Stefania: The Bride Wore Blood

Chapter Four

There are times when I think,

"What if someone had just helped me?"

"If someone, somewhere had been there for me? Would it change anything?”

The suffocating heat was the first thing Manya became aware of as she slowly drifted back to consciousness. Her body felt unnaturally warm, as though the mattress beneath her was burning, despite the soft quilt that clung to her skin.

Her mind felt foggy, still battling against the remnants of whatever nightmare she had been trapped in, but the heat—the unbearable heat—was all she could focus on.

The heat, always the heat, clung to her skin, smothering her. It was the fire. It always began with the fire.

With a groan, she lifted her right hand to her forehead, wincing at the sticky warmth that greeted her skin. It didn’t help the overwhelming sensation of fire that rippled through her veins. She blinked, trying to clear the blurriness from her vision. The world around her was a whirl of shadows and flames.

Suddenly, her surroundings shifted. The soft bed vanished beneath her, and she found herself sitting upright. The familiar weight of her body felt foreign as she pulled her legs up, curling them tightly beneath her. Her chin rested on her knees, and her wide eyes shone, reflecting the dancing flames that surrounded her.

It’s a dream. Just another dream

A cold, strange sensation curled around her ankles and waist, locking her in place, the weight of her fear threatening to pull her under.

They weren't real either, were they?

She tugged again, her muscles straining, but it was futile. The chains—if they were even chains—held her in place, restricting her movements, suffocating her in the silence. Her mind screamed, a frantic, desperate cry for release, for escape from the dark, cold emptiness surrounding her.

The box room—empty, bleak—was her prison. And the memory of her past, of the horrors that came with being trapped, flooded back like a surge of acid. It wasn’t just the dream that scared her. It was the memory of being locked in places worse than this—places that had almost destroyed her.

“This will pass,” she whispered to herself, voice trembling, lips raw with the words she barely believed.

Her body jerked instinctively, but it was futile. The chains, the cold—it was real. It was a crushing pressure, a brutal reminder of her own humanity, even though she no longer truly had it. She was slipping, losing herself to the overwhelming chaos of her mind, drowning in the madness of her own fear.

Wake up. Please, wake up.

Just when she thought she might lose herself to the darkness, she felt a presence. A heat—strong, powerful.

It surrounded her, engulfing her in warmth. Fingers brushed against her neck, soft and gentle, as a soothing voice whispered through the suffocating panic.

“It’s okay. It’s just a nightmare. I’m here, I’m here.”

The voice. His voice. It was the only thing that cut through the fog of terror that clouded her mind. The warmth wrapped around her, pulling her from the abyss she was sinking into. A comfort, a promise that she wasn’t alone.

A warmth pressed against her, strong and solid, pulling her into an embrace, wrapping her in a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed until the moment it enveloped her.

Her fingers shaking, desperate, clung to him as if he were the only thing holding her to reality. She buried her face in his chest, her body still trembling uncontrollably. She could feel his muscles beneath the warmth of his skin, the steady rhythm of his body grounding her, pulling her back from the edge of madness.

“Blood,” she whispered weakly, her throat still tight from the nightmare that seemed to choke her even now. “I... I’m tasty.”

The fire of her hunger clawed at her insides, gnawing at her until it felt like it would consume her whole. It was a thirst that could never be sated, a hunger that never went away. She tried to fight it, tried to ignore it, but it was undeniable—it was inside her, growing darker, deeper.

Kazimir’s grip on her tightened for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, before he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered softly, his voice both comforting and commanding. “I’ll never leave you.”

And then, as though she weighed nothing at all, he lifted her effortlessly into his arms. Her head rested against his shoulder, the warmth of his body sending a wave of relief through her as he carried her, cradling her like something precious, through the darkened halls of the house.

She clung to him, her body feeling like it was on the edge of losing control. The fire of her hunger, the burning heat—it felt like everything she had tried to suppress was coming to the surface.

She buried her face in his chest, her nails digging into the fabric of his clothes. She needed something. Something... anything.

Her grip tightened, fingers trembling as she clung to him, afraid of the monster inside her that always rose when she was at her weakest.

He carried her into the kitchen. She could feel the heat of his body, feel the raw tension building between them with every step. She was hyper aware of every inch of her skin that touched him, her body aching for him in ways she didn't understand, ways that felt dangerous.

He sat her gently on the counter, his hands cool against her skin as he placed the pack of blood before her. His eyes, dark and intense, never left hers as if he could see every raw piece of her. He was seeing her, really seeing her.

Kazimir moved closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering. “Would you like to talk about it?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl, but there was no pressure. Just an understanding that she didn’t have to say a word if she didn’t want to.

Manya could only shake her head, too drained, too lost in the aftermath of the nightmare to speak. Instead, she reached for the pack of blood, her fingers trembling. The cool container is almost a mockery of the fire burning inside her. She ripped it open, her teeth sinking into the plastic, and she drank greedily, each swallowing a temporary balm to the raw hunger that clawed at her insides. But it wasn’t enough. It never was.

Her gaze lifted from the pack to meet him, and she saw the intensity in his eyes, something that wasn’t just concern anymore. There was a hunger in him too.

A fire, darker and deeper than hers. He was watching her, his gaze sweeping over her face, her body, drinking in every small reaction she made. She could feel the pulse between them, that powerful tension humming just under the surface, like a thread ready to snap.

Kazimir then moved, standing between her legs, his hands settling on her hips, pulling her closer. His breath was hot against her skin, his gaze never wavering from hers as she drank. She could feel the possessiveness in his touch, the power radiating from him.

His hands moved to her hips, pulling her a little closer, his fingers pressing into her skin, sending a jolt through her body. His breath was warm on her neck, and she shivered involuntarily.

"You’re shaking," he murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

She didn’t trust her voice, didn’t trust herself to speak. All she could do was nod, though it wasn’t convincing.

She wasn’t alright. But she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Not when his touch was like fire against her skin, not when the heat between them was pulling her closer to him, almost magnetically. She needed him. Desperately.

She set the empty pack aside, but she didn’t pull away from him. His hands were still on her hips, his fingers tightening, possessive in a way that made her pulse race. She wanted to protest, to pull back, but she was already lost in the heat of the moment, in the raw desire that burned through her veins.

She could feel his thumb brushing the curve of her waist, teasing, just the lightest touch, but it sent sparks of sensation ricocheting through her. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the heat, feeling the friction in the surrounding air. The space between them became electric, and her chest tightened in response, a wave of need crashing over her.

“Manya…” His voice was a low growl, a dangerous edge to it that only seemed to make her want him more. She tilted her head back slightly, opening her eyes, and there it was—the hunger. The dark, powerful hunger in his eyes, mixed with something else she couldn’t name. His hands moved to her neck, gently tilting her chin up so their gazes locked.

She was drawn to him, but there was a war inside her. A fight she couldn’t win. A part of her craved this connection, this comfort, but another part of her wanted to push him away before she got too attached.

But, just for that moment, she didn’t care.

She couldn’t look away, couldn’t deny the pull. She reached up, her fingers trembling, but the moment her hands brushed against his chest, the heat flared between them.

And then, without warning, Manya crushed her lips to his, her body tingling with the fire of his kiss. His hands tightened around her, pulling her closer, making her feel the heat of him sear through her skin. The kiss was raw, unrelenting, filled with desire and desperation, a promise made in the silence between them.

The kiss was immediate, intense, and all-consuming—there was no hesitation. No boundaries. Her lips met his with the force of a hunger long denied, a thirst deeper than anything she could put into words. She pulled him closer, hands tangling in his shirt, dragging him toward her as if she couldn’t get enough of him—of the heat, of the feel of his body pressed so firmly against hers.

The fire inside her flared again, but it wasn’t the consuming, uncontrollable kind. No. This was different. This was them. The rawness of her need, the darkness of her desires, and his own answering hunger collided together in a storm of friction and heat. She could feel the pulse of his body, the hard press of his chest against hers, the subtle yet unmistakable shift of his body as he responded to her pull.

Her lips parted, allowing him to deepen the kiss, and she kissed him harder, desperate for more. She could taste the sharpness of his breath, the fire that burned in him just as it did in her. The scent of him, intoxicating and primal, wrapped around her like a drug she couldn’t escape. The cold kitchen, the sterile counter beneath her—everything else disappeared. All that mattered at that moment was the body in front of her, the heat, the connection.

He groaned, low and guttural, against her lips, a sound that sent shivers down her spine. His hands moved from her neck to her back, pulling her closer, his fingers digging into the curve of her waist as if he were afraid she might slip away.

“God, Manya…” he muttered, breaking the kiss for only a moment. His hand slid up, brushing the hair from her face, fingertips grazing her skin like a brand, marking her as his. She shivered at the touch, feeling every nerve in her body come alive.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Her hands slid down, reaching for the hem of his shirt, her fingers shaking with the need to touch him, to feel him, to get closer.

The raw intensity of it hit her like a wave. She had felt hunger before—the thirst, the emptiness that gnawed at her. But this… this was different. This was him. This was him filling the empty spaces inside her, igniting the darkness with a light that was hotter than any flame.

She needed him closer. She needed more. Her hands roamed across his chest, every touch a plea, every touch a silent demand for more of him, more of this connection that was quickly consuming her.

She responded in kind, her hands pulling him even closer, wrapping her arms around him to keep him there, afraid if she let go, the moment would slip away. But there was no slipping away now—no turning back.

He groaned, his hands slipping down her body, sliding over her curves with deliberate intent. He leaned down and placed lips on her skin, trailing down her neck, his breath hot against her skin, and every time his lips brushed against her, a shock of heat surged through her.

She arched into him, pressing her chest against his, her breath hitching as his mouth moved lower. She couldn’t focus on anything except the overwhelming sensation of him, of how every inch of her body seemed to crave more of him. More of this.

“Manya,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire, barely containing the raw urgency in it. “Let me in.”

His words were a command, but they felt like a plea. A desperate plea to get closer, to erase whatever distance remained between them. And she couldn’t deny him. She couldn’t deny herself.

But…this wasn't supposed to happen this way. She was the one who is supposed to draw him in, seduce him into her plan but right at that moment, the opposite was happening. He was pulling her into his dangerous game.

They were both playing a dangerous game, one she wasn't ready to lose.

Her hand reached out to push him away. At least that was the plan, but instead her hand remained still on his broad shoulders, her fingers clashing his shoulders, refusing to obey the command of her logical mind. With a slump on her shoulder, she let her head slide down to his left shoulder.

Her forehead resting on his shoulder, she whispers loudly for his ears. ” I'm exhausted." Her eyes shut tight. ” I just want to rest."

I'm only being like this because I can't help it.