#vampire!rhysand

A custom made dress and mask were delivered to your doorstep, as well as a carriage to take you straight to the palace.

You arrived at the same time as all other mortals did. They rushed inside, buzzing with excitement, while you took a deep breath and entered last.

The place was beautiful, elegant, you had to admit, and this was only the outside. But you tried not to look impressed. You grabbed the hem of your gown and started ascending the stairs. You looked up, still taking in the design, when your eyes met a masked man’s on the balcony. You dropped your gaze and went inside, not paying much attention to who that man was. 

You roamed the grand hall before stepping into the ballroom. The vampires were friendlier on this night, more sociable, and of course more charming and seductive. You knew that the mortals were invited to be feasted upon, even though guaranteed a safe return, it still repulsed you.

You just hoped you’d go unnoticed and no one would approach you. 

But oh, you were so wrong. 

You heard the clinking of silverware against glass as everyone quieted and turned toward the marble stairs. The host, dressed in black, was standing atop them. He greeted his guests with a toast before his eyes met yours. It was the same man from before. You recognized those violet eyes.

As he finished his speech and started descending, you pushed through the crowds to disappear. You had a feeling he was after you. And you weren’t wrong.

You reached the buffet table and began filling a plate. As you straightened up again, you felt a strong presence behind you.

His fangs grazed your neck. “Careful, darling. Another step back and I’ll sink my fangs in.”

Your body went rigid. You did not want to be feasted upon. Not now, not later. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

You were about to turn to face your predator, but he kept you in place, facing forward. “Uh, uh, uh. I didn’t say you could turn around.”

“I didn’t know there were so many rules,” you shot back.

“There aren’t. The rules are simple: no violence, no boring talk, and everyone indulges in pleasure,” he explained.

“I am. Food is pleasure,” you countered.

He chuckled. “It’s not the only pleasure. Allow me to demonstrate.”

“No!” you blurted. Then you cleared your throat when you realized how quickly you’d refused, heart hammering in your chest. “I prefer to eat first. I haven’t eaten all day. I wouldn’t want to faint from blood loss.”

He nodded, stepping back. “Fair enough. I’ll leave you to it…For now.” And then he was gone.

You were finally able to breathe again. You had to get out before he detected you again. You ate the food first, and it was nothing like you’d tasted before. Now you understood why many mortals wanted to come here.

As you finished eating, you headed to the exit discreetly, checking your surroundings. Luckily, he was nowhere to be found, or so you thought. When you turned your head towards the exit again, you bumped into him. Shit!

“Going somewhere, Miss?” He smirked.

“Uh, I just wanted to get some fresh air. It’s hot in here,” you lied.

“Tell me, little mortal, are you always this ungrateful?”

Your eyes widened. “What? I didn’t mean to–”

“You have been lying to me from the start. Why are you here? Because you clearly are not interested in having anyone’s fangs in your throat.” He stepped in, your escape route shrinking to nothing.

“I just…”

“No lies.”

You exhaled sharply. “Fine. I didn’t want to come, but I knew there would be consequences. My friends nominated me without my knowledge, and now I’m here.”

He laughed. “A mortal who doesn’t want to attend the ball ended up taking the place of many others who would’ve killed to take your spot. Tell me, what should I do with you?”

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. You asked for the truth.”

“I did, and now you’ve given it to me.” 

There was a beat of silence before he grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the dance floor. “I have decided. Dance with me. If I’m pleased with you, I’ll let you go.”

You stumbled forward, your hand automatically pushing at his chest to steady yourself. His hand on your waist caught you with ease, while his other clasped yours.

“And if you’re not?” you asked, anxious to hear his answer.

“Then I’ll devour you,” he said coldly.

Your throat bobbed. You couldn’t dance, not really. And definitely not in a professional manner. Yet you gathered yourself, and when the music played, he led and you followed.

He leaned in to whisper in your ear, his hand tightening around yours. “If you falter, I’ll bite.”

Dammit. This wasn’t what you signed up for. But then again, there was a big chance some disgusting vampire was going to sink his teeth into you anyway. And though their Lord appeared handsome behind the mask, you despised him for the way he spoke to you.

“What’s your name?” he demanded.

“Y/n.”

“Y/n.” He repeated. “What a nice name. It suits you.”

As the dance progressed, you found yourself keeping up with him. But when the music died, he didn’t let go of you. Instead, he dragged you out of the hall. You didn’t focus on the surroundings or where you were; your eyes were only on your wrist held captive in his grip.

A rush of cool air hit you, he’d brought you back to the same balcony where he’d stood when you first saw him. He was standing behind you, hands on your waist. He nipped at your earlobe. “You look exquisite in the mask I chose for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You chose the mask?” 

“Of course. You see, everyone here contributes to the masks sent to mortals. Of course, usuallyI send the most. But this year, I was bored of it all. So I decided to send only one. And you were the lucky girl to receive it.” 

He inhaled your scent slowly, as if committing it to memory, fingers tightening on your waist. “So imagine my disappointment,” he murmured against your throat, “when you pulled away from my bite as if it were poison. When you lied to my face just to avoid my fangs.”

His thumb slid up to the hollow beneath your jaw, tilting your head. “And then to find out you didn’t even want to be here…” A soft, dangerous laugh ghosted against your skin. “I’ve been deciding what to do with you ever since.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint.” Your voice broke, caught somewhere between thrill and fear.

“Stop apologizing,” he ordered, irritation flickering beneath his tone. “Tell me something, Y/n. Would you rather I let you back out there, unmarked, for another vampire to claim?”

“No!”

“Then tell me what I should do.” His hand slid from your waist as he reached for the ribbon securing your mask, untying it with slow precision before letting it fall away. “Turn around.”

You obeyed. And when your eyes met his, something inside you snapped into place. Recognition. Danger. Inevitability.

His touch was gentle as he cupped your cheek, and then he removed his own mask. Your breath stuttered when his face was revealed, too beautiful and too predatory all at once. 

He stepped forward, guiding you backwards into the room with nothing more than his presence and the pressure of his gaze. You couldn’t hold it for long. He was too intense, too consuming. You were being seduced, deliberately, expertly, and there was nothing you could do about it but to give in and surrender.

Only when your heel nudged something soft did you finally glance to the side.

A large, elegant black bed. 

Fuck. You were in his bedroom. 

He spun you smoothly, your back meeting his chest as he positioned you before a wall-long mirror. One hand splayed over your stomach, the other dragging slowly along your arm. His touch sending shivers down your spine. 

His fangs descended, grazing the tender skin of your throat. “Tell me you want it.”

You swallowed hard, his gaze locking you in place as you nodded, helpless despite yourself.

His grip tightened around your stomach, drawing you flush against the solid line of his body. His breath brushed your ear as he murmured, low and commanding. “Keep your eyes on the mirror.” 

And then he sank his fangs into your throat. 

You gasped, pain and pleasure tangling together.

“Don’t flinch,” he coaxed against your skin, “Pleasure always stings at first.”

Your lips parted, eyes drifting shut. 

“I said keep them open,” he murmured against your skin. “Watch how beautiful you look with my fangs in your throat.”

And you did. You watched how he fed from you, the way his violet eyes stayed locked on yours, the way his lips were stained crimson.

It was all true. It felt euphoric, better than anything you had ever known. Your knees buckled, but his arm stayed locked around you, holding you upright as heat unfurled through your veins.

He kept you pinned firmly from behind, one hand still splayed possessively across your lower belly to hold you flush against his hips. His fangs remained buried in your throat, drawing slow pulses of your blood as a shuddering moan spilled from your lips. The pain disappearing, replaced by ecstatic pleasure.

Through your disheveled gown, you could feel the hard, cool press of his body and the unmistakable evidence of his arousal grinding against the small of your back. A strangled whimper escaped you as he rolled his hips in time with the greedy suck of his mouth at your neck. Your own hands fluttered upward, desperate for purchase, until your fingers finally seized his forearm, clutching the sleeve of his coat as wave after wave of bliss crashed over you. 

In the mirror, you could see a flush blooming across your chest and cheeks, your lips parting around a series of breathless moans as he took his fill of your essence.

Eventually, he slowed down, withdrawing his fangs from your throat with a final, languid lick over the punctured wound. A thin trail of scarlet escaped down your skin, but he was swift to chase it with his tongue, catching every last drop and sending a helpless shudder through your entire body. 

His head lifted, and in the mirror you glimpsed his lips painted red with your blood, a sight that should have terrified you, yet instead made heat pool deep in your core. 

His eyes never left yours as he slowly, deliberately licked his lips clean, savoring the taste of your life on his tongue. You swayed, lightheaded and boneless, but he held you steady against him, the smirk curving his lips was one of dark satisfaction.

With preternatural grace, he spun you to face him, your full skirt swirling around your legs as your knees buckled again. You collapsed against his solid chest, your fingers tangling desperately in the lapels of his coat for balance.

A low, dark chuckle rumbled from him at your weakened, pliant state, and he brushed a stray lock of hair away from your damp cheek. The twin puncture marks on your neck were still slowly oozing, so he bent and pressed a gentle, open-mouthed kiss over the wounds, whether to numb the ache or simply to claim you again, you couldn’t tell.

Before you could form another thought, he swept you up into his arms in one effortless motion, cradling you against his chest and carrying you to his luxurious bed. With deliberate care, he lowered you onto it, laying you out across his cool silk sheets. Your body sunk into the plush mattress as he loomed over you, each of his movements radiating authority and restrained hunger.

Your head fell back against the pillows, and he followed you down in a fluid motion. The weight of him pressed you pleasantly into the mattress pinning you in place beneath his solid frame. You could feel the cool silk sheets against the hot, bare skin of your back where the gown had slipped low, baring your shoulders. A soft sigh slipped from you as his lips trailed your jaw to the hollow of your throat.

His fingers tugged deftly at the delicate straps of your masquerade dress, sliding them down your arms to further expose the expanse of your chest. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, the muscles beneath his shirt hard. You gripped him, needing something solid to anchor you amid the dizzying waves of sensation.

A wicked smirk played on his lips as he shifted lower, settling himself between your parted thighs. The tulle and silk of your skirt rustled as he pushed the fancy fabric up, bunching it high around your hips to bare your legs.

His hands slid slowly along the outside of your thighs, then inward, spreading them further apart. He paused to drink in the sight of you laid out before him, hair fanned across his pillows, dress rucked up indecently, chest heaving, and his eyes flashed with lustful approval.

One hand glided up the inside of your thigh, his thumb teasing along the sensitive skin until it hovered just shy of the apex of your legs. You could feel the heat of his touch achingly close to where you needed him most. You shifted your hips in a silent plea, but he only smirked and pressed his broad palm to your lower abdomen to hold you down firmly. 

The message was clear: you would receive what he chose to give, only when he chose to give it. A whiny whimper escaped you at his teasing refusal, but it only made his grin sharpen.

For a moment he released you, just long enough to strip off his coat and toss it aside, followed by the swift undoing of buttons and buckles. Scars from centuries-old battles marked his hard, muscled skin. Your mouth went dry at the sight, but your eyes were inevitably drawn lower as he kicked off his boots and worked open the front of his trousers. Through heavy-lidded eyes you caught a glimpse of his arousal, thick and rigid, before he moved over you once more. 

He brushed a soft kiss against your chin before kneeling between your thighs and slipping his arms beneath your knees, lifting and hooking your legs around his waist. Then you felt his hardness brush against your inner thigh, your entire body responding with a jolt of need. Your legs tightened around his hips of their own accord, trying to urge him closer, He gave a throaty chuckle at your impatience, the sound both indulgent and taunting.

Gripping your hips in his strong hands, he positioned himself at your entrance. For an agonizing heartbeat he hovered there, the tip of him nudging teasingly against your slick folds, sending sparks skittering through your core. Your nails dug into the sheets, bracing yourself. 

Then, with a slow, inexorable roll of his hips, he pushed into you. Breath left your lungs in a shattered cry as he stretched and filled you inch by excruciating inch. His eyes fluttered closed for a second, a hiss of pleasure escaping through his clenched teeth as your warmth enveloped him fully. He sank into you to the hilt, burying himself in your tight, yielding heat until your bodies were joined completely.

You lifted your shaking hands to touch him, fingertips skimming over the tense muscles of his arms. But before you could wrap your arms around his shoulders, he captured your wrists in one swift movement. A startled gasp caught in your throat as he pinned your arms above your head, pressing them into the pillows. His long fingers easily encircled both your delicate wrists, shackling them beneath him.

He set a punishing rhythm, each powerful thrust driving him deeper, eliciting a new gasp or moan as he claimed your body over and over. 

Your thighs tightened around his waist, ankles locking behind his back as if to keep him from ever leaving your depths. 

You turned your face, and his mouth found yours in a searing kiss, the copper tang of your own blood still on his tongue. The intimacy of the kiss was all-consuming as you tasted yourself and him, a mingling of essence that made your head spin. He swallowed your moans as his pace quickened. Your body was tightened around him, spiraling toward release with dizzying speed. And seeing how close you were, he tore his mouth from yours and buried his face in the curve of your neck. His hot breath fanned over the fresh bruises his lips had left on your throat. You tilted your head back automatically, giving him access to claim you there once more.

“Yes...please…” you managed to gasp, though you weren’t even sure what you were begging for, more of his bite, more of his body, more of everything. 

A dark, satisfied growl rolled out of him in response. 

At the very brink of your climax, he sank his fangs into you again, on the untouched side of your neck.

The dual sensation of his thick shaft driving into you at the same moment his fangs pierced your flesh sent you flying over the edge. Pleasure exploded through you like lightning. You screamed, a raw, helpless sound as your body convulsed around him. Your vision blanked out, your thighs clamped around his waist, holding him tight as you shattered.

He snarled against your throat, his own control finally snapping at the taste of your climax on his tongue. With a final, shuddering thrust that pressed you flush together, he found his release. A feral groan vibrated against your neck as he spilled himself into you.

He loosened his grip on your wrists and carefully slid his fangs from your neck, licking over the new punctures to seal them. The sharp sting faded into a gentle burn that only made you nuzzle weakly into him. Both of you were shaking still, chest heaving as you drew ragged breaths. A sheen of sweat and a few streaks of blood glistened on your entangled bodies.

He eased your limp arms down from above your head, and you immediately draped them around his neck, unwilling to let any space come between you. 

With a satisfied rumble, he collapsed onto the bed beside you, remaining joined to you so that you ended up half atop him, your cheek resting on his bare chest.

One of his arms snaked around your waist, holding you possessively close, while the other hand came up to stroke your hair away from your damp face.

For a long, languid moment, neither of you moved. The only sounds in the chamber were your slowing breaths and the faint, muffled music filtering in from the distant ballroom. The atmosphere remained thick with the charge of what transpired.

Then he finally spoke. “I’m keeping you.”

You were still panting but managed a reply. “I’m not a pet.”

His lips curved into a smirk against the top of your head. “No. But you’re mine now.”

Fingers trace over your throat, pockmarked with tiny puncture wounds, skin aching around the slightly swollen marks. Memories of the fear and alarm upon feeling those gleaming incisors skating across your neck rush in, the overpowering strength of his hands on your body, shoving your head to the side so he could drink deeper. The hot spill of blood as it dripped down over collar bones, the mad frenzy in previously sharp and clear eyes. He’d seemed utterly undone, at the mercy of his own hunger as he’d fed.

Your pulse spikes in your chest, fear diluting in your lifestream, breathing deepening as you hastily peer around the room. Searching for something that could possibly help keep the beast off of you. It’s a stupid thought, you know that—why would he have the means to his demise so readily available? In his own home, no less. That would be idiotic.

“Sleep well?” A low, silken voice asks, making you scream, flinching back as you snap your head to the doorway. He’d entered on completely silent feet—the door hadn’t even made a sound. “Now, now. There’s no need for that,” he chides soothingly, “you’re alive and well. No need for theatrics.” But your nails are practically tearing at the sheets with how tight you’re gripping them. Something like him—something that drinks the blood of women, relishing in draining away their youth—can be nothing but pure evil. Hell incarnate.

“Stay away from me,” you grit out lowly, back pressed against the plush cushioning of the headboard. “You have no power over me. Let me leave.”

He’s quiet for a moment, watching you intently, before lowering his head, a mix between a sigh and a laugh huffing from his lips. Raises gleaming violet to pierce into you, as if able to pin you to the bed with a glance alone. “I’m afraid I won’t be doing that,” he says amicably, still in that velvety voice of his, like satin brushing teasingly across your skin. “You see, little devil, I have lived centuries in this world. Travelled far and wide, sampled a number of women and men alike, and yet I’ve never once come across a taste quite as exquisite as yours.” Protectively, you raise your palm to your throat, as if blocking the skin from his view may serve a chance for freedom—or undo what he’s already found.

“Because of that,” he continues leisurely, as if he hasn’t turned your life upside down within the span of a breath. “I will be keeping you for myself, here, in my castle. Is everything clear?” You blink, dread sluicing through your veins.

“I’m not— You can’t do that.” You splutter quietly, incredulity and fear drenching your tone in horror. “I’m a living person. You can’t just lock me up. That’s— That’s wrong.” You manage to whisper, too shocked to bellow.

“You don’t have a choice here. Well, not one you’d like,” he muses idly, hands sliding into the pockets of his dark, tailored trousers. “What is it?” You grit out anyway, attempting to conceal your trembling fingers.

The charming smile fades from his elegant mouth, slipping into something blank and unreadable. “Either, you can agree to my generous offer and remain mine in this castle,” he says, voice turning to freezing silk, prowling toward you in the low thunderous light. “Or, I can take my final drink now, and let you pass on into the next world—or rather, into the next half world.” He reaches the edge of the bed, but you’re too terrified to move.

Even as he pulls his hand from the neatly stitched pocket of his dark trousers, you remain still. Petrified, until his icy hand settles on your throat, thumb and index finger pressing to the soft sides beneath your jaw, tilting your head to him. “You should know: I would not be kind if you forced me to turn you,” he murmurs tenderly, leaning over the bed, bracing his forearm against the headboard. “You are quite to my tastes,” he says softly, lowly, “I would hate to see you become a servant, instead of what you could be.”

“And what is that?” You manage to ask shakily, forcefully pushing yourself as deep into the headboard as you can.

Glittering violet briefly scans your features, then the edges of his mouth are curving, dipping down to nose at your throat. Sharp, piercing teeth graze the shell of your ear. “Cared for,” he answers, cold lips brushing the erogenous skin, fingers flexing around your neck. “Desired,” he murmurs softly, dipping lower, skimming the erratic pulse of your life force. “Cherished.”

Incisors scrape, and you flinch, muscles contracting with fear.

He pulls back, staring down at you from not even a breath away.

“So, my dear,” he muses, “what will it be?”

You stare at him, eyes widened, pupils no-doubt dilated with fear. You swallow thickly, overwhelmed by the intensity of him, the heaviness of his presence, the dominating sense of self rolling from his powerful figure. Pulse spikes with the thought him ending your life—would the rightness of thwarting him be worth an eternity of obeying his word? At the mercy of his absolute power?

“You wouldn’t ever taste my blood again if you turned me,” you rasp, trying to force the tremors from your voice. “You’d lose the exact thing you’re trying to gain.” Sharp eyes flash, his jaw working at your brazen answer. “Are you sure you want to test that, little devil?” He asks, voice rougher than before, anger and hunger kindling in his eyes. “I’m offering you a life of comfort and care in exchange for your compliance. Anyone can see you’re gaining much more than I am out of this agreement.”

“Which is exactly why I know you won’t turn me,” you return shakily. “Why give so much for something so unimportant, right?”

A muscle feathers in his jaw, then he’s pushing away from you roughly. “You’re being foolish,” he warns, eyes glittering with hunger. “Maybe I won’t turn you, but I believe you’re somehow forgetting I don’t need your permission to take what I want.” His fingers flex at his sides, shoulders rolling subtly before he’s sliding hands into his pockets. As if to calm the urge to pin you down and drink.

You stiffen in your place. Reconsidering his offer. If you refuse, but he decides to take anyway, where will you be kept? In some subterranean dungeon, left to lie and rot on a damp pallet of hay? Locked in some long-forgotten room, only allowed out when he wants to feed?

Rhysand senses your doubt, honing in on it like the beast he is, able to smell the indecision. “Think about it,” he says calmly, earlier hunger banished, not a trace to be found. “I have some visitors to see to, but will be back this evening for your answer,” he smiles politely, turning for the door but pausing at the threshold. “If you need a reminder of what it feels like…” You could swear his eyes darken with glee at the way your muscles contract, legs pressing together as you remain huddled to the head of the bed.

“Until tonight, then,” he grins, gleaming white teeth glittering in the low light. The door sweeps to a close behind him, leaving you alone with a choice to make. A sense of impending doom weighing in your blood.

————

You have to get out. It’s the only viable solution.

You don’t want to be stuck as a glorified chicken for the rest of your life—used until you’ve grown too old, then devoured entirely. You have no preferable choice, so you’ll have to make your own, and escaping seems like a pretty good idea.

Easing down a breath, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the pale blue cotton of your nightgown swishing softly at bare ankles. Peering around the room, you search for anything that could be used as a weapon against a…whatever he is. Some blood-sucking devil.

The neatly preserved figure of gleaming armour catches your gaze—if a weapon is to be lying about somewhere, surely it would be here? With a spark of hope in your chest, you creep forward on what you hope are quiet feet. Not that you should be too concerned. Despite how silently he can move, the castle seemed intimidating in size, and you doubt he’d be able to pick up footsteps from so much as a corridor away.

Your pulse spikes as you eye the short scabbard wrapped over the waist of the armour, slightly shaky fingers pulling on the string to move it around. There’s a handle poking from it’s top, and your heart stumbles in your chest. With trembling hands, you pull the string loose, tying it instead around your own waist, thumbing the blade free experimentally. It’s so clear you can make out the gleaming wetness to wide, frightened eyes.

Breathing deeply, you return the blade to its new home at your hip, tip-toeing for the door, hoping he will have left it unlocked. Underestimating your drive to keep your own pathing. You will not have choice taken away from you.

The handle turns, and the door swings open on well-oiled hinges.

A cool wave of relief sweeps over you, pulling it open to peer down the long, stretching hallways either side. Nothing out-of-the-ordinary to be found. Except maybe the blood-red carpeting. You should have realised how strange it was, how macabre the whole setup is. Maybe it’s a lovely colour, but not one you slather your entire house in, let alone a whole castle.

Shaking your head, you slip out over the threshold, silently bringing the door to a close at your back, before making your way down the stretching hallway. You move silently, keeping to the edges of the carpeted floor—as if you’d be able to hide from him. In the pale gown, you stick out like freezing blue lips in a rose garden.

Following the path he had taken you to dinner, you manage to relocate the entrance hall, heart beating wildly in your chest, eyes darting left and right frenetically, searching for movement. It’s an open stretch. Once you’re out there, you’ll have to go straight for the door. There’s nowhere to hide yourself once you step out into the hallway.

You take in a steady breath, then step out into the open.

Silently, you make your way as swiftly as possible down the curving case, feet padding softly along the well-polished boards, trying to keep sound to a minimum. The heavy-looking door looms before you, menacingly staring as you approach. Hairs raise at the nape of your neck, but you push away the apprehension, hands shaking as you reach for the knob.

It doesn’t shift.

You try pulling, but nothing.

You twist it harder, using both your hands, but to no avail.

Mentally you curse—you’d hoped it would be unlocked like last time. He’s seemingly taken some precautions, then. You’ll need to find another way out, or maybe the keys… Where would keys be?

They could be anywhere, you realise despairingly, and in a castle this large, you don’t have the time to spend painstakingly searching for them. You’ll have to find another exit. Every home has a backdoor, there must at least be one for the servants he mentioned—there’s no way they’d be allowed entrance through this hall.

“Who are you?”

You scream, jolting away from the voice, turning to find a man at your side—he’d been completely silent, just like Rhysand. You stumble back, hands shaking at your sides as you take in his towering figure. Wearing dark leather, surrounded by the glowing red of the castle, he cuts a terrifying silhouette. With black hair that come to his shoulders, and the eyes that feel like they can pierce straight through bone, you can feel in your blood he’s the same creature as the Lord.

The blade at your hip weighs heavily, but you know from a single look there’s no way you’d be able to do anything with it. You’re more likely to end up slicing yourself open, dripping over the blood-red carpet.

His lips part in an almost wolfish grin as he takes you in properly. “Oh, I see,” he drawls, stepping closer. “You’re one of Rhys’, aren’t you?”

“Please…” you breathe, heat building behind your eyes. “I don’t—…I just want to leave…” Lungs spasm with fear, and his nostrils flare delicately, before taking a step back. The man raises his arms placatingly, exposing his palms in a sign of peace. “I’m not stopping you,” he says lowly, still baring his teeth in a smile.

Your tongue swipes out to wet your lips, staggering a step back hesitantly, then another. Never taking your eyes from his hulking figure.

Your muscles involuntarily contract with soul-deep fear as a blood-curdling snarl rips through the castle’s interiors. A wave of bone-crushing terror smacks into you, like a flash of lightening followed by the roll of thunder as something dark pulses through the building. The man’s smile widens at the sound, turning a little feral. “Better be on your way,” he warns roughly, voice like gravel. “Before the beast catches you.”

Heart pounding, you spin on your feet and run.

You could swear his low chuckle follows on your heels as you sprint from the room, nearly stumbling over your own toes as you pass over carpets and rugs, running through doorways and dodging around rich, plush armchairs and large, heavy instruments. Fire crackles in one room but you have no time for pause, feeling that power closing in no matter how far you run.

Feet slam on the polished wood of floorboards, and you spot an open door down the stretching corridor. Without care for noise, you dart inside, snapping the door to a close, hurriedly taking in your surroundings—it’s a frighteningly large library. Cases of books tower on wide-set shelves, neatly stacked but tightly packed, perfect to hide within.

Not giving it a second thought, you make for the towering furniture, darting between the aisles as quickly and as quietly as possible, keeping your eyes wide for any sign of movement. If you can just wait until you feel this cloying power pass, you can try venturing out again.

You think back over the conversation which must have been in the morning if he said he would return at night. He’d said he’d had guests to see to—that man must have been one of them, but how many are there? Are they all like him? They must be. Unless they bring humans along with them? What if there are more beasts prowling the halls for you now that signal has practically shot lightening into anything capable of breathing within the castle?

“You aren’t supposed to be in here.”

Muscles go taut, stomach tightening as cold dread ices your skin.

You turn rigidly on your heel, coming to face another man, wreathed in darkness. Silky hair gleamed in the low library light, his sharp hazel eyes pinning you to the spot with a single look. You shake your head, managing a single wobbly steps back, before he’s slowly prowling forward, gaze trained on you like he’s finally locked in on his prey.

Turning, you stumble away, running back through the tall cases, now understanding their disadvantage. He can’t see you, but you also can’t see him. Fighting your growing terror, you break from the shelves, running toward a door that will no doubt only lead you deeper into the castle, separate from the one you came in from. But he appears before you in a blur of shadow, and you smack into the stone-like muscle of his chest—utterly freezing, utterly lifeless. Death wreathed in darkness.

You still in your spot, staring up into sharp, predatory eyes with visible terror, vaguely remembering the blade at your hip.

“What are you doing here?” He asks lowly, hands kept casually at his sides, but you don’t doubt he could strike at any moment should the desire take him. “I— Please,” you beg, internally screaming for your body to move, to turn and run from the beast before you clad in the skin of an angel. “Just let me go,” you breathe shakily, stumbling back.

The man watches you silently, coldly. “You know that’s not going to happen,” he says shortly, “either you can obey and I’ll escort you back to your room, or you can make this painful.” Your eyes widen, pressure building quickly, the blade practically searing into your skin. If you comply, you’ll probably be locked up. You’ll never escape, and choice will have been taken from you. But if you fight… Even against something as terrifying as him… It will be on your own terms.

But you’re not a fighter—at least, not in the face of this particular beast. The best you can do it run.

You spin on your heel, turning for the door, but a stone-cold hand has already gripped your shoulder and you cry out in pain. His hold is like ice, stern and unforgiving. “Fine,” he mutters, making to—

“Hold on, Az,” that voice drawls, pure terror slicing through your stomach.

One was impossible enough, but two? There’s no way. You’re going to die.

The man—Az, he’d said—stops, his grip lightening by a fraction. “She’s Rhys’, Cass. We should return her.” Muscle trembles beneath his grip, neck craning to turn to spot the other man at your back, having come in through the hallway. He shrugs nonchalantly, as if the warning gleam in the shadowy one’s eyes doesn’t bother him. “That’s his fault for letting her out,” he drawls, coming to stand closer behind you. Too close.

His hazel eyes drop to yours, that wolfish smile breaking across his lips. “Besides,” he says lowly, “you know he only keeps the good ones around for more than one meal.” The man—Cass—steps closer, hands going to your waist as he lowers to your throat, pulse spiking as he noses along the smooth expanse. “This is it,” he mumbles, lips brushing your skin. “This is what I picked up, Az. She smells so good.” He pulls away, pulling your hair to the side, exposing the bare top of your shoulder and you tense, remembering how little clothing you’re wearing. How unprotective it is. “Go on,” he urges quietly, “give her a try.”

Az narrows his eyes, but relents, curiosity getting the better of him. Spine turns rigid as he dips down, nosing along the column of your throat, feeling the trembling pulse of your life-force beneath his mouth. You hear the sound of him inhaling, scenting your skin, before pulling away. “See?” The man at your back drawls. “I’ve got a good nose for these things. I told you I smelled something delicious.”

“Rhys has good taste,” the other answers flatly, “unlike some people, Cassian.” Still, his eyes remain on your throat for a little too long for your comfort.

Cassian doesn’t seem bothered by the jab, instead raising one of his hands from your hip to trace along the stuttering pulse of your heart, grazing down your neck. “I bet she tastes good,” he murmurs, and you can feel the weight of his gaze alone, hairs prickling beneath its intensity. “Cass,” the man at your front warns, voice low and cold. “She’s Rhys’. He won’t like it if you decide to put your grubby teeth all over her.”

Cassian pays him no mind, and Az’s grip on you tightens, pulling you toward him, aiming to distract the other. “When was the last time you drank?” He asks distastefully. Cassian shrugs again, “I assumed Rhys would provide a meal, and since he has such good taste,” he says pointedly, “I thought I’d enjoy myself.”

Another beastly snarl rips through the halls of the castle, and Cassian muffles a low chuckle. The man before doesn’t seem to find it as funny, the shadows at his back darkening. “What did you do this time, Az?” The man asks, lips curved with mirth.

“You’re the one who said you wanted to slip away,” Az hisses in a flash of canines. That deadly thrum of power intensifies, and you realise it must mean Rhysand is approaching. Whatever Az had done, the illusion’s over. It feels like he’s already right outside the door.

“Are you going to drink, or not?” Cassian asks, rough fingers slipping beneath the neckline of your gown, thumbing at the soft buttons at your front, slowly un-popping them in order to move the fabric out of the way of his teeth. “I don’t want to share Rhys’ meal,” Az says, a note of distaste to his words.

“Why not? It wasn’t a problem a couple of centuries ago,” Cassian drawls, challenge in his tone. “What happened? Spend a few decades fawning over a woman and suddenly all taste for adventure’s gone?” He scoffs, the taunt clear in his deep voice. “You’ve lost your touch, brother. You’re getting soft.”

A warning snarl drags from the other man’s throat, hazel eyes flicking to the door.

But Cassian sees his chance, head dipping down, incisors piercing your throat, biting down and spilling blood. Your lips part in a scream, paralysed as his venom enters your body, making your limbs feel heavy and clunky.

“Cassian,” Az hisses roughly, forcefully ripping him from you. Pain stings through your shoulder and collar bones, the only thing keeping you up being the hand at your hip and the chest at your front. Pressure wells behind your eyes at the ache, blood trickling down your skin. “What’s gotten into you? One scent catches your attention and suddenly centuries of discipline dissolves?” He snarls lowly, aware of the pulsing power that’s filling the room.

Cassian’s silent, but you can feel his body begin to tremble at your back. Fear drenches your skin as his grip tightens on you with the same display of inhumane strength Rhys had shown after his initial bite. Weakly you try to press closer to the man before you, but his attention is now trained on the blood beading at your throat, the puncture wounds already sealing over.

Terrifying hunger fills the dark hazel of his eyes, and you want to shrink away.

“You’ve got to try her, Az,” Cassian rasps at your back, voice low and strained. “Fuck, that’s the best I’ve ever had.” Wide eyes lock with hazel, silent and pleading. You’d take being returned to that room over this easily, no doubt in your mind.

The dark, raging power grows closer, reaching it’s peak. He’s right there.

Az’s lip curls back for a moment, but then he’s forcing the neckline of your gown over your shoulder, tearing at the lovely cotton in favour of piercing his canines into the softness of your neck. Your head tips back, falling into Cassian as your lips part in a soundless scream, rounding into a pained shape as he drinks, his own venom sinking into you.

Already dizziness is taking over you, but then Cassian is curving over you again, mouth parting, incisors sliding back into your skin with a now pleasurable pain. Arms go limp at your sides as their bloodlust wraps around you, completely overpowered by their hunger as hands grip and grope at your skin.

Tears push from your lashes, dripping down your cheeks as the ecstasy spins your mind, wickedly turning the pain into something soft and blissful. Making you want them to drink deeper, wanting to have their teeth in you, to put their hands across your body.

Darkness explodes through the room, rage blasting through the soft warmth of lust, pulling you from the jaws of vampiric seduction.

The world tilts a little as they pull away, but without the adrenaline of their venom you feel weak. Like you’re unable to go on.

The last thing you remember is the fierce grip on your hips, the possessive touch over your back and shoulders as icy violet brings the night to its crescendo.

Then everything explodes in glittering black.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

It makes him murderous. He’s beside himself with worry, the urge to wrap a collar around that perfect throat and chain you to his bed post so you’ll never be able to leave the house again is a strong one

Vamp!Rhys feels like the monster prowling beneath his skin breaks free when he’s in your presence. When he’s fucking into your tight heat, his grip on his powers falter and he needs to use more focus that can be on you instead to rein the creature in

Vamp!Rhys hates that he has to hold back with you. He doesn’t want to, he’s selfish and wants to drain you, wants to devour your fucking blood and bathe in it, feel it coating his hands, surging through his insides and turn you into a vampire like him because he simply cannot live without you

But for some reason you haven’t brought up letting him turn you. You’re both skirting the question, afraid of what the other will think

Everything about your life with rhys is perfect. He fucks you like you’ve never been fucked before, on every surface in his many houses

But you feel like the relationship is little more than that. He doesn’t take you out, nor does he take you to the court of nightmares or any of his high lord meetings. He hardly lets you leave the house without company. Guards, more like

You are never annoying, I absolutely love getting to read through your comments!! 🧡💛

‘and i just realized there aren't many rhys series.’

Literally perfect timing because I just started reading @whisperingmidnights Heart of Velaris series and it is absolutely immaculate (what I’ve read so far) The level of beautiful description is just insane and pure wonder—she’s incredible with words so I would eagerly recommend it if it’s something you haven’t come across!

‘or a vampire rhys but in a different universe’

I can’t put it into words but out of supernatural archetypes(?), Cass gives me werewolf vibes, Az demon ones, and Rhys is just inherently vampiric so it would most likely be a vampire one if that okay? 🧡💛

‘ooh maybe a ghost? like reader moves in to a new house and rhys is stuck there?’

Well now you’re making me want to write something ghostly and ghastly 🫠

Ever since @azrielhours wrote Company of Phantoms the whole concept of spooky paranormal occurrences just pleasantly soothes my brain—there’s something so innately appealing about that sort of activity so I’ll have a think between vampires and ghosts and see if one sparks an idea 🧡💛

‘also are you still writing for please? its such an interesting story but i know you have a lot of stories on going right now’

Yeah! It’s not finished but because of the intimate nature of the storyline it’s one I have to be in the correct headspace to write? (Tdot part 3 kind of got me to that place and also since it’s getting colder I suspect please… will be popping up here and there in the next few months)

‘tell me if im being annoying and im sorry i cant send a normal sized ask - 🧶’