The moon spilled its silvery light into the room, catching on the rich burgundy of velvet curtains that billowed gently in the midnight breeze. The four-poster bed loomed like a dark altar, its voile drapes rippling softly. Within it, a man lay sprawled in serene stillness, his bare chest exposed, the shadows accentuating the sharp planes of his face, the curve of his lips just shy of a smirk. Moonlight kissed his tousled hair, a picture of effortless, intoxicating beauty.
She slipped through the shadows, her bare feet soundless against the polished wood floor. The vampire moved like a wraith, every step a whisper of lust and hunger. Her hips swayed as though she were already caught in the rhythm of his eventual surrender. Her hands skimmed her own body, barely containing the heat pulsing beneath her pale flesh. Her tongue flicked over her lips, tasting the anticipation that hung heavy in the air. She hadn’t fed in days, and the man before her—perfectly still yet visibly aroused—drew her like a moth to flame.
His body beckoned, a flawless invitation, serene in its intoxicating stillness.
She slid onto the bed. Her knees pressed into the plush mattress as she straddled him, her thighs brushing against his cool skin. Her palms traced the hard lines of his chest, nails raking the taut muscles beneath his skin. Her lips parted, a soft sigh escaping.
Lowering herself onto him, she moaned softly, letting her body meld with his, indulging her own dark hunger as she rode the ebb and flow of primal need. The friction sparked waves of pleasure, and her fangs itched. Her craving intensified as she leaned down, lips brushing his throat. The vein called to her, pale and perfect under his skin, and she sank her fangs in, the familiar puncture of flesh sending a jolt of ecstasy through her.
She drank deeply, expecting the rush of life. Warmth. Something to flood her veins and sate her aching need.
Her eyes snapped open, and panic seized her as her hands dug into the rigid flesh of his unmoving shoulders. The blood was wrong—stagnant, cold, as if she’d siphoned it from a long-dead corpse. She reeled back, her lips smeared crimson, staring down at him.
The truth struck her like a blade to the chest. Rigor mortis. Angel lust.
She’d tasted death.
Her scream shattered the room as her body convulsed, the vile blood consuming her from within. The corruption was swift, merciless. Her skin blackened and cracked, flakes of her once-beautiful form crumbling away as she clawed at herself in agony. She disintegrated in a cascade of ash, her cries fading into nothingness as her remains scattered across the bed, a silver glow washing over the undisturbed corpse beneath her.
The breeze stilled. The drapes hung limp. Silence reigned.
And the man, ever still, lay in the moonlight as he had before: rigid, serene, perfect, the faintest smirk lingering on his lifeless lips.
