Atticus’ nature, his true and infernal nature, took hold of him like he had never experienced before. There was power in Siya’s lips, something that stripped away his layers of humanity that he so carefully wrapped himself in. Her desire, and the intensity of her need only spurned his own, and in that moment, lost to time and reality, he was no longer Atticus. He was simply an Incubus. 

With one arm he encircled the tiny vampire’s waist. Her petite frame clung to him with remarkable strength, and so was his preoccupation that he had to use his other arm to navigate his way towards the bedchambers. Chairs and tables, and anything else that happened in his way was cast aside without regard, flung with wild abandon as he marched the pair of them out of the great hall, and at last into the long hallway, and its many doors.

It was almost too much for him, his own lustful yearning combined with the vampire’s. Heat, passion, and dark raw energy seemed to pour from her black eyes, and cascade over him like an intoxicating fog. The Incubus had no vision beyond her. He saw nothing else but the ethereal glow of her body, and the amorous promise of her movements. 

With some vestige of effort, some shred of lingering decency, the Incubus managed to refuse his own desire long enough to carry the vampire beyond the hallway, and at last to a bedchamber. In the darkness of the room, his eyes glowed like balls of shimmering ruby fire, catching the beautiful valley’s and crests of the vampire’s face in an otherworldly glow. 

“It has been far too long.” The Incubus managed to mutter to her before slamming the heavy door behind them; his last intelligible words of the near future.