She was almost lost to reason the moment she felt her admirer’s moist lips press against her skin, sending a violent shudder down her spine as the feeling of surrender showered the woman. Despite her body telling her that the flesh brushing hers was cold, all she could feel was heat everywhere Ren touched—striking like a scalding iron that burned away fears and doubts. The rumble that followed from her lover was something primal and demanding, as the hunter’s body became like a puppet, bending and folding however the vampire wished, hands reaching out to grip and pull at anything they could find—clothing, hair, skin—it mattered not.

Like gravity she was pulled again, this time into a vampire’s embrace, the excitement of their closeness rippling through Lys’ body like stormy seas. She was lost to the passion as sensations mixed like colors in a painting, not even sure she could tell where the kisses ended and the licking began, though one thing stuck out like the blackness of night in her mind—the gentle pressing of canines against her skin, forcing a faint whimper from her lips. She was sure she had never felt something so alive.

[i]“You must tell me when it’s time for me to stop.”[/i]

If it hadn’t been for the low growl against her ear, she would have laughed—both because of how all this made her feel but also because it sounded absurd. That wasn’t even a thought she could conceive, let alone say aloud. She had buried this fantasy deep into the earth of her being, and now it had been unearthed and laid bare in its raw form. There was no turning back, only trying to cover it with a shallower grave.

It was more than that, of course—because of the bond that lit the room like a roaring blaze. Whatever it was that connected them only grew stronger the closer they were, the longer they breathed the same air. There was no cutting it now. And beyond even that, Renaissance had given her something the bond alone could not: safety, being wanted, being seen and heard, feeling like she was a person and not some tool to covet. If there was a reality in which the bond could be broken, Ren had already started to wiggle her way past the huntress’ emotional defenses—and no matter how much they were strangers, Lyselle already wanted to see more.

[i]“Everything in me wants to know you, Lyselle. Let me in…”[/i]

Let her in?

Everything in Ren wanted to know who the hunter truly was, and that alone spoke volumes—like telling a child shaking in the corner that it was safe to come out, that she was allowed to be seen. Had Ren spoken different words—more demanding, less gentle—Lyselle might have hesitated more than the short moment she did.

[color=#9BA7C3][i]‘Do I open the door? … no one will see me like this, ever again…’[/i][/color]

That was all the convincing she needed.

With a trembling sigh of desire, she opened the floodgates.

It all came rushing down their fated thread in a rolling tidal wave—filling the vampire’s mind, never overwhelming, but with clear intent to [i]share[/i].
Flashes of fantasies came first, some already known, others new:
— the huntress falling to her knees
— being restrained
— obeying
— begging
— worshipping—and serving.

But like water, it only grew deeper the further one went. Beneath the desire lay something steadier: a yearning to be capable, to be worthy, to protect the one she followed, to make her proud that she claimed this human as hers. And deeper still came the rawest truths: a longing to be protected herself, to be cared for, to matter simply because she was who she was. To be forgiven for mistakes. To be allowed to be human.

And then came the memories—the dusty halls of the Vigil, the endless study of scripture and monsters, the warnings of the night, the drills, the restrictions. The indoctrination. No room for a normal life, no room for friends, no room for softness. Other students had lives; Lyselle had lessons. They saw “promise” in her, so they locked her away to shape it. Everything she was, she was [i]for them[/i].

And Renaissance, from her vantage, would see the truth of it:
This was not training—this was grooming a weapon.

This was her door opening.

And with it came a whispered, trembling plea:

[color=#9BA7C3][i]“Please… come in…”[/i][/color]