Bath with Mother [Part-2]
Rose leaned her head to one side, half-lidded eyes.
"Are you ashamed… of your own Mother?"
That name—Mother—ought to have put distance between them.
Instead, it only fanned the fire that had been burning under Alex's skin.
There was no blame in her tone. Only heat. Conviction. As if being hers wasn't something to be ashamed of… but something holy.
"I. I don't know," he breathed, hardly believing his own voice. "I shouldn't feel this… I shouldn't want…"
But the more he gazed at her, the less they made sense. They were no longer his. They were another's—a boy brought up in a world that hated yearning, that bound love with shame. That world did not belong here. Not in this palace. Not in her arms.
His voice cracked and died, overwhelmed by the pressure of blood in his ears. Her perfume enveloped him—roses kissed by fire—and her proximity wrapped him in silken fetters.
He didn't quite comprehend what was occurring. But underlying the shaking and bewilderment, something more fundamental had started to grow within him.
A perilous acceptance.
Perhaps this was what he really was now—not merely human. Something else. Something more.
His body preceded his mind. Slowly, uncertainly, he edged towards the hot water, attracted not only by heat… but by her.
When he reached out and enclosed her hand in his, the shock was almost electric. Her fingers were cool, like moonlight on dark stone. But the cold dissipated against his palm, becoming a seeping warmth that rose to his chest.
A throb stirred—not in his heart, but deeper. The dragon core inside of him vibrated low and strong, mouthing lies he did not wish to hear.
Desire isn't weakness. Need is where power comes from. Hunger.
He moved into the bath.
Warmth surrounded him instantly, pursuing a shiver up his spine. Rose drew him to her with quiet elegance, leading him between her legs as he settled down into the water. He leaned back carefully, his head resting just below her collarbone.
Her skin was warm and yielding against his naked flesh, a feeling that made his nerves flaring with light he didn't know how to command.
His feet shifted with hers, but his mind flailed in desperation.
This is wrong. This is your mother. Sons don't feel this.
But the voice in his mind was weak now. Disappearing.
Another whisper came up from deeper inside him, borne on the rhythm of the dragon heart.
Desire is not sin. Desire is legacy. Claim it.
Rose's arms wrapped around him in a loose, maternal hug. But the pressure of her breasts against his back—lush and unmistakable—made him shiver down to his fingertips.
A something hot uncoiled below his ribs, a slow spiral of heat that began deep within his torso.
He had no idea where the thought came from. It wasn't his voice, not exactly. But it rang in his head perfectly.
She is yours. Your blood. Queen of your throne. Take.
He stiffened, every muscle drawn tight with puzzlement and need.
Then her hands stroked, moving down into the water, tracing over his shoulders with soft, gentle motion. Her fingers sank into the tension there, massaging with slow, careful fingers. Down his arms… then along his chest… each action intentional, knowing.
The water rippled quietly with each touch of her.
"Still so easy to rattle," Rose whispered into his ear, her breath skating across his skin. "But I think your body recalls me."
His gut clenched as heat flooded downward, his breath stalling.
Her hand trailed lower… slipping along his belly, skirting the curves of his hips… and for an instant, teasing the base of his cock.
He twitched, eyes going wide.
A sharp breath hissed through his teeth. The spark of contact ignited something inside him, a sudden rush of heat like dry kindling catching flame.
"Sensitive already?" she murmured, teasing but tender. "That's natural. Your body is still new. Not by vampire years… but by human ones, you're a man. And with manhood comes… appetite."
"I-I didn't mean to—" Alex stammered, trying to shift away. But her hands remained steady. Grounding.
She smiled, low and warm. "Relax. I'm just assisting you in bathing. But if you'd care to let me assist you with that as well…" she left the offer dangling, not pushing—but offering nonetheless.
His entire body flushed. His face heated, rose up the back of his neck and behind his eyes.
"N-No! I'll… take care of it later. I'm just… unaccustomed to this," he stammered, blushing, his voice disintegrating under the strain of emotion.
He didn't know if it was pride or fear, but another part of him—quiet, primal—felt no shame. Just the fiery tension between them. Scary. Sexy.
Rose didn't push. She just smiled, her voice dropping low and smooth. "As you wish, my son. But don't ever be afraid of what you are. Vampires are sensual by nature… and purebloods." She leaned in, mouth brushing his ear. "Purebloods are born to live their hunger."
He could walk away. He could leave this behind.
But her hands… her scent… her voice… were still stamped across every square inch of his skin.
And his heart… it pounded more loudly now. For her.
He shifted slightly, enough to see her. His eyes darted up, unsteady but true. "I know, Rose… I think so, too."
Her expression smoothed, and she placed her hand lightly over his heart.
"I'm not playing with you," she whispered. "I just want to take care of you."
She didn't push for more.
Instead, she extended to the side, her hand coming up from the water clutched around a strange object. A blade—thin, curved, black as the night, with an edge made of silver shaped like a crescent moon.
"Is that for what?" he asked, low with curiosity.
She smiled. "Your hair. It's too long… though lovely, like mine. But I wish to see the face of my son."
The tension shifted, relaxing into something peaceful. Alex did not struggle as her fingers combed into his wet pink hair. The knife sliced with precision, every snip soft, every strand of hair a ghost of the past dropped away.
Steam curled softly above them, enveloping the moment with warmth and quiet.
Her fingernails brushed across his scalp, tracing the path down his cheek with tender intimacy. She clipped and sculpted until his untamed, waist-length mane was cut to just brush the back of his shoulders.
With one last stroke, she brushed his bangs out of the way, framing his entire face.
"There," she breathed, her voice rough. "My dashing son. A reborn prince." Then softer, deeper— "My charming son… a man now."
He looked at her across the width of his shoulder. Their gazes met.
Her eyes were red, bright, ancient. She regarded him not as a mother regards a child… but as something holy. Like he was not merely her son, but her making. Her chosen.
He saw no disapproval. Only pride. Hunger. Love that had no bounds. A bond older than names or titles.
"Thanks…" he whispered. "For… the bath."
She raised his chin up, softly with the fingers of her back. "Why are you thanking me, my son?" Her voice climbed on a knowing smile. "Between us, there's no thanks or apologies."
He swallowed sharply. "I… I didn't mean—"
She stopped him softly. "Shh. It's okay, Alex." Her voice was velvet. "Now go. Your robe awaits."
He rose slowly, water streaming down his thin body in silver threads. His muscles tightened as cold air brushed against his skin. Grasping the towel, he tied it securely around his waist. Yet even then, his arousal was not hiding.
Her gaze dropped, then came back to him with the most minimal smile.
Knowledge. Serenity. Deadliness.
Not saying a word, he turned and left the chamber, breathing unsteady in his chest.
Outside the Bathroom…
The cool air struck him like a slap, and Alex breathed in. Goosebumps erupt on his skin as he bracingly leaned against the bedstead beside him, chest still climbing and falling in ragged rhythm.
"God damn it…" he breathed, the towel wrapped around his waist. His skin was damp, flushed—and still prickling from her hands.
It hadn't been just a bath.
His body didn't just feel aroused—it felt awake. Stirred by something more than flesh. Hunger that resonated in his bones. Craving older than reason.
Blood and need. Flesh and tie.
He glanced down. Underneath his skin, shining dimly, his dragon core beat like a second heart.
This wasn't Earth.
This world operated differently. Power was sacred. Blood was divine.
And Rose… wasn't merely his mother.
She was his origin. His heat. His goddess.
He moved closer, gaze attracted to the bed. Spread out across it was a luxurious red-and-white robe embroidered in gold. The fabric glowed subtly in the candlelight, gentle as a breath.
When his fingertips came into contact with it, the heat surprised him. As if her touch still lingered. As though she had put it out just for him.
Her perfume still lingered on him—roses and something dark. Sweet… and wicked.
He dressed slowly, the robe slipping down over his shoulders. It settled around him like a second skin—cool and then warm. Almost breathing.
But nothing could cover the pain still throbbing beneath his waist. The sound of her voice. Her touch.
It was still there. In his blood. In his breath.
He curled his fists. Closed his eyes.
"This is only the beginning," a voice within him whispered.
This is insane.
The truth frightened him. But it also exhilarated him.
This wasn't lust. Not this time. This was something more. Something primal. Something fated.
Why her? Why now?
His hand pressed against his chest, aching with the slow simmer of the dragon core.
"Is this because of the core?" he breathed. "Or the system?"
He didn't know. Not yet.
It was all occurring too quickly—memories, instincts, forbidden longing.
But even now, eyes closed, he could still sense her.
The touch of her brush. The warmth of her eyes.
He could deny it in the morning.
Tonight… he craved more.
And that reality frightened him.
He got onto the bed, the robe rustling off of him. Her perfume lingered on the bed sheets like a phantom.
In this new world… he was not a man.
He was hers.
And that realization no longer frightened him.
It lured him.
He could fight it. He could run. He could pretend that it wasn't love—madness.
But he didn't.
He lay back slowly… hearing the memory of her breathing.
And deep within him, a door shut.
Not in fear.
In acceptance.