What Did I Just Do?
The great chamber was bathed in shadows and silk. The walls, arched and high, were dried blood color—deep crimson silk drawn over dark stone, with fine black ivy pattern embroidery shimmering faintly in the candlelight. Obsidian pillars lined the corners, standing like silent sentinels, while heavy curtains writhed with unseen breezes, their velvet folds rustling softly like surreptitious secrets. Each flickering candle on ironwork sconces projected soft golden halos on the glossy black stone, creating a low, sensual glow that caused the room to seem as if it existed between fantasy and lust.
At its center stood a great bed—its blackwood posts curved with thorned roses, the canopy draped in deep scarlet lace. Shadows clung to the sheer crimson veils, pooling like wine across silken black sheets. It was a king's bed. And it cradled two souls tonight, bound by fate and blood.
One of them—a radiant, otherworldly thing—was Rose Bloodheart, Vampire Empress. Wrapped in a pale, wine-colored nightgown, she reclined like a dream from a worn, distant legend. A single long leg had escaped the sheets, her alabaster flesh bathed in warm, golden light. Her pink, damp hair cascaded down her shoulder in flowing waves, as candles danced there like unfurled petals. Softly burning crimson eyes flashed in the dark, their attention fixed on the man beside her.
Alex rested with eyes shut, breathing shallow and tenuous as if sleep was lurking just beyond his grasp. There was strain in the angles of his body—a silent battle against dreams, memories, or maybe proximity to the woman lying next to him. His mother. His origin. His bane and his haven.
Rose observed him mutely.
She had not blinked for what seemed like an eternity.
To the world, she was immortal and unbreakable—a blood-stained and night-bathed sovereign. But here, in the dim light of their room, she seemed less a queen than a woman tormented by a yearning too immense to put into words. Each curve of his cheek, the rise and fall of his chest, the softness of his eyelashes—she absorbed them all in helpless longing, as if copying them might insulate her from ever losing him again.
A century of famine coiled hard within her breast. A century without him.
She was afraid that if she even considered glancing away, the fantasy would disappear.
Her hands went slowly, tenderly, through his hair—stroking each lock with reverence. Not to calm him, although she prayed it would. But for her. To steady the truth of his presence. That he had come back.
But even that gentle touch vibrated with the burden of the unspoken.
Alex moved, a low hum in his throat as if he sensed her turmoil on the other side of sleep. His eyebrow jerked. He rolled closer, without thinking, into her hand.
Peace did not come.
Not for her.
Under Rose's calm surface, a storm raged—silence, relentless, and old. A whirlwind of longing, guilt, love, and something more profound still.
Something taboo.
And yet, she watched.
Perhaps never really blinked.
Never dared.
And if anything, her touch only made him more unsettled. Sleep eluded his grasp like a wispy patch of fog under moonlight. Her perfume lingered on him—floral, warm, intoxicating.
With every touch of her fingers on his scalp, a shiver coursed down his spine. Not from fear. Not even from discomfort.
But something more elusive to define. Something deeper.
He attempted to calm his racing mind, to listen to the silence that surrounded them—but it was for naught. The flavor of her blood still lingered on his tongue. Sweet. Powerful. Dangerously warm. Addictive. Divine.
His jaw clenched.
He did not understand, but some aspect of him craved it again.
A hunger coiled in his belly like a serpent, hissing with need.
His lips tingled.
His throat burned.
His body vibrated with craving.
He pinched his eyes shut, struggling against it—willing himself into sleep. But sleep seemed light-years from reach.
He could still taste her… and it wasn't enough.
His chest rose and fell too quickly.
His mind kept cycling back to the moment that her blood touched his tongue. Her body heat next to him. The fire that had burned through his veins.
He despised that he desired it.
But he did.
After endless, gasping minutes, he released a long, weary sigh and opened his eyes.
He saw her first.
She was lying on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, rubine eyes shining softly in the darkness. The pure black nightgown clung to her shape, unveiling sinful, smooth contours underneath—treacherous… beautiful.
"Alex," she breathed, voice like night and velvet. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Can't sleep?"
He slowly turned his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. Her presence overwhelmed him. She was power packaged in elegance—his mother… and the goddess who made him.
Too much.
"I… I don't know," he uttered, not able to look at her for more than a moment. "I just… can't sleep."
The image of her body tormented him.
The flavor of her blood lingered on his tongue like the call of a siren.
He didn't speak any of it.
But somehow… she knew.
She touched him again, tracing her fingers through his hair—gentle, yet far from soothing. If anything, it intensified the pain. He said nothing.
He couldn't.
Because the moment he closed his eyes, she was still there. Her form. Her heat.
Her blood.
Her flavor.
He knew who she was. His maker. His mother.
But the instincts surging within him didn't respect names or titles. In vampire nature, this was standard.
But to Alex… it was like suffocating in heat and disorientation.
Another sigh escaped him.
Rose's head cocked slightly, observing him. Then, slowly, her hand moved again—sweeping the hair back from his eyes. Her touch this time was stronger. Claiming.
"My poor son," she whispered, her voice as moonlight, "Is it the blood? You want more… don't you?"
His gaze flashed to hers, his eyes wide with shock.
How did she know?
Was she reading his mind?
Or… instinct?
He hesitated, dry throat. Swallowed hard.
"H-How do you…?"
She smiled, her eyes softly glowing. A soft, knowing smile at his hesitation.
"Being the Progenitor… I know what my blood does. It stirs the craving. It always does. Particularly in someone who bears my essence."
She leaned in slightly, her voice low, velvety. "You're bound to crave more, Alex. Your body remembers what it tasted. What it now knows as normal. It's only natural. High-quality blood… pure blood… that's what your kind hungers for. And you're not just a vampire. You're something more. Almost a pseudo-Progenitor yourself. That hunger is in your bones now."
He said nothing, stunned.
And then, suddenly, she raised her wrist and presented it to him—perfect and white. The same place he'd drunk from before now slightly flushed with the new mark.
"Take it," she said softly, voice like silk. "Drink again, my son."
His eyes fixed on her wrist. His throat constricted.
He gazed at the area he had bitten just a few minutes before. The skin already healed… but the memory not.
He turned to her—but this time, his eyes strayed past her face… to her throat.
Bare. Pale. Glowing.
Smooth. Exposed.
Perfect.
And then—just beyond—he glimpsed her throat.
His eyes veered… and something released within him.
He didn't think. Didn't hesitate.
His body took over.
Before Rose could do more than blink, he was on her—his body glided with the quiet rustle of sheets, pinning her down. A blur.
One moment he was beside her.
The next…
His mouth was on her neck.
His fangs dug deep into her holy skin.
A piercing gasp left her lips. Her eyes sprang wide open.
"Alex!" She breathed, stunned.
But she didn't hinder him.
His arms locked around her as he consumed—slow and deep. Each draw of her blood shook him. Her flavor was more than divine… it was maddening.
He ate like a beast—unmotivated by thought, but by something infinitely more primal. Raw instinct.
His hold firmed. His mouth sucked avidly.
Her blood hit his tongue like wildfire and honey and starlight.
A low growl issued from his throat. His eyes burned crimson.
He consumed like a beast.
A low moan escaped her lips. Her fingers slipped into his hair—not to halt him… but to anchor herself.
If anyone in the empire saw what was going on—if they noticed the Empress herself inviting a fledgling, her own son, to take from her neck—the world would incinerate on rumors. The neck was forbidden. Forbidden. Intimate.
Taboo according to vampire law.
No one touched the Empress's throat.
No one… until now.
And still, she allowed him to.
Her back bent forward, another gentle moan slipping past her lips. Her fingers shook in his hair.
Because for her, too… this was a first.
His bite was deep. Firm. Possessive. Her breathing in harsh, soft gasps. He sucked from the very well of her power… her throne.
And still, she didn't stop him.
Her body shuddered with each pull, her breath catching again and again—but she allowed it. She gave it. The connection between them grew thicker—blood to blood. Soul to soul.
Minutes ticked by.
Eternities, counted in heartbeats.
In silent gasps, interrupted only by the quiet sound of drinking… and her soft moans.
At last, when the tempest within him subsided, Alex eased back—his lips leaving her throat.
But he didn't go far.
He didn't move away.
Rather, he drew closer still… and licked the wound slowly.
His tongue followed the place where his fangs had just entered.
Her body trembled under him—small, unintentional.
Slowly… the hunger dissipated. The fire died down.
He breathed gently against her skin. His fangs retreated. Gently.
But still… he didn't withdraw.
His tongue darted once again—slow, worshipful—collecting the final drop of her blood from her throat. The puncture closed neatly… but a mark was left.
Dull.
Slight.
A brand.
He still had no clue what he'd done. The wound healed under his tongue—but left a residue behind.
He didn't even see it.
But when he finally gazed into her face… he was stuck.
Rose's cheeks were flushed deep red, her breath long and slow, lips slightly parted.
Her eyes, wide with emotion, met his with something unspoken—something perilously near ecstasy.
Alex stood mute, heart racing.
What… what just occurred?
He didn't have a clue.
Only her look.
And the flame that wouldn't subside.
He still didn't know what he'd done.
But when he finally drew back and gazed at her…
He stood stock still.
Rose's face burned. Her lips parted. Her cheeks glowed a deep red. Her chest rose and fell—labored, irregular breaths.
She appeared… stunned.
Shaken.
Completely undone.
Alex's eyes opened wide.
"What…" His mind reeled. What did to her?
And in his heart, one shaking thought reverberated like thunder:
"What… did I just do?"