of a predator who has finally claimed his prize. He bridged the tiny space between us, his hand cupping my jaw, thumb brushing my lip, checking for final resistance. Finding none, he lowered his head.

The kiss was an undeniable act of consumption. It was cold, deep, and a claim that demanded everything and offered dangerous oblivion in return. His mouth tasted of darkness and something metallic, something potent and forbidden that shattered every rational thought left in my mind. My own compliant surrender was immediate; the champagne glass slipped from my numb fingers, but instead of landing soundlessly on the plush carpet, he caught it seamlessly. I pressed myself against him, desperate for more of that impossible chill, lost in the fantasy I’d only dared to conjure moments ago.

The surrounding world seemed to dissolve. The music and the glittering chatter of the gallery instantly dimmed; my mind, which was usually a ledger of concerns and budgets, went utterly blank. It was focused only on how his lips had captured mine, and how his hands had instinctively nestled at my waist, guiding me to match his movement and his undeniable, thrilling hunger. His mouth tasted of darkness and something metallic, something potent and forbidden that shattered every rational thought left in my mind.

He pulled back, a ragged, guttural sound escaping his throat. "f**k," Rhys breathed, eyes blazing, wild with an immediate, searing need that terrified and enthralled me. His control was clearly fractured. "This isn't right."

His hands moved from the side of my face, his fingers tracing my lips, sending a dizzying wave of heat through me.

He seemed reluctant, but he pulled away, forcing space between our bodies, but his stare held me fast. The challenge in his eyes was lethal. "You should walk away right now, Alicia, or I am having you to myself tonight."

The decision was absolute, final. In the distance, through the low hum of the crowd, I heard a laugh—bright, familiar—Aurora. I debated with myself for one agonizing second. Aurora. Logic. Budgets. My mother. Everything is boring and safe.

But the pull was too undeniable for me to say no to. The dark promise in his eyes, the taste of him on my tongue, the shocking clarity of my own desire—it was a drug, and I was instantly, helplessly addicted.

I didn't need to speak. I simply leaned forward, resting my forehead against the exquisite silk of his jacket, “Take me, Rhys, I don’t know what this is, but I don't want to run away,” letting the weight of my choice press me into his dangerous orbit. The quick fall had begun.