The night didn't end when she turned her back to the mansion gates.
It began.
They walked, side by side, wordless and tense, like two predators sizing each other up in the dark. The rain had eased, now a whisper on her coat, but her skin still tingled from where Gavrael had touched her cheek.
She should've run.
But something in her bones told her—she belonged to this.
They turned down a narrow alley lit only by flickering lamps. The world felt suspended in fog and silence, until Gavrael finally spoke.
"You feel it too, don't you?" His voice was low, like it came from the earth itself.
Astrid didn't look at him. "Feel what?"
He laughed, short and dark. "The fire. The pull."
Then he stopped walking.
She did too.
"I shouldn't touch you," he said, voice like iron trying not to break. "If I do, I won't stop."
Astrid turned to him slowly. Her lips parted. Her heart thundered.
"You already did," she whispered. "When you said my name."
A second passed.
Then he closed the distance.
His hand gripped her waist, yanking her to his chest like she was something he'd been dying for. Their lips inches apart. His breath warm against her mouth.
"Do you have any idea," he said, "what I could do to you?"
Her hand slid up his chest, fingers tracing over hard muscle, silk and sin beneath her touch.
"Show me," she said, not blinking.
That was all it took.
Gavrael's mouth crashed into hers, hot and brutal. There was no gentleness. Just raw, pent-up hunger. He kissed like a man starved, his teeth tugging her lip, his tongue claiming hers. Astrid moaned into him, her body melting, caught in his grip like prey caught in a storm.
He pinned her to the alley wall, the cold stone contrasting with the heat of his mouth on her neck. One hand fisted her hair, tilting her head back, exposing her throat like a sacrifice.
"Say it," he growled. "Say my name."
"Gavrael," she gasped.
His lips curved against her skin.
"Good girl."
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