Chapter 366: Blood and Bond II
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Elena turned to Sekhmet and Lily, her expression unreadable. "Your room has been prepared. The baths are drawn, and fresh clothes have been laid out. We made some changes in your room."
Sekhmet inclined his head, a gesture of acknowledgment that was almost courteous. "Leave the hall."
Elena bowed and withdrew, her footsteps silent as she disappeared the way she had come.
They were alone. A few moments later...
Sekhmet’s room was a study in controlled elegance. Dark wood panels lined the walls, interrupted here and there by tapestries depicting ancient hunting scenes. The bed was massive, draped in deep burgundy and charcoal velvet. Lamps burned low on the nightstands, casting warm pools of light that did little to pierce the shadows gathering in the corners.
The scent of the night clung to them both iron and leather, sweat and smoke.
Lily stood near the door, her fingers brushing against the stained fabric of her dress. The hunt still sang in her veins, a low thrum that had not yet faded. She felt awake in a way she had not felt since the turning. Present in her own skin. It was real.
Sekhmet crossed to the window and drew the curtains closed, plunging the room into an even deeper shadow. The only light now came from those two small lamps, their flames swaying gently as if breathing.
He turned to face her.
"You spoke true tonight," he said, his voice low and even. "About choosing."
Lily nodded. "I did."
"Tell me."
It was not a command. It was an invitation. A request wrapped in the quiet intensity that defined him.
She took a step forward, then another, until she stood at the foot of the bed. "When I was turned, I thought being a vampire meant feeding. Just feeding. Survival. I didn’t understand that there was a difference between eating because you have to and choosing because you want to." She paused, her gaze steady on his. "Tonight, I looked at them (the ones in the hall) and I saw them as prey. Not people. Not threats. Just... food. And I decided which one I wanted."
"And how did that feel?"
"Like power." Her voice dropped. "Like I finally understood what you’ve been trying to teach me."
Sekhmet moved then, crossing the space between them with deliberate, predatory grace. He stopped when he was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, and could see the subtle shift of muscle beneath his dark clothing.
He reached out and touched her face.
His fingers traced her jawline with a gentleness that belied his size, his strength. He tilted her chin up, studying her in the dim light as if reading something written on her skin.
"You did not act like prey tonight," he said. "You acted like a predator. Like my wife."
My wife. The words settled in her chest like a key turning in a lock. She had heard them before, in the ceremony, in the whispers of the household, but they had always felt like a title she was borrowing. Tonight, they felt like a truth she had earned.
"I watched you," Sekhmet continued, his thumb brushing across her lip. "The way you moved. The way you tracked your target. The way you struck."
She asked, "Did I do well?"
"You did it perfectly."
His praise hit her like a physical blow, it was sharp and sweet. She felt the blood-warmth rise in her cheeks, felt the pulse that still beat in her throat quickened. His eyes followed the movement, tracking it the way he had tracked her through the hunt.
"You’re proud of me," she said, and it came out softer than she intended, almost vulnerable.
"I am." His hand slid from her face to cup the back of her neck, his fingers threading through her hair. "But more than that, I am satisfied. You have grown into your place, Lily. You have stopped fighting for the blood."
"I wasn’t fighting it. I was fighting for who I had to drink to survive."
"And now?"
She reached up and placed her hand over his, pressing his palm more firmly against her throat. She could feel his pulse through his skin, or perhaps it was her own. At that moment, they beat in the same rhythm.
"Now," she said, "I want to be your vampire wife. Not just in title. In everything."
The air between them thickened. The shadows seemed to draw closer, as if the room itself was holding its breath.
Sekhmet leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. They stood like that for a long moment, breathing together, the evidence of the hunt still staining their skin and clothes. It should have been unpleasant. But it was not.
"Be my wife," Lily whispered, repeating what he had said to him that night, when the blood was fresh and her heart was still pounding like a human.
"And you are my wife," he replied, his voice rough. "The only one who matters tonight."
His lips found hers.
It was not a gentle kiss. It was not fierce. It was something in between. It felt like a claiming and a question, a demand and an offering. He drew her close, one hand still at her neck, the other pressing against the small of her back, his fingers splaying across the bloodstained fabric of her dress.
She responded in kind, her hands sliding up his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath, the residual tension from the hunt. She could taste the night on his lips. The metal and darkness and something ancient that she was only beginning to understand.
When they broke apart, both breathing harder than they should have been, he spoke again.
"Tell me what you need tonight, Lily."
It was a question he had never asked before. He had always taken, always claimed, always guided. And she had always followed, eager to please, desperate to understand. But now, something has shifted.
She looked at him, at the red eyes that held more than knowledge, at the face that had seen her growing up, at the man who had chosen her, of all people, to stand beside.
"I need you to see me," she said. "Not as a new wife. Not as something you molded. But as what I’ve become tonight."
He studied her for a moment, and then his lips curved into something that was almost a smile. Almost.
"I see you," he said. "I have always seen you."
He drew her toward the bed, his hands moving to unfasten her dress. The stained fabric fell away, pooling at her feet, and she stood before him in the lamplight, marked by the night’s work, covered in traces of blood that were not her own, but entirely hers to claim.
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, where a thin line of dried crimson traced her skin like a seam. "You did well tonight."
She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "I know."
He kissed the same spot again, and again, trailing his lips across her collarbone, her throat, the curve of her jaw. Each touch was deliberate, reverent, as if he was mapping her anew.
"I will always choose you," he murmured against her skin. "From this night forward. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Say it louder."
"I understand."
"Good." His hands found her hips, drawing her flush against him. "Because I do not share what is mine."
She rose on her toes, capturing his mouth again, and this time there was no hesitation, no uncertainty. This was a claim of her own.
"I am yours," she breathed against his lips. "But you are also mine."
The shadows seemed to deepen, the lamps flickered, and somewhere in the distance, Bat Bat’s muffled protests could still be heard through the walls.
But in that room, at that moment, there were only the two of them; first wife and the husband, predator and predator, bound by blood and choice and the promise of the hunt. And it was enough.