Chapter 7: Little Flame {+18}

Aria’s breath tore through her throat in jagged bursts as she scrambled backward through the blood-drenched grass, her trembling hands slick with dirt and gore. The air reeked of iron and rot, but worse than the death surrounding her was the heat building low in her gut—coiling, tightening, an unbearable ache that throbbed in time with her racing heart. "No," she whispered, voice fraying at the edges. "This—this isn’t happening." She wasn’t sure what it was, but what was clear was that it was something she didn’t want. She clawed at her own skin, raking her nails down her arms, her throat, leaving red, stinging welts in their wake. But it wasn’t enough. Her hands trembled as she dug harder, until crimson beads bloomed from the torn flesh of her shoulders and collarbones. She didn’t care. She wanted to rip the heat out of herself, tear it out with her bare hands. "Get out," she snarled under her breath. "Get out of me!" The vampire king crouched mere feet away, still as stone. But his eyes—those monstrous, glowing crimson eyes—tracked her every movement with unblinking interest. His gaze lingered on the blood trailing down her arms, on the shame that twisted her expression, and something cruel glinted in his smirk. "Fascinating," he said softly, voice smooth and serpentine. "You shouldn’t be capable of this." "Shut up," she spat, her voice cracked and raw. She dragged her nails down her thighs now, digging into the trembling muscles until blood welled beneath her fingertips. "You don’t know anything about me." But Zyren only tilted his head, that mocking smile deepening. He rose slowly, unfolding himself like a predator stretching after a lazy hunt. Every movement was deliberate. Controlled. As though he owned the very earth beneath them. "I know enough," he said. "I can smell it on you." She flinched like he’d struck her, rage sparking behind her eyes. "I’m not like you. I’m not some monster ruled by urges." Zyren gave a soft, amused sound. "Not like me?" he echoed, as though the idea were quaint. "Oh, little flame. You’re worse." Aria shook her head violently. "I’m not!" she snapped, jabbing a bloodied finger toward herself. "I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this!" But her body betrayed her again. The fire within her twisted cruelly, tightening with each breath, burning behind her navel, pulsing between her legs. It wasn’t desire. It was torment. Pure, primal torment. "There are stories," Zyren continued, ignoring her outburst. His voice dipped low, dark velvet in the night air. "Old ones. Whispered before your kind began to forget. Of humans born not quite human. Of rare bloodlines. Cursed bloodlines. Creatures of instinct and wrath and shame. The heatblooded." Aria recoiled as if the word had struck her. "You lie," she snapped, scratching at her chest now, drawing more blood. "You’re trying to confuse me. Manipulate me." He arched a brow. "Is that what you think this is? Confusion?" He stepped closer. "No, Aria. This is clarity. Your body is screaming the truth you’ve spent your life denying." "Liar!" she shrieked. Her voice cracked, raw from fury and desperation. "This isn’t me! This isn’t who I am!" But her knees buckled, the fire inside her flaring hot enough to make her dizzy. Her torn skin stung with every movement, blood trailing down her ribs and thighs. Still she scratched, clawed, desperate to tear something out of herself, anything to make it stop. And Zyren just watched. His eyes gleamed with cruel understanding, like a cat toying with a broken bird. "Do you even understand what’s happening?" he murmured. "You’re presenting, Aria. Your body has chosen. And it doesn’t care what your mind wants." "Stop talking," she hissed, folding in on herself. Her hands balled into fists, nails digging into her bleeding palms. "I swear, I’ll kill you." He gave a soft chuckle. "Oh, I believe you want to. But that’s the thing about heatbloods—your instincts aren’t something you can outrun. You burn from the inside out." Aria screamed. Not words—just rage. She slammed her fists into the ground, dirt flying as she sobbed in fury. Her voice broke, her throat raw from screaming and crying and begging her body to obey. She could feel moisture slipping down her inner thighs again, shameful and betraying. "I hate you," she snarled, though her voice trembled. "You-you’ve done something." Zyren crouched beside her, maddeningly calm. His voice brushed against her like silk over broken glass. "I haven’t done anything," he said. "That’s the worst part, isn’t it? You think I’ve bewitched you, drugged you, possessed you." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "But this is all you." She shoved at him, weakly, but he didn’t move. Her nails raked across his chest, but he didn’t flinch. "Don’t touch me," she whispered. "Don’t come near me." But he was already there. His fingers ghosted over her lower back—not a caress, just the suggestion of one. Enough to make her tense. Enough to make the fire inside her roar louder unaware of when she opened her mouth and pleaded for him. "Pl-please! Please help me!" She begged the need enough to full every bit of her sanity left. Her entire frame locked up as his touch lingered just above her hip before his hand dove right under her dress between her legs. "You’re wet and shaking," he murmured, voice almost gentle. She sobbed, loud and broken. "No! Wa-wait!" But it was clear that he wasn’t listening as she felt his finger slip into her in a way that made her let out a gasp of pleasure even as tears ran down her face. Then—his hand slipped deeper, not too much but enough to send her spiraling. Her vision blurred. Her breath caught. She tried to pull away, but her body arched instead, seeking more like a traitor. "So tight!" he mumbled in such a low voice that Aria was too far gone to hear it. And that’s when it hit. The moment crashed through her like a wave of fire and ice, her body convulsing as pleasure struck her without warning. Unwanted. Uninvited. Overwhelming. Her scream was soundless—mouth open, throat too tight to make a sound—as her muscles trembled and her hands clawed at the earth. Then... nothing. He pulled away, wiping his hands against his coat like he had touched something dirty even though his expression remained blank. The silence was worse than anything else. Aria collapsed forward onto her hands, the grass sticky with blood and sweat. Her hair fell around her like a veil, hiding her flushed, tear-soaked face. Her breaths came in heaves. When her mind cleared—when the haze finally lifted—reality slammed back into her chest like a blade. The guards. They were still there. They’d seen everything. "Urghhh," she groaned, wanting nothing more than to bury herself deep in the ground and never leave. The bodies of her brother and father lay lifeless on the ground, and yet she had allowed the man who killed them to touch her. Not only that, but she had derived pleasure from it. At that moment, she felt so much hatred for herself. When she glanced at the blade that lay a few feet from her, she wanted to take it and drive it through her chest instead. Zyren stood above her again, his shadow long over her trembling form. "You’re interesting enough to be kept alive," he said, voice like steel wrapped in silk. "Like a pet!" "Go to hell," she rasped, though her body still trembled. But he only smiled down at her, smug and sure and terrifying. "Little flame," he said, glancing at the village that still burned like a touch before turning to look back at her "...But you’re already there."