CHAPTER FOUR: MATILDA'S DESIRE
1009 Words
Night did not settle quietly after the council.
It lingered"thick with craving, heavy in the air like blood before a spill.
Matilda Blackwood.
Matilda stood alone in her chambers, candles unlit, moonlight her only witness.
The mirror across from her felt accusatory.
Pretty girl.
The words returned uninvited.
She studied her reflection too long--the sharp intelligence in her eyes, the curve of her jaw, the faint scar near her temple she had never quite managed to erase. Power she had in abundance--respect, fear, obedience. Yet none of it softened what she saw.
“I won’t,” she whispered, more to herself than the silence.
A voice bloomed gently in her thoughts, sweet and treacherous.
You don’t need a deal with that pretty devil.
You’re the most powerful born of a pure mage and a pure wizard.
You can do anything you want… Matilda.
And that was all it took.
Magic stirred.
Not summoned.
Not commanded.
It answered.
Warmth spread beneath her skin, starting at her throat, blooming outward like sunlight through honey. Her complexion deepened into a smooth, warm bronze glow, flawless and alive. The faint scar near her temple softened, fading until it was nothing more than a memory. Her cheekbones lifted subtly, elegance sharpening her features without stealing their truth. Her lips curved fuller, richer, as though laughter had kissed them too often to forget.
Her eyes,always striking--now gleamed brighter, framed by lashes darker and longer, catching the moonlight like polished obsidian.
She inhaled sharply.
The woman in the mirror was still Matilda.
But enhanced. Refined. Desired.
Control, she told herself.
Yet the magic did not recede.
It lingered--clinging to her like a promise.
And for the first time, Matilda Blackwood did not look away.
Draven Revenor — The Crimson Whisper
Draven walked the lower streets where lamps burned low and souls burned lower. Desire had a scent--sweet, rotting, irresistible. Tonight, it flooded the alleys.
A man clutched a coin that bled gold through his fingers, laughing as his teeth fell out.
A woman prayed for eternal youth while carving wrinkles deeper into her own skin.
Addicts.
Not to magic.
To want.
Draven frowned.
“This isn’t ours,” he murmured.
Hell seduced. It whispered. It waited.
It did not flood.
This--this was a disease without a master.
He stopped.
A pulse brushed his senses. Familiar. Sharp. Refined.
Half-mage. Half-wizard.
Matilda.
---
Matilda pressed a hand to her chest as her heartbeat stuttered. The room felt crowded, as if something unseen leaned in close.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said, forcing steel into her voice.
A shadow shifted near the window.
“Oh--hi there, Matilda. I don’t think we spoke much during the meeting.”
Draven stepped into the moonlight, calm as ever.
His gaze swept over her--slow, deliberate.
“You look…”
A pause.
“Different.”
She spun, spell flaring instinctively--then froze.
“Relax,” he said softly.
“If I wanted your blood, you’d already be asleep.”
Her magic recoiled at his presence--not in fear.
In recognition.
“You felt it too,” he continued. “The pull. The lie that tells you it’s still yours.”
Matilda’s jaw tightened.
“I didn’t make a deal.”
Draven’s red eyes darkened.
“Neither did the others. That’s the problem.”
He stepped closer, voice lower now, almost grave.
“A toxin has filled the air. Anyone can inhale it. No bargains, no signatures, no consent.”
He exhaled slowly.
“Desire doesn’t ask permission anymore. And permission is what kept Hell intact.”
A pause.
“When it stops needing consent… Hell breaks loose.”
Matilda’s chest rose and fell.
“I--what have I done?” she whispered. “Should I reverse it?”
Her voice cracked.
“I just wanted to feel beautiful.”
Draven closed the distance, stopping just short--so close their breaths nearly touched.
“Matilda,” he murmured.
“You are beautiful now.”
He leaned toward her ear.
“I like the way you look.”
Then he stepped back, studying her like art.
She swallowed.
Is this okay? Should I like this?
She had lived for centuries, yet this--this feeling--was new.
Did beauty truly have this much power?
I want to stay this way.
Draven noticed the flush blooming on her cheeks.
Satisfying.
He knew he gained nothing from feeding her desire--yet he did it anyway.
Fun was fun. Even if it fed Hell.
It’s not like I ever cared about anyone’s well-being, he thought coolly.
“Your hair,” he said, lifting a curl between his fingers.
“So soft. Like waves.”
She didn’t stop him.
“It reminds me of the sea,” he continued, absently stroking it.
“And I love the sea.”
His eyes traced her face.
“Your eyes. That depth. Your features,
everything about you feels like water.”
A faint smile.
“How pretty.”
His beauty didn’t help her composure. Vampires were known for it--legends carved in flesh--and never in her long life had she imagined one would stand before her, calling her beautiful again and again.
Matilda forgot-briefly-how dangerous they were.
Forgot manipulation.
Forgot reason.
Draven stepped away at last.
She hated the distance.
“Goodbye, Matilda,” he said softly.
Moonlight framed him at the window, pale skin glowing like something carved from night itself.
For the first time in her life, Matilda desired something.
Him.
“Will I see you again?” she blurted.
“Maybe,” Draven replied, unbothered.
“When?” she pressed, reckless now.
He paused, brows knitting faintly.
I knew she’d fold… but this much?
Am I really that good?
A vampire and a mage--absolutely not.
Yet her blue eyes glimmered in the moonlight.
He couldn’t reject her.
“Soon,” he said at last.
Not a promise.
Not a refusal.
Then he vanished into the dark.
Matilda turned back to the mirror. Satisfaction washed over her in warm waves. She smiled—wide, radiant, unguarded.
Draven was interested.
And suddenly…
that was all that mattered.
- Writer
