Chapter 147: The Wrong Turn (2)

For a moment, her mind failed to make sense of what she was seeing. Had he not been with that woman only seconds ago?

She glanced toward the corner, but Alaric stepped closer before she could look past him.

He drew in a slow, deep breath, as though savoring a scent carried in the air. Then, his smile widened. "My sweet Shana, you shouldn't be wandering alone while everyone else is asleep."

Before Misha could answer, the space between them vanished. Her body struck the wall hard enough to drive the breath from her lungs. Alaric pinned both her wrists above her head, closing his grip before she could reach Twinfang.

Shock held her still for half a heartbeat.

Then she twisted against him, only to find his strength was immovable. His body blocked hers in without effort, leaving her trapped between his warmth and the cold stone.

It was then that she noticed his eyes. A faint red glow threaded through their familiar blue.

"Alaric?" she said warily.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

His voice sounded like his own. The playful smile, the infuriating confidence, and the casual intimacy were all familiar, but something hungry lurked beneath them.

"Let go of me." Misha glared at him and pulled harder against his grip. "Now."

His lips curved into a wider smirk. "Why should I? This is only a dream."

The words caught her off guard, and her resistance faltered.

'A dream?'

The stone at her back was too cold for that. His fingers were too firm around her wrists, the pressure of his body too immediate. She could feel each slow breath he took and the heat gathering in the narrow space between them.

"What are you talking about?"

"Listen to my voice, Misha." The red in his eyes deepened as he bent closer, until his mouth hovered beside her ear. "You're dreaming."

His voice seemed to pass through her skin, then, a strange heaviness seeped into her limbs. Misha tried to wrench herself free, but her body answered too slowly. The strength drained from her hands first, then her arms, until her wrists rested almost limply within his grasp.

「 〔SYSTEM NOTICE〕

You have been affected by «Lullaby of Surrender»

Effect:

Mental Resistance reduced. Strength and reaction speed gradually weakened. Continued exposure increases lethargy and compliance

—

Effect persists while the Caster's voice is heard.

Current Mental Integrity: DETERIORATING 」

'Huh? A Status Effect?'

"Yes," Alaric whispered as he released one wrist and slowly pushed the mask up from her face until it rested atop her head. "That's right."

His nose brushed the line of her cheek. The contact was barely there, yet heat followed it as though he had traced her with flame.

"When you wake, all of this will be forgotten." He caught her chin, turning her face toward his. Misha's breath stopped as his gaze dropped to her mouth. "Just like last time."

The words broke through the haze.

"L… Last time?"

Alaric answered by kissing her. His mouth settled over hers with slow, deliberate pressure, warm enough to make the cold wall behind her feel distant. For one disorienting instant, he did nothing more than hold the kiss, as though waiting for her resistance to disappear completely.

Misha tried to turn away but his hand tightened at her jaw, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep her facing him. The kiss deepened, stealing the protest from her lips before she could voice it. Heat spread through her chest, unnatural in its intensity, and her pulse struck wildly against the hand resting near her throat.

This was wrong. The thought remained clear even as everything around it began to blur.

Alaric drew back only far enough for their breath to mingle. His thumb passed across her lower lip, his eyes burning red through the familiar blue.

"Now then, let me have some of you darling."

Before she could understand, he tilted her head aside. His lips touched the sensitive place beneath her ear. The kiss there was softer than the one he had taken from her mouth, almost careful, and the gentleness of it made dread crawl sharply through her. He lingered, breathing her in, while he placed his other hand on her waist.

Then, something pierced her skin.

Pain flashed through Misha, bright and immediate. Her fingers convulsed against his shoulder as a broken gasp escaped her. She tried to shove him away, but the command seemed to vanish somewhere between thought and movement.

Warmth followed the bite. It flowed outside in slow, molten waves, slipping beneath her skin and spreading through her throat, her chest, and the pit of her stomach. The heat was not comforting. It was invasive, dissolving the edges of her awareness and turning every point of contact unbearably vivid: his mouth at her neck, his hand against her waist, the steady pressure keeping her pinned between his body and the stone.

"What are you…" her voice cracked. "W-what are you doing?"

Alaric's mouth moved against her skin. "You have the sweetest flavor, my dear Shana."

His tongue swept over the wounds before his lips closed around them again. Misha felt the slow pull of his mouth and understood with distant horror that he was drinking from her.

Alarm flared, but the unnatural warmth smothered it almost as quickly as it rose.

Her knees weakened but Alaric caught her before she could slip, drawing her closer until there was no space left between them.

Her eyes drifted shut against her will as a faint sound escaped her, born from the heat and dizziness rather than desire, and humiliation cut through the fog.

Alaric seemed to savor it. He guided her other loosened hand onto his shoulder, arranging the intimacy as though she had chosen it. And yet, her fingers slid toward his nape, moved by a body that no longer felt like hers.

Behind her closed eyes, darkness stirred, then a memory she had never known she possessed rose through it.

***

Misha stood inside her room in the abandoned house where she and Alaric had taken shelter.

A knock sounded at the door, sharp enough to pull her attention from her thoughts. There was only one other person in the house, so she already knew who waited outside.

"What is it?" she asked as she opened the door.

Alaric stood in the hallway, smiling with effortless charm. Nothing in his posture appeared threatening, yet his presence filled the narrow space.

"Ms. Savior," he said, "would you care to help me once more?"

Misha frowned. "With what?"

A trace of red appeared within his blue eyes, spreading like a thin stain through clear water. His smile softened as he held her gaze. "Your blood."

She could only give him a questioning look. "My blood? What do you mean?"

"You won't remember this anyway," he said. "So tell me to come inside."

She wanted to ask what he meant, but something cold and invisible slipped into her thoughts. Her suspicion dulled beneath a sudden fog, and her body moved before she decided to move it.

"Come in," she heard herself say as she stepped aside.

Alaric entered, and the door closed quietly behind him. Then, he reached for the mask, his fingertips brushing its edge. "That must be suffocating."

"Yes," Misha answered, though she had never believed that before.

"Let me remove it."

She remained still while he lifted the mask from her face. Cool air touched her exposed skin, but Alaric's gaze brought an answering warmth. His amusement faded into something intent and openly hungry.

"Aren't you a beauty?" he murmured. His palm settled against her cheek. The touch was warm, almost tender, and his thumb moved slowly beneath her eye before tracing the curve toward her mouth.

Misha knew she should step away. Instead, she stood trapped inside her own silence, watching the red spread through his iris.

"The scent of your blood earlier…" His gaze lowered to her lips. "I never imagined I would encounter anything like it… You're not a Towerborn, are you?"

"Yes."

"I thought so." He leaned in gradually, granting her every second in which to resist while ensuring she could not take any of them. His breath touched her first, then his nose grazed hers, and his thumb pressed lightly at the corner of her mouth.

The kiss began with deceptive softness. His lips moved against hers once, slowly, as if learning their shape. Warmth gathered wherever he touched her, sinking through the fog that had swallowed her thoughts.

When he kissed her again, the pressure deepened. His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, holding her in place as the faint metallic taste of blood passed between them.

Some distant part of Misha recoiled, her body did not.

「 〔SYSTEM NOTICE〕

Foreign Blood Signature Detected.

«Lullaby of Surrender» has triggered «Sanguine Resonance»

Effects:

Resistance to the Caster's abilities reduced. Mental suppression effects intensified. Caster can detect the target's life signature within a limited range.

—

Attempts to resist the Caster require increased Mental Strength exceeding that of the Caster. 」

Alaric drew in a quiet breath, his lips still close enough to brush hers when he spoke. "I'll only have a little."

His mouth returned briefly, taking one last kiss before descending along her jaw. Each touch stayed longer than the one before it, leaving a trail of heat toward the pulse in her neck. His lips pressed against her skin, then came the bite.

Her fingers caught in his coat, not pulling him closer, but clinging helplessly as the room softened around them. She could hear the quiet rhythm of his swallowing. The sound should have terrified her. Instead, it seemed to come from impossibly far away, muffled beneath the heavy breathing of her heart.

Misha tried to speak. His name formed silently behind her lips, but no sound emerged.

Her knees folded from weakness so Alaric lowered her toward the bed rather than allowing her to fall, guiding her to the edge with unsettling care. He remained bent over her, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other rested at her waist.

At last, he withdrew his teeth. Alaric's tongue followed, passing over the broken skin until the sting softened beneath another wave of heat.

Misha's head fell against his shoulder.

His lips brushed her temple, then the corner of her eye, then her mouth again. The kiss was lighter this time, almost affectionate, but the tenderness only sharpened the horror struggling beneath the enchantment.

She could not push him away, she could not demand an explanation, and she could not even close her mouth against him until he had already taken what he wanted.

When he lifted his head, red shone vividly through his eyes. "You'll sleep now."

Soft threads brushed across Misha's fading awareness, weaving themselves through her thoughts.

"You were alone tonight," Alaric continued. "No one came to your room. Nothing happened here."

The words settled into the spaces where her memories had begun to fracture.

"You never removed your mask for me."

Her eyelids grew heavy.

"You never felt my mouth on yours."

The taste of iron lingered on her tongue, then she slowly gulped it away.

"You never felt my fangs." He reached out and carefully touched the wound. A faint glow spread from his fingertips, and the pain in her neck slowly faded into a distant warmth.

"And when you wake, you won't remember any of this."

Misha wanted to hold on. She tried to preserve one detail–the color of his eyes, the pressure of his hand, his lips, the pain–but each one slipped away the moment she reached for it.

Darkness folded around her.

***