Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sunlight stabbed at her eyes the moment she stepped outside. She raised a trembling hand to shield her face, as though the autumn sky itself meant to burn her away. She was so much more sensitive to it lately. Blinking a few times to allow her eyes to adjust, she descended the slabbed steps and out towards the car park.

Once in the driver’s seat, she simply sat for a long while allowing her eyes to glaze over and stare into nothing. Her hands shook on the steering wheel. Galadriel hadn’t turned the key yet - she couldn’t.

Her pallor and hollowed eyes made her look more like a shell than a woman.

The doctors had given it a name. Words in Latin, descending like an omen.

The sound of a car horn shook her out of her trance – some dispute over the last free car parking space.

Galadriel swallowed slowly, as if this small act would remind her that she was still, in fact, alive, focussing on the sensation of the saliva disappearing down her throat.

Releasing a deep sigh, she turned the key over to start the engine and backed out of the parking space.

Once home, Galadriel stood in the kitchen for ten minutes, staring at the kettle she hadn’t switched on. Her fingers drummed against the counter with no rhythm, no purpose. Even her own pulse seemed reluctant, a sluggish beat in her veins. Numb to all.

The only thing she really felt anymore was the pain in her head, which was a dull ache at its best, and an intense searing at its worst.

She drifted listlessly up the stairs to her bedroom, not really sure as to why.

In the mirror, a stranger stared back. Dark rings shadowed her eyes, and she chewed her cheek as if testing the fragility of her own flesh. Anyone else might think she’d simply missed sleep - something a little makeup could disguise. But she knew better. She looked over her clothes next – practical, lazily chosen – a frumpy jumper and jean combination she threw on knowing there would be no occasion to dress up for. She stared at herself, the woman in her reflection there looked already half-dead - hollow eyes, skin leeched of colour.

Frustration brewed. Even if she felt like crap, she didn’t have to compound it by dressing like it. She tore the sweater over her head, as though peeling away the weakness she loathed.

Stomping over to her wardrobe, she flicked through the hangers until she found a strappy, black, backless mini-dress with a low cowl neckline down to her sternum.

Sliding into the black dress, she felt the fabric cling like a second skin, one that belonged to someone alive, someone vibrant.

She smoothed the front and sides down over her waist, turning from side to side and feeling generally satisfied she still looked pretty good despite everything going on.

She narrowed her eyes at her double as a thought began to form in her mind.

Her lips pursed, then broke into a reckless smile. ‘Fuck it,’ she whispered, and immediately began searching the bottom of the wardrobe for a pair of strappy heels. She slid her feet into them and fastened the buckles, binding her step to a rhythm of defiance.

She painted her lips red - the colour of sin, of blood. Last, her golden hair fell loose, a crown for the woman she refused to give up on just yet.

She took one final look at herself as a shadow fell. The last of the sun’s rays had set below the horizon, dulling the colours in the room, bolstering the grey tint through which she viewed the world.

So, she would go in search of anything that might brighten it, even if only for a few hours. Tonight, she would hunt for something worth feeling - even if it devoured her.

The club was dark, and loud – Halbrand could feel the music pulsating through his veins as he stood in the corner under the mezzanine, still as stone, scanning the crowd.

The air was thick with sweat, a heady cocktail of youth and desire that set his nose on fire as he watched the various pre-mating rituals unfold in front of him, successful or no.

He needed to find someone on their own, lonesome, and desperate for attention. They were the ones he could make do anything. So quick to trust, too eager to please. Very few could resist his charms, and fewer refused the power of his looks when he cocked his eyebrow and sent a curious smile their way.

Still his eyes roamed the room - the green beams of the laser-effects breaking across the array of faces as he selected his target.

There…

A red-headed slip of a thing retreating alone to a stool at a high table full of empty drinks, but no one came to join her. The look of rejection was plastered over her forlorn features. No doubt her friends were busy being clumsily grabbed at while the men about them bent to shout something lewd and altogether too loud in their ears as they fought against the music.

Halbrand sucked his teeth, and began moving toward the red-head.

Stalking out onto the dancefloor, he took no more than three steps before he stopped, feeling familiar eyes on his back.

He turned, and looked up to the balcony.

Her…

Daggers in his gaze. Then, a roll of his eyes, and a sigh of frustration, as he turned back around.

The girl was already gone.

But he’d lost his appetite anyway.

With her hanging around, he was happy to cut his losses and leave.

He began to pick his way through the crowd, heading towards the exit. He was taller than most, and he seethed when he could still feel her eyes burning a hole in the back of his head - so easily picked out among the throng.

Halbrand was almost at the door, when suddenly, he stiffened. He had caught the scent of something… different.

He should have left. He almost did. But - that scent. Pomegranate, jasmine, and beneath it all, something raw and aching, sharp as iron on his tongue. Sadness.

In amongst all these things there was something else pulling at him – something strange that he couldn’t place, but was drawn to with an urgency he’d never felt before, desperate to yield himself to its inescapable snare.

His eyes darted across the room - eager - abandoning the shadow on the balcony. Not caring anymore.

The dancing bodies parted momentarily. A shock of lustrous blonde waves caught his eye, before the image was obscured again by the shifting herd.

He pressed forward, shoving people aside in frustration. Quickening his step every time he caught a glimpse of gold.

Unlike the red-head, and for some reason he couldn’t put his finger on, he was anxious to make sure this one didn’t slip away.

Finally, he broke through the press of bodies, and there at the bar, she sat. Alone.

Her melancholy was a taste on the air, bittersweet, intoxicating. It wasn’t her beauty that pulled him, not really, though she was beautiful - it was the ache in her that resonated in his own hollow places, places he preferred not to acknowledge; calling him like a siren song. Before he knew it, he was already imagining what he would do to her tonight. How he planned to ease her troubles…

She sat on a stool, one elbow on the bar and fiddling with the cocktail stick in her drink as she looked about the room. Golden hair, red lips, a dress that invited all the wrong attention. Her eyes as blue as the tropics - the kind that begged for someone reckless enough to dive in and save her from her loneliness. Just for one night.

Slowly, deliberately, he walked up to the bar, careful to keep some distance between them. The entire time he watched her as he leant himself against it, only glancing away for a second as he ordered his drink.

Halbrand knew all too well, that it’s impossible not to notice when someone is looking at you. As though some sixth sense kicks in and you become aware of the eyes of the watcher on your skin. And she felt it now – the warm prickle of his stalwart gaze setting her hairs on end.

Her eyes flicked up to him. And while most would have quickly and coyly averted their gaze under the intensity of his stare, her eyes didn’t drop.

If anything, they sharpened, daring him. A sense of challenge replacing the gloom in her eyes. Would he have the courage to do more than just look?

He took a slow slip of his drink, grip tightening as he watched her from behind the rim. A low hum of amusement rose in his chest - she was no ordinary prey.

Halbrand had a rhythm, a pattern - lure, ensnare, consume. But when her eyes locked with his, steady and unyielding, something ignited. Hunger twisted into something keener, stranger.

She turned away then, but only to sip her own drink as she sent him an alluring sideways glance.

Halbrand’s lip curled, half-snarl, half-smile. That was everything he needed.

He set his glass down and took a step towards her.

But the moment he did so, she swivelled on her stool, coolly setting her heels to the ground and walking off without a second look.

Halbrand stood entranced but confused – unable to take his eyes off the way her hips swayed effortlessly from side-to-side, he equally couldn’t fathom how he’d managed to strike out so soon.

Heat flared in his chest - insult and desire, indistinguishable.

This never happened. Not to him. Not with all the worldly and otherworldly charms he liked to employ to get just what he wanted.

And he definitely wanted her.

She drew from him a hunger deeper than breath itself.

What was this pull he felt? This magnetism he struggled to make sense of?

The answer wasn’t important. All he needed to know, was that tonight, she would be his.

Lowering his head, he fixated on her from under his brow while his tongue glided over one of his canines. Testing it.

He moved to follow her, whether she wanted him to or not.

But with a flick of her hair she shot a glance at him over her shoulder, devilish, and enticing.

A voracious growl rumbled low in his throat, his lip curling in ravenous delight.

She wanted a chase, and he was more than happy to oblige.

He let her disappear into the shadows beneath the balcony before beginning his pursuit.

His eyes were keen in the dark, but his nose was keener. Her scent curled like a ribbon on the air, and he drew it into himself, pulling it ever tauter as he closed the distance.

The crowd thinned under the mezzanine’s thickening dark, broken only by shards of green laser. A flurry of them caught her hair, shining silver now in the dim.

She slowed. Checking he was he still following. One arm curled around a pillar, her head peeking from the other side. The tantalising look she gave him was clear - was he willing to play?

Of course, he was.

It was evident in the way he stalked from pillar to pillar now, always one behind her as she weaved in and out.

She looked back after rounding each one, reeling him in closer.

And he let her.

He delighted in losing sight of her every time he skirted a column, only to pick her out again in this scintillating game of cat and mouse.

Another pillar, another alluring look.

But as he passed by the latest one, he failed to spot her again. She was gone.

She was good - his mouse. He relished in how she didn’t make it easy.

No matter. Her scent was like a beacon guiding him home in a starless night.

That’s how he found her - in the darkest corner of the club - tucked as far under the gallery as she could be.

She had pressed herself against the back wall, watching him approach.

It wasn’t until he was inches away from her that he stopped, and he delighted in the way her fingers curled against the wall. Smirked at how she dragged a trembling breath past her lips - the anticipation setting her skin on fire.

He could feel the heat of it emanating off her – her body screaming with life so delectably.

Cupping her chin, Halbrand stepped in, meeting the wide pools of her eyes with a voracious stare.

Slowly, he raked his gaze down her body, sliding his other hand over her waist as he brought his focus back to her lips.

She trembled at his touch.

The bass of the music thrummed a synchronised rhythm through their bodies as though each were calling to the other.

It was too loud for words, so he simply raised an eyebrow and inclined his head in question.

Her answer was clear in the way she tipped her head back and parted her lips as she looked at him with lowered lids, languid with invitation.

Uncurling his fingers from her chin, he slipped them around the back of her neck, savouring in the way her skin pimpled in response despite the heat.

He urged his body against hers, pinning her to the wall, but she arched willingly into him, her hands clawing his shirt as if daring him to go further.

His lips lowered, grazing softly over hers for a moment. The corner of his mouth twitched with longing at the sensation of her breath.

Thinking about all the ways he was going to take her, he closed his eyes and pressed his mouth more firmly upon hers.

His kiss was slow, patient. He didn’t want to scare her off. But any misgivings in that regard were quickly quashed by the way she used both hands now at the back of his neck to pull him further in.

Their kisses became hungry - lips opening to allow their tongues to go in ravenous search of one another while hands roamed feverishly.

Halbrand took pleasure in stifling a moan from her as he rolled the hard press of his hips to her core.

Gliding his fingers up from her waist, he chanced at taking her breast in his hand.

It was bold. Impulsive.

But he figured she didn’t bring him to the most secluded place in the club to practice restraint.

When he squeezed she pulled her lips away, gasping a little, and releasing a strained sigh when he palmed at her again.

The sensation of her breath on his skin was intoxicating – he craved her all the more when she took his hand and guided it under the neckline of her dress, helping him push it aside to release her breast.

Oh, she was bold - this mouse.

Perhaps he needed to stop thinking of her like that. After all, she was chasing her desires as much as he. It was her that lured him to this spot, her that kept pushing for more. Perhaps she had been the cat all along… crafty kitten.

His lips descended on hers again, fierce and passionate, gripping the hair at the back of her neck while his thumb busied itself with her nipple.

More vibrations caught in her throat as he rolled his pelvis again, only this time his own voice groaned in response – the feel of her against the urgent swell of his manhood catching him off guard. He wasn’t expecting to be so awakened by her, and now every nerve thrummed with need.

Grateful she met his hunger with her own, he eagerly obliged when she turned her lips away from him and exposed her neck.

Planting a succession of wet, impatient kisses down her throat, he lingered at the place where her heart’s rhythm sang brightest – the temptation to nip at her flesh almost overtaking him.

His fangs ached, hovering just above her pulse.

But he stilled, forcing the hunger back and sucking a mark onto her skin instead.

He groaned harshly against her neck when she gasped at the way he branded her, seizing every ounce of restraint he had.

Careful. Softly. Not yet…

He swiftly continued his trail of kisses below her collar bone, seeking a suitable distraction in the plump, supple round of her breast - tantalising in its own right. He latched his mouth around her nipple, swirling his tongue over the sensitive peak while his hand strayed from her hair and slipped beneath the fabric of her dress to give similar attention to the other.

She arched her back against the wall while he stroked and caressed her, eliciting a dark grin from him, teeth pinching at her nipple as she ran her fingers through his hair.

His lips roamed towards the other breast, but stopped midway, mouth wide - hankering at her sternum - as a dark thought entered his mind.

He licked a deliberate strip up the valley of her chest, and when he came to meet her gaze, he settled his hands at her hips. He dug his fingers in, gripping at the fleshy curve of her, pulling ever so slightly at the fabric her dress.

The hem raised almost imperceptibly up her thighs.

He knew she felt it. The way he exposed a sliver more of her skin to the humid air.

Electricity crackled in the space between them, the unspoken question lingering with his touch. She gazed up at him - the heat within her eyes assured him she wanted it with a lustful need. In fact, it was what she had been hoping for.

He’d hunted countless women, but tonight, he realized with a thrill, that he was the one being lured; a trap he was all too happy to fall into.

No one would see. Too dark. Too secluded.

Holding her gaze, he began to gather up the fabric at her thighs.

Halbrand watched with sinful glee at the way her chest began to rise and fall more rigorously. Guessing this was not something she usually would allow given the way her skin prickled with a shy warmth now. But whether it was her sadness or simply a drunken sense of abandon, he thirsted after the way she stared back at him - eyes pleading with him to make her feel something.

And he was of a mood not to disappoint.

He ruched her dress just enough to expose the waistline of her black, lace underwear.

Curling a fingertip under the band at her hip, he skirted his finger across her supple curves until he reached the centre. All the while he kept his gaze on her, lids heavy, weighted with want.

He turned his hand over, palm now flat against her navel, fingertips poised just an inch below the line of the waistband.

Bringing his lips to hers, he hovered a hair’s breadth away, delighting in the way she trembled with anticipation, in the way she sucked the air in, nudging her lips to his as she did so.

“Do it.” It was barely a whisper, and utterly silenced by the din of the music. Halbrand felt it on his mouth more than he heard it. His prowling kitten’s fated first words.

Smiling against her mouth, he was glad to obey.

He sunk his hand deeper beneath the lace.

His mouth hungered after the sigh she breathed when he pressed his middle finger between her delectably wet, velvet folds; sliding effortlessly down the line of her and back up to find the delicate rosebud that so desperately required attention.

He felt her tilt her hips towards him, straining for more of his touch, urging him to please her.

And that’s just what he did – drawing slow, firm circles over the place her nerves were most sensitive, coaxing more sighs from her that he collected on his lips. He knew she must be mewling, but the noise of the club kept this from him. A shame. He would have liked to have heard what her moans sounded like.

He increased the pressure and the speed of his efforts, causing her to grab a fistful of his hair and wrap one of her legs around his waist. The leg still standing began to tremble, teetering on one precarious stiletto heel.

Her spine bowed against the wall, throat bared, lips parted on a breathless sound. Every shift of her hips pressed her closer, straining to chase her release.

It was then that he decided to slide his fingers to her entrance while his thumb took over at her bud, sinking one finger, then two, deep inside the warmth of her. She was so tight and already clenching around him that he didn’t think she could take a third. Not yet.

He latched his lips to her neck again as she craned it for him. He could feel the vibrations in her throat as she groaned at his touch, his fingers crooking and stroking the deepest part of her while his thumb worked with increasing vigour.

Every sensation was felt rather than heard and he knew her pleasure had crested in the way her body went taut, how she clenched even tighter around his fingers and the way the rumbles in her throat had become thin and reedy as her mouth fell open, gasping for air.

Her hands were clasped tight – one behind his head, still clutching his hair, while the other was wringing the shirt at his back.

Halbrand was rapt by it all.

Every tensed muscle, every strained breath.

The way her eyes snapped shut, brows knitting together and how her mouth ached to be filled. His free hand that had been palming her breast shot up to her jaw. Swirling his thumb over her open lips first, he then pushed it inside – her mouth closing around him instantly, sucking feverishly while she rode out the rest of her high.

When finally, she came down, her lids opened and she stared up at him with a wicked gleam as he pulled his thumb out slowly, smearing some of her lipstick as he circled the corner of her mouth.

He took his time withdrawing the fingers from inside her. Undeniably craving a taste of her, but he kept his actions measured, deliberate.

In control.

He wasn’t about to take what he really wanted – not yet – but he would enjoy the taste of her bliss. Taking his middle and forefinger, he sucked away what he had collected of her as he locked their gaze.

She tasted like honey, sweet as springtime fruit.

It only made him thirst for her more. Acutely aware of the way her pulse throbbed beneath the delicate skin of her neck.

But it seemed she wasn’t done either. She apparently had much more in mind by the way she squeezed the leg that was still around his waist. Pulling his hardened bulge flush against her and rolling her hips so that there was no mistaking what she wanted.

She didn’t hear it, but he let loose a deep growl from his throat, pressing forward to cage her in with his arms and thrusting against her centre. His eyes burning into hers.

She was insatiable.

And he found he couldn’t get enough of it, of her. It would usually be him taking the lead, controlling the situation, plucking at his victim’s strings in just the right way in order to make them melt for him. But she was firmly setting the pace, and he allowed himself to succumb to it.

He hungered for her. Didn’t even try to stop her from reaching down and unbuttoning the hem of his trousers. Instead he predatorially dragged his gaze down the line of her body while she hurriedly unzipped the rest of him.

With hooded lids, he let her pull down his boxers enough to release him, caring nothing for whether they were still alone in the darkest crevice of the club. And he guessed she didn’t either by the way she was insistently pumping her hand up and down the length of him now.

He was already stiff for her, but he grew even larger with every scintillating stroke and very soon he was lusting after more than the feel of her hand.

The unearthly pull he felt upon first catching her scent was now too strong to resist, and he had no intention of trying.

His hips pressed forward, a sharp need to be inside her clouding all other thoughts.

Reaching down, he pulled her underwear aside and stopped her hand from continuing its labours. Instead, he encouraged her to guide him through her slick, coating his tip in the wet mix of her previous bliss and the new nectars that were eagerly flowing forth, no doubt at the thought of him fucking her in this dark and grimey place.

She was too beautiful, too soft around the edges to make a habit of this – of fucking strangers in clubs without even speaking a word to each other. He could tell there was something desperate rather than practiced about all of it, but if this was new to her then she was certainly enjoying her first taste, judging by the way he so effortlessly pushed himself inside.

He was too greedy to be gentle. But she was so wet, it didn’t matter.

He felt her walls shift and mould themselves around him as he thrusted in up to the hilt, avidly smothered her mouth with his as though he might steal the very air from her lungs – her gasps stifled as he filled her.

There was nothing measured or controlled about any of it now as he dragged himself almost all the way out before forcing himself back in.

He did this again, and again.

Building up his rhythm.

Burying himself deep every time.

She was back to mewling again – his kitten. He could tell by the way her mouth sighed open, over and over, in tandem with his thrusts.

If they were able to hear each other, his own groans would have mingled with her own – she felt incredible.

She was tight, but she was taking him. All of him.

And he could tell she was enjoying it by the way she undulated her hips in time with him.

But he wanted more. To reach further. To feel the vibrations of her screams as he bottomed out as deep as he could go.

So, he lifted her other leg and wrapped it around his waist with the other, pinning her more forcibly against the wall. Redoubling his efforts now that he could sink into the very depths of her.

Taking his hand from her thigh, he slid it up to her throat, curling his fingers just enough so he could feel every tremor he was prying from her.

He clocked how her eyes widened at that, how her breath stalled. The slight shimmer of panic glinting against the dark.

But he simply tilted his head down and locked onto her from under his eyebrows with a sinful gaze, nodding just slightly in reassurance. “I want to hear you.”

She wouldn’t have heard. But it didn’t matter. She understood, answering with a shudder and leaning into his hand.

The fleeting fear in her features was gone, replaced now by a wilful need to succumb to her pleasure. To everything he was giving her.

It was clear to Halbrand that if she wanted to feel safe, she wouldn’t have led him under the balcony, wouldn’t have come here at all if she didn’t seek danger.

Risk was part of it – part of the carnality.

He gripped her throat a little tighter. Continuing to rut into her with relentless rigor. His palm capturing every bliss-filled tremor.

But he knew he could coax more from her.

Sliding his other hand between them, he slipped his fingers down the line of her – so beautifully exposed with her legs wrapped around him, he began to work at her bundle of nerves.

The vibrations in her throat changed, and he chased the feeling against his hand just as he chased down his own pleasure now, fucking her harder while he quickened his fingers.

He felt her clench, her throat straining in fits and starts as her orgasm broke.

His thrusts hastened, his rhythm quickly dissolving into something more sporadic as his own bliss crested – his manhood throbbing as he spilled himself inside her. Face burying itself in her neck while his groans settled.

It was good. It was really good. The way her cunt had drawn such pleasure from him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had felt like that.

Still, somehow, it wasn’t enough.

He knew what it would take – to feel sated.

He could do it here, if he wanted. The fact they had just fucked without anyone noticing was testament to how secluded they were. She wouldn’t be found for hours.

The sweat on her neck smelt of salt and perfume.

The urge to take her, now irresistible.

How was she doing this? Driving him so crazy?

The ache in his gums was unbearable now; his jaw flexed, fangs brushing the tender hollow of her throat. He could not hold back much longer. About to sink his teeth in.

But then-

He felt her hands on his face, guiding him away from the crook of her neck and drawing him up to look at her.

Her hands cupping his face as if he were something breakable, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones with an aching tenderness; a stark contrast to the tone of all they had just done. And for a moment, he was transfixed by the sorrow in her eyes – the grey of her irises reflecting the disposition of her soul as she leant in to kiss him. Her lips brushed his once, then lingered like a eulogy, soft and unhurried. When she pulled back, she didn’t smirk or beckon - she only sighed, eyes brimming with a sorrow so raw it silenced him.

A thank you hung in the space between them, unspoken, undeniable.

It was not the blood he suddenly hungered for, but the way her lips had lingered on his as if she were mourning something - him, herself, the night. The bite he had been moments from taking dissolved into a yearning far stranger, far more dangerous.

The fact that he could slip from her neck to her lips without piercing flesh shook him more than any hunger ever had.

Unable to fathom why, all thoughts of leaving her here - in the dark, in the filth – had suddenly become abhorrent to him. And as he slowly slid out of her, releasing her legs from his waist with more care than he knew he possessed, he gently caressed her face. His fingertips skimming the line of her cheekbone and down towards her lips. The way her eyes fluttered closed at his touch, the delicate sigh she released against his fingertips… it was spellbinding. He found himself entranced at her beauty, her essence… her fragility.

Bending his head, he slowly brought his lips close – hovering hesitantly over hers for a moment, until he returned her kiss with his own tender offering. This one moment vastly more intimate than anything that had gone before.

When they parted, they simply stayed a moment, searching each other’s gaze. Neither wanting to break away just yet.

Time seemed to stretch, and for Halbrand it was enough to recognise that while he was fixed within her orbit, the ache of loneliness he didn’t even know he suffered from, seemed lessened now somehow. And he thought, perhaps just fleetingly, he had caught a glimpse of something similar in the quaking of her eyes as she stared back at him.

A sudden realisation struck. He wanted her alone – truly alone. Rid of the possibility of being caught, where he could take his time doing everything they had just done all over again, and more.

This was new – this need to have her again. Usually he would discard his victims after one use, taking what he needed and leaving them for the maggots.

But not her.

Now he’d had a taste of her, he found himself only craving more.

His eyes flickered down to her mouth, already imagining what her lips would look like stretched around his cock. They looked so beautiful sighing for him as he fucked her, he wondered what else they would be good at.

Raising an eyebrow, he inclined his head in the direction of the exit, hoping she was also craving more from the night.

The vulnerability in her features seemed to disappear at that, replaced by a wicked half-smile as she fluttered her eyelids down and back up acceptingly.

He zipped himself up. And after quickly adjusting her dress and underwear, she took him by the hand, and he allowed her to lead him out from under the balcony, across the dancefloor to the exit and on into the street.

The entire time she was leading him, his eyes roamed the curves of her feminine form, and delighted in the way her gleaming hair swished over her shoulders every time she looked back to check he was still happy to follow.

He was more than happy. In matter of fact, he had already worked himself up so much over the idea of fucking her again that as soon as they were outside, he whirled her around and pinned her against the side of a parked car. His lips impatiently colliding with hers in a heated, chaotic kiss.

She gave as good as she got, and met his ardour with her own zeal – her tongue eagerly searching his while her hands gripped the back of his head.

Then it struck him. He broke their kiss just enough to get the words out.

“I don’t even know your name.”

It had never been of any consequence before – after all, what was the point of learning any of their names? But for reasons he couldn’t quite untangle, it wasn’t enough for her to be just another in a long line of nameless prey. He wanted to know who she was. She, who mesmerised him so.

“Does it matter?” She answered, breathily, pining for the feel of his lips once more.

This self-destructive streak in her was all too delicious, and if she wasn’t careful, his restraint might slip, unleashing all his destructive tendencies just to give her what she sought.

But despite himself, he needed to know.

“Yes.” He pulled away. And she moved to follow – eyes still closed and mouth searching for him. He caught her jaw with his hand, his long fingers almost smothering entirely one side of her face. Nothing forceful, but commanding her attention nonetheless.

Her eyes snapped open then, and now for the first time, and under the relative brightness of the streetlamps, he could see just how the cerulean of her eyes sparkled. Although, somewhere in the depths of them, he could tell she was coming apart.

“Who are you?” He repeated, barely above a whisper this time.

Her answer didn’t come straight away – a battle of opposing thoughts raged behind her gaze. But eventually, one side won out.

She took a deep breath before sighing out her name. “Galadriel.”

His grip on her face relaxed, trailing his fingertips softly down her cheek. “Well then…” He flicked his attention to a taxi just down the street, hailing it with an outstretched arm before swiftly returning his interest back to her.

With a raised eyebrow, he canted his head, questioning. “Where to, Galadriel?”

Chapter Text

He couldn’t do it.

What was wrong with him?

She was lying right there, asleep next to him. Stretched out under the dim light of the single lamp on her nightstand. Her heartbeat a quiet drum against the sheets.

Vulnerable. Exposed.

It would be so easy - all he had to do was reach out – smother her mouth with his hand so she couldn’t scream.

Then bite down.

Nothing he hadn’t done a hundred times before.

But he couldn’t.

He’d tried.

After he had spent himself inside her for a second time that night, he had planned to take the final thing that remained unclaimed by him.

Something in him wanted to wait until his groans of ecstasy spilled over their crest and only then would he sink his teeth into the supple skin of her neck – gods that would be divine!

He’d never craved both hungers at once before - the thirst and the flesh. Until her. His desires so out of his control. A primal need calling to him.

She drove him insane. Her scent. Her skin. Her moans.

A red had heat burned inside him, raging to be released, and he knew the only thing that would quench it was the iron warmth of her life on his tongue.

That’s when he grabbed her. Seizing her jaw and wrenching it sideways while the other hand was like a vice on her shoulder, stretching her neck further as he pulled it down.

She’d cried out at that - half pain, half pleasure – still coming down from her own high, and it only stoked the hunger clawing at his ribs.

His mouth opened over her throat. The scent of her pulse flooded him, his eyes blackening with demonic desire. Teeth bare and poised a hair’s breadth from her skin - a single beat away from slaking his need.

But his jaw locked. His body faltered.

Every muscle in him trembled, fighting itself. A low sound tore from his throat, half snarl, half plea.

And still he couldn’t move.

The warmth of her skin seeped into him instead, drowning the hunger in something he couldn’t name.

Blinking once, twice. His brow furrowed, perplexed.

His hand still held her jaw, but gently now - the same grip that could have broken her neck became an anchor, something to keep him steady. Then, driven by impulse, he began gently ghosting the tip of his nose up the line of her neck to her jaw. His lips following behind, tracing where the rhythmic throb of her pulse danced under her smooth skin - a rhythm so strong he could almost believe it was calling to him.

So full of life.

The thought struck like a wound. He didn’t want to take that from her. Not this one. Not her.

Somehow, he cared whether she lived or died.

He cared.

Without his permission, his mouth began murmuring words below her ear that left him utterly stunned. “I’m sorry…”

Sorry?!

What had come over him?

“If that’s how you say it was good, I’ll take it.” She laughed, breathing through the remainder of her come-down.

It had been. Incredible, even.

Something had passed between them - not blood, but something older. It left him shaking, hollow, and more alive than he’d been in years.

He didn’t know whether to fear it or crave it.

Confusion clouded his thoughts as he’d struggled to tear his face away from the hollow of her neck where it sheltered him.

He had no idea if she could feel it. But her arms wrapped tightly around him then – her left hand gliding though his hair, massaging soothing trails with her fingertips across the back of his scalp.

If he could, he would have breathed out a deep and cleansing exhale. But he’d opted for releasing a low hum instead, his body relaxing into her supple form beneath him.

There he lay for a while. Unsure of what had just happened, or even what to do about it, but ultimately caring little so long as he could lie here with her like this for as long as the world would allow.

What was she? This being that could stoke his soul into a raging fire with one touch, then quell all fury into quiet contentedness with another.

He would give all the years of his existence to understand.

Lifting his head, he’d hovered above her then, gravely searching the way the lamp light caught her features for an answer.

She’d gave him a quizzical look, those blue opals dazzling even in the dim glow of the room, probing him. Not in the way he knew most eyes did when they looked at him – where they would silently ask and accuse at the same time, stipulating on an answer to the same question. Face after face, they all demanded the same… Why? Why have you done this to me?

But hers hadn’t been searching for an answer to anything. At least not for any question to do with herself. There was a softness to them. A warmth. A sting of pity in the crinkle between of her brow.

“What’s wrong?” She’d whispered, her breath caressing his lips like its own tender kiss.

He hesitated. What was he meant to say? That if she was anyone else he would have left her in a bloodied heap by now? That for reasons he couldn’t understand, he was going to let her live. Because he needed to. Because he couldn’t fathom the idea of watching this vivacious creature suddenly rendered lifeless by his hand.

His brow had knitted, eyes becoming glassy as he quietly shook his head. Unable to find any words, even those of a comforting lie.

Her hand came to his face then, the warmth of it blinking him back to himself. He’d studied her for a moment, then before he knew it, he was planting a delicate kiss upon her lips, doting, and tinged with sorrow.

If he couldn’t kill her, he certainly couldn’t keep her.

So, he simply watched her. Rolling away and waiting until the heavy lids of her eyes fell lazily to a close and she drifted into sleep, blissfully unaware of the monster in her bed.

Consequently, there he was. Caught between hunger and awe and paralysed by the pull of both. Hours went by like this, rapt by her beauty, hypnotised by the way her chest softly rose and fell as she slept. Not wanting to touch her, but unable to leave.

He would have to leave soon though. The night was growing old and he wasn’t sure how he would explain away why he couldn’t leave once the sun came up.

Even in sleep, she was undeniably alluring - her scent intoxicating. As a parting favour, he bent his head to better take in her natural perfume, tracing his nose along the line of her collarbone and up the curvature of her neck.

Immediately he pupils blew wide - not just with animalistic desire, but with a thunderclap of realisation.

He knew now why he was so irresistibly drawn to her. Why he hungered for her. Why he couldn’t find it in him to kill her.

But all too late. For he could smell the coming of dawn, and he had yet to eat.

He left her sleeping, her heartbeat echoing in his skull long after he’d gone. He would not forget it - that sound of life that would call to him always.

Galadriel woke to the same pulse pounding behind her eyes – and not just from the hangover.

Blearily she opened one eye, reluctantly followed by the other.

Sunlight knifed through the curtains, slicing the darkness in two. It fell across her face - too bright, too clean - like a spotlight she hadn’t asked for. She groaned and rolled away, burying her face in the pillow. Her mouth was dry, her skin tacky with sweat, the night still clinging to her like smoke. Her teeth were furry - too many sugary cocktails. And she could tell by the way her lashes crunched when she squinted that her mascara had gone stale overnight. No doubt her pillows were stained with a combination of foundation and lipstick where it had rubbed off while she slept. No matter, she was going to change the sheets anyway today after-

Her eyes snapped open – the entirety of the night rushing back in to her consciousness like the tide racing back to shore.

And with it, she was suddenly aware of the migraine flaring behind her eyes.

She winced, pinching the bridge of her nose before straining her lids open and hazily surveying her room.

He was gone.

Her heart sank like a stone.

Fresh feelings of worthlessness bubbled up from an acrid pit deep within. She battled with herself not to cry, setting her mouth into a thin line to prevent it from quaking.

What did it matter?

She used him as much as he used her. More so, probably.

The sheets smelled of him.

His eyes shone when she laughed - she remembered that.

But her cheek twisted into a grimace as she recalled her behaviour in the club… what she allowed herself to do.

She shook her head fitfully, trying to empty her head of the memories, but instead she was convinced they merely rattled around the numb sense of emptiness that was there.

It wasn’t like her - to do those things. But not much was these days.

She went out looking for fun, yes – something to escape into for a while. She just hadn’t quite planned on going that far. At least, not in a seedy corner of a club.

Not that it would have mattered if they had gotten caught. What would they do to her? Nothing of lasting consequence. There were no more lasting consequences… not for her.

Still… there was something about him. A lure that made her want to throw off her shackles and just give in to all her darkest desires. And the way he looked at her - that fierce smoulder set to devour her entirely. Just thinking about it made her stomach twist, a liquid heat pooling between her thighs as she recalled how he pinned her to the wall, the way his lips latched onto the curves of her throat, the feel of his erection grinding against her core… as it stretched her open when he entered her…

Her phone vibrated against the nightstand, a small mechanical heart pulsing on the table.

A laboured sigh escaped her throat as her eyelids pressed closed.

Not now.

Reluctant but resigned, she reached over to see the message.

Her screen flashed: [We’ve got another one. Meet you outside in 15.]

The words hit harder than the hangover. She exhaled, a dry sound halfway between a sigh and a curse, then swung her legs out of bed.

Quick shower, teeth cleaned, jeans and jumper thrown back on. Out the door.

Celeborn was just pulling up when she left the vestibule of her apartment building, tugging on a jacket as she walked.

As soon as she got in the car, he remarked on state she was in – the dark rings under her eyes clearly visible without any make-up. “Late night?”

“What have we got?” She dismissed, reaching for the coffee he held out for her.

Pursing his lips a little, he tried not to look too perturbed as he explained, handing over his phone to show her the photographs that had been sent to him. “Twenty-two-year-old female, same puncture wounds as with the other three victims, exsanguination as the cause of death.”

Galadriel studied the images, her steely expression only belied by a slight grimace as she flicked through the phone.

She was so young. This red-headed girl.

“Where was she found?” She asked.

“In the alley behind The Raft.”

“The Raft?” Galadriel looked stunned. Eyes-wide as she probed Celeborn’s face. “You’re sure?”

“Yes… something wrong?” Concern clouded his features as he tilted his head – a condescending sense of pity in his eyes.

Galadriel always hated how he did that. She supposed he thought he was being caring, but it had only ever annoyed her. She didn’t need his pity. The only thing that was worse was how he would give her a hurt or disapproving look whenever she mentioned going on a date. She always suspected he had feelings for her, but she was far from interested. And besides, he was her partner, she wasn’t about to get involved with anyone she worked with, even if she had liked him, which, mercifully, she didn’t.

Wanting to avoid another of his wounded expressions, she opted not to tell him that she was at The Raft last night. It was of little consequence anyway. She hadn’t seen this girl, and was witness to nothing. It was just one of those coincidences, she supposed.

“Nothing, let’s go.” She replied. To which Celeborn nodded hesitantly, before turning the key in the engine and driving off.

Forensics were already there, taking swabs, fingerprints, and yet more photographs of where the girl still lay, lifeless on the ground next to two large dumpster bins.

Celeborn had gone inside to question the owner of the club while Galadriel surveyed the crime scene in the alleyway.

She bent over the body, scrutinising her positioning. She was facedown as if she’d tripped, her head twisted to the left. Red hair splayed across the floor, some strands sticking to her neck, matted with dried blood from the puncture wounds there. She wore a purple mini-dress that looked to have been rucked up at the top of her thighs. But it was her hands that were strange… One arm was crumpled underneath her while the other lay straight – her hand next to her hip. She hadn’t even tried to break her fall.

Dead before she fell.

“We think she might have been raped before she died.” Poppy’s voice called from behind. At which, Galadriel straightened and turned to look at her. Like the rest of the forensic team, Poppy was dressed head-to-toe in a blue disposable coverall, with smaller ones about her shoes, protective goggles over her eyes, and a face mask, which she pulled down now to speak.

“What makes you think that?” Galadriel asked.

“There’s blood between her thighs.”

Galadriel flinched at the thought.

“We’ll know more once the M.E. has done the autopsy. Might get lucky – maybe the arsehole that did this was stupid enough to leave some semen behind.”

“Maybe.” Galadriel’s voice was flat, her gaze drifting back to the body. As her eyes roamed, sorrow and resignation caught in her chest. Is this what she’ll look like, when the time comes?

Her contemplation was cut short when she noticed something dark in the dead girl’s hair. “Poppy.”

“Yes.”

“Hand me a glove, will you?”

Poppy promptly walked back over, producing a latex glove from a dispenser box. Galadriel fitted it onto her hand before crouching next to the girl’s head and carefully extracting a single black, acrylic nail tipped with a red crescent. Also in red, was the delicate outline of a bat forming the main design. Her eyes glanced down to the victim’s hands – her nails were natural, and painted gold. Turning the nail over in her hand, she held it up for Poppy to see. “What do you make of this?”

“Could have got caught in her hair while she was dancing – lots of arms flailing about.” She guessed, holding out an open evidence bag.

“Or someone grabbed her by the hair and she ripped it off trying to fight her way free.” Galadriel countered as she dropped the nail into the bag.

“Female on female rape is rare.”

“I know…” She frowned, “let me know what else you find.”

“Sure.”

Galadriel rose to her feet and entered the club through the side entrance that opened out onto the alleyway. Once inside, she passed through the storage area, casting her eyes over the spare glasses, blue rolls, and crates of alcohol – nothing of particular interest – before emerging into a passageway with stairs down to the cellar, a door to an office, and another door that led into the club. Following the sound of Celeborn’s voice, she took the latter and stepped out into the bar.

Celeborn was finishing up with the owner as she passed through the bar and out onto the dancefloor, her gaze drifting over to the now fully lit space, her attention stalling at the back wall beneath the balcony – a mix of shame and arousal clashed against the memory. She could still feel all the ways he had touched her, claimed her. The pleasure he had drawn from her in their sordid encounter. His powerful thrusts giving her everything she needed to forget… just for one night. The longer her mind lingered on it, the more her skin began to hum – a sensual heat coursing through her body, causing her ears to flush red and her core to throb between her thighs.

Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, she turned away from the balcony and made her way over to Celeborn, who was leaning on the bar making notes.

“The owner knows nothing – only that one of his bar staff found the girl early this morning when they took out the rubbish. No one’s seen or heard anything.” He reported.

Galadriel hummed in response, her mind still distracted.

“Detectives!” Poppy’s voice echoed through the empty club, preceding her before she appeared through the main entrance.

“What is it, Poppy?” Celeborn asked, standing straighter now - whatever Poppy was about to show them piquing his interest.

“Found this under the body.” Poppy lifted a low-ball glass in an evidence bag. Smudged prints. Still damp.

Galadriel’s eyes widened, and cold chill ran down her spine. The way Halbrand had stared so predatorially at her flashed across her mind. Remembering how as he sipped so deliberately out of the exact same type of glass.

She blinked and swallowed the thought down. Plenty of people would have drunk out of those kinds of glasses last night.

“Under her?” Celeborn turned the bag in his hand, frowning.

Poppy nodded back, “Yeah. Kind of strange, it was too carefully placed, like it had been tucked under her after she fell.”

“You took pictures?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Thanks, Poppy.”

Celeborn handed the glass back to her, and Galadriel couldn’t help but fixate on where it was held in Poppy’s hand as she walked away.

“You okay?” Celeborn’s voice snapped her out of her stupor, forcing her mouth into a smile as she brought her focus back to him.

“Yeah, fine. We’ll need to do door-to-door interviews, see if anyone spotted anything unusual. For now though, let’s get back to the station and try to make sense of all this.” She didn’t wait for him to fall in next to her as she strode towards the exit.

“Okay, so get this.” Nori swivelled on her chair, grabbing her energy drink from amongst the other clutter on her desk next to where Galadriel perched on the edge of it. Back at her computer now, Nori tapped away on the keyboard, bringing up the various reports and pertinent findings she had collected to do with the case. She was a budding young junior detective, showing plenty of promise having worked previously as an analyst. Galadriel had always liked her – she worked quickly and made connections few others had the skill to spot. She also had an enthusiasm for the job that reminded Galadriel of herself at one time or another - before the relentless horrors, each case grinding her down until only a jaded numbness remained.

“No semen, so no easy link to our guy.” Nori continued while Galadriel adjusted herself on the desk to get a better view of the screen. “However, there were definite signs of sexual assault. The blood seems to have come from small, semi-circular cuts near the entrance to her cervix. The M.E. wasn’t sure what made them, but it certainly suggests she was penetrated with one or several small, sharp objects.

“Now, check this out - the nail you found in her hair? It took me a while, but I found that this particular emblem of the red bat on a black background, is the signature design of a certain nail artist that used to work at the Gaurhoth beauty salon. If I can direct your attention to exhibit A…”

Galadriel leaned forward, elbow perched on her knee and resting her head on her fist, while Nori tilted her monitor towards her to better show the images she had found.

Very pleased with herself, Nori went on. “Maybe I present: ‘Nails by Thuri’, the Instagram account of Thuri Wengithil. And look – she’s sporting the exact same nails.”

Galadriel followed where Nori was pointing at her screen, picking out an Instagram post of a dark-haired woman with a deep shade of eye-shadow and blood-red lipstick, holding her freshly done nails up by her face. The caption read, ‘New design! Oomfs, what do we think?’

“Sounds like we need to pay Thuri a visit.” Galadriel mused, cocking an eyebrow. “See which customers have asked for this design recently… or if perhaps see if Miss Wengwithil, herself, has a nail missing.

“That would be great, except we can’t.” Nori gave her a sideways glance, canting her head with a knowing look that promised an inconvenient twist. “Miss Thuri Wengwithil has been dead for the last five years.” She finished this proclamation with a disgruntled huff, but it was quickly replaced by a sly smirk that suggested more.

“What?” Pursing her lips and squinting her eyes, Galadriel indulged her, knowing Nori had a penchant for dramatic reveals.

“Guess how she died?”

Galadriel straightened then, all of a sudden much more intrigued by this fortuitous twist of fate. “You’re kidding?”

Nori gave her another wry smile. “Nope! Same puncture wounds to the neck, cause of death: exsanguination. But here’s the weird part – after the autopsy, her body vanished from the morgue and was never found.”

A frustrated sigh escaped Galadriel’s nose. “Ok, so a dead end, literally.”

“Not quite.”

Galadriel smiled then. Trust Nori to have one more trick up her sleeve.

“Remember the glass?” Nori asked.

She stiffened slightly, and gave a cautious nod for Nori to continue.

“We got a fingerprint match,” Nori said, half-grinning. “Guy arrested six years ago - local brawl, nothing major. But look what else I found.”

She clicked through to a new window.

“This same guy is featured on none other than our deceased nail-artist’s Instagram page. Check out this post from only a week before she died.”

There was Thuri - dark hair, black and red nails, the same bat motif - leaning into a man’s shoulder.

Galadriel’s pulse skipped.

The jawline. The eyes. That faint, knowing smile.

No. It couldn’t be.

“Meet Mr. Halbrand Southland,” Nori finished, triumphant. “Ex-boyfriend of Miss Thuri Wengwithil.”

The name hit her like a hammer blow. The screen blurred. For a heartbeat she was back in the club - heat, breath, the scrape of teeth against her throat.

Her stomach turned to ice, but her skin burned.

The air around her felt too thin, her chest too tight, as if all the air was being pulled from the room.

“Handsome, right? They look happy together.” Nori’s voice buzzed distantly, like the white noise of a radio out of tune.

It made sense now - the way his eyes had lingered on her neck, the way his voice had almost trembled when he said her name.

A predator. One that she’d invited into her home.

The screen glowed in front of her, haloing his face in pale light.

There was no mistaking it. It was him. Clear as day in the picture next to Thuri.

She swallowed, trying to push down the dread that had crept up her spine and seized her neck. Her pulse thundered in her ears, but her voice came out steady. “So… he’s our main suspect?”

It was almost impressive, how calm she sounded - as if her body hadn’t gone cold from the inside out.

“Yes and no.” Replied Nori, countering Galadriel’s confused frown with a swift explanation. “He was reported missing around the same time of Thuri’s murder, five years ago. So, unless he has an evil twin-”

“He’s turned back up.” Galadriel’s voice was hollow and distant, her glassy expression belied little of the bile she felt at the back of her throat. “I have to go.”

“Go? Where?” Nori twisted on her chair, calling after Galadriel who had already left her perch and was now heading towards the door; her jacket already thrown about her shoulders.

“To follow a lead.” She answered without looking back. Her voice sounding distant, even to herself.

“What lead?” Nori shouted after her. “What do I tell Celeborn when he gets back from interviewing?”

But Galadriel had already disappeared down the corridor. Every stride struck like a heartbeat - steady, furious, alive. She wasn’t sure if she was chasing or running.

“Thank you, Nori, for all your great work!” Nori slumped back in her chair after shouting at the vacant doorway, sighing. “I need a raise.”

Chapter Text

She felt sick. That he’d touched her, tasted her… fucked her. If anyone found out, she’d be taken off the case, maybe even fired. She couldn’t afford that – her job was the only thing still keeping her alive in any real sense now and it distracted her from thinking about the future, or lack thereof… Most days, she felt embalmed in routine. Only adrenaline proved she hadn’t been buried yet.

She needed to find him - on her terms. If she could control the encounter, maybe she could wrestle something useful from him before anyone learned how far she’d already fallen. Her lasting legacy in this world was not going to be that she fucked the murderer she was after on her final case.

The shame burned hot, but it gave her clarity too. If she couldn’t forgive herself, she could at least make him pay.

So, there she sat, drink in hand, at the same stool at the bar. The vinyl seat still tacky from someone’s spilled drink. The bass from the dance floor thudded through her ribs like a second heartbeat, and the scent of lime, sweat, and cheap gin clung to the air.

She didn’t know if he’d show – only that this was his haunt. Coming here no doubt to pick up women, and worse… Galadriel grimaced at that, wondering if it was pure luck that she had gotten away unscathed. She pondered what he looked for in a victim, a part of her slightly offended she didn’t possess those qualities, whatever they were. A stupid thought. Still, perhaps that might have been a better way to go… At least it would be over - a clean ending for a life already running on fumes.

Blinking the thoughts from her mind, she scanned the club.

The mirror behind the bar caught her reflection in flickers of red light, faces strobing around her like ghosts. The glass was smeared, but her eyes were clear, watchful. The neon light painted everyone in corpse colours - too pale, too blue. She’d seen that look before; the empty eyes, the stillness before the coroner zipped the bag.

It was hard to pick any one person out among the crowd, especially when she had no idea what he would be wearing, if he was here at all. But she’d prepared for that.

She wore red this time. She wanted to be seen. With any luck, he would find her.

Her fingers brushed the cuffs in her bag. Insurance. She wasn’t sure she’d use them – but she felt safer knowing she could.

An hour went by, two, three. Galadriel felt her agitation rise with every minute.

Eventually though, she had to concede that he wasn’t here. Her heart sunk at that, confounded as to why she even cared.

She moved to leave, hopping off the stool and heading towards to exit. But she took only a single step before large hands glided over her waist, a body pressing against her back.

“I hoped I might find you here.” The words a velvet murmur, offered softly to her hair.

His touch was warm enough, yet there was something unnatural about it - like the warmth didn’t come from blood at all, but from friction, from motion.

Galadriel did her best not to stiffen in his arms, forcing herself to remain calm and focused, pushing aside the heat already pooling low at his touch. Repulsed at herself for feeling it.

She leaned into him, tilting her head a little to speak back to him as alluringly as she could. “Perhaps I hoped the same.” At least it wasn’t a lie.

Turning about in his arms, she looked up to his face – breath hitching as she remembered how handsome he was. How intense his hazel eyes were, like a forest set aflame, burning with desire.

“And what was your plan once you found me?” He slid his hand to the small of her back, pressing her against his crotch.

Her heart was racing. She had to work to quiet her breath as a rush of panic and desire pulsed through her. She couldn’t tell which one had caused her to flush red but the heat blooming across her skin was unmistakeable as it surged through her chest, her cheeks, the tips of her ears.

She schooled her features into a coy smile, and while she hadn’t meant to do it, she found herself undulating her hips against him, her eyes flicking up seductively. “What do you think?”

He raised an eyebrow at that. So she leaned closer, the flirtation deliberate now. If desire was the only language he understood, then she’d make it her dialect - just long enough to learn what she needed.

A salacious smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good girl.” He drawled, each slow word dragging over her like silk as he bent his head to kiss her.

She should be offended by it - condescending, infantilising - but instead it served only to ignite something in her she hadn’t felt before. Something primal, scandalous – a desire to be dominated.

For a moment, Galadriel forgot herself – her eyes fixating on his lips, rapt, captured in his orbit. Wondering what it would be like to let him conquer her.

She teetered. Then found she began leaning in.

Careful!

Catching herself, she placed her index finger to his lips, pulling her head back a little, before craning her neck and standing on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Not here.”

She looked at him suggestively from under her eyelashes as she drew away. Unwrapping herself from his arms, she took his hand in hers, and led him away.

Sinking his chin, Halbrand raked his eyes predatorially over her curves as he stalked behind.

Once outside the club, his interest piqued as she led him right, and right again along the alleyway at the side of the building. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” She replied, playfully glancing over her shoulder.

The alley stank of rain and rust. Water dripped from a broken gutter, slow and steady, the sound unnervingly close to the rhythm of her own pulse. The air carried a tang of iron, old blood maybe, or maybe just the city’s rusting bones.

As she walked him down the passage, her eyes strayed momentarily over to where they had found the girl’s body. It still smelled faintly of disinfectant, a scent that always made her think of morgues and formaldehyde. She wondered if he’d clocked it to, whether he felt uncomfortable about where she was taking him. But she didn’t look back to check, instead she focused her attention ahead – leading him to where the light from the streetlamp petered out, beyond and into the darkness.

The air between them thickened. Her pulse stuttered at how easily he followed.

He didn’t resist, or question why they were headed into the shadows. She couldn’t tell if that was a good or a bad thing.

It didn’t matter. As soon as they were out of sight of prying eyes, Galadriel made her move.

She spun quicker than he could react. Yanking the arm she was holding and twisting it up behind his back.

Gripping tight, she dug her heels into the ground and shoved – forcing him forward. Smashing him into the wire fence. A groan escaping his mouth as she did so.

Grabbing his other arm, she lashed both wrists together with the handcuffs she had already discreetly pulled from her handbag.

She pressed against him, her entire weight pinning him to the fence.

The wire mesh was digging into the side of his face. His eyes didn’t fail to notice the knife she’d pulled – the tip now dangerously poised under his chin.

He didn’t struggle.

Instead, he dealt her a sly sideways glance; one eyebrow curiously cocked. “I’d hoped you’d like it rough.”

“Shut it!” She kneed him in the thigh, causing him to collapse on that leg, unable to recover to full height again, pinned as he was to the fence.

The knife at his neck had pierced him slightly. A bead of blood began to drip down the blade. He didn’t even flinch. Just watched her, as though pain were a memory that no longer applied.

“As much as I like this kind of foreplay, I’m guessing I’m missing something here.” He grunted the words out as she pushed him harder against the fence.

“Six nights ago, a girl was murdered in this alleyway. Your fingerprints were found at the scene.”

For a split second, his eyes narrowed, cogs turning rapidly before glancing back to her, spotting how delightfully her nose scrunched in anger. “Well, unless I’m mistaken, six nights ago you and I were busy doing other things.”

She pressed closer, spitting her words through gritted teeth to the back of his neck. “I fell asleep. When I woke, you were gone.”

“Were you sad about that, kitten?”

Unamused, she twisted his wrists higher up his back, earning another grunt from him. “Where did you go after you left?”

He growled at the way the cuffs began to cut into his skin. “Not here.” But then a crooked smile stretched across his lips. “I already got what I wanted from the night, why would I need to come back here?”

That rankled her. He’d got what he wanted – used and discarded her like a carcass picked clean. It hit a little too close to home.

“Who knows?” She countered, “maybe you weren’t fully satisfied.”

“Believe me.” He wriggled in her grip, the pitch of his voice dropping scandalously while straining to look her up and down. “You plenty satisfied me.”

“She obviously didn’t.” Galadriel nodded her head to where the dead girl was found. “And apparently neither did Thuri.”

“What?” His head whipped backward then, brow creasing, a snarl on his lips.

“Did you kill her too? They both died in the same manner. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Alright.” His tone flattened, face turning to stone in his annoyance. Pushing backwards, he shoulder-barged her away. “That’s enough.”

Galadriel’s stumbled backwards, handbag slipping from her shoulder. Frozen in place, disbelieving, her eyes widened as Halbrand pulled his hands apart – sheer brute force snapping the metal links between the cuffs.

He was on her in a flash, seizing her neck and shoving her backwards.

She clambered for breath as he slammed her into the brick wall behind.

His grip was unyielding, but she could feel the tremor beneath it - the same tremor running through her own hand as it still held the knife. Neither of them wanted to be the first to let go.

Their eyes locked, defiance flaring in both sets as he squeezed a little tighter.

Finally, the knife clattered to the floor.

Fear doused the fire in her glare when she recognised the intent in his. She could feel it - coiling, lethal, patient - like a predator deciding whether to kill. Her voice broke through the silence.

“You kill a police officer; your life is over.” She eked the words out. Imploring him with the icy blue pools of her eyes.

“Is that what you are?” He growled, closing the distance between their faces until they were almost nose-to-nose, seething. “You’re no threat to me.”

He leaned even closer, expecting her to retreat. Instead, she stilled, forcing him to close the last inch himself. That pause - her choice not to flinch - unsettled him more than fear ever could.

A serene calm quelled her features. Too jaded by the woes of the last few weeks to care. Too convinced this would be better, given the choice. Her voice was but a whisper. “Then do it.” She had nothing left to lose. “Kill me.”

She let the pause stretch, long enough for him to fill it with his own unease.

His cheek twitched. Lips curing into a snarl as he sucked the air through his teeth – striking for her neck – then lingering; lips grazing past her jawline as though he was tasting her perfume.

He squeezed harder.

Then went still.

Galadriel felt like a taught string in his hand.

Her pulse throbbed against where his thumb was wrapped around her neck.

A strained sigh escaped his throat as he released his grip, just a little, before drawing his face back again.

Galadriel was rapt by the turmoil in his eyes, some war raging within him that she couldn’t place.

He looked her up and down, but didn’t removed his grip about her throat. “If I wanted to kill you I could have done it any time in the last week. I know where you live, remember?”

Panic flared then – a sudden chill clutching her tighter than his hand, wondering if that’s why her hairs stood on end every time she came and went from her apartment in the last few days. Had he been watching her?

“I’m not afraid of you.” The words struggled past her lips.

His eyes became hooded, attempting to mask his amusement at the lie. “I think you are.”

She hated that she understood the look in his eyes - that same hollow craving she saw every time she looked in a mirror. Wanting to feel alive, even if it destroyed her.

She swallowed thickly, labouring to push the thought down for the tightness of his grip. Her voice was trembling. “What did you do to Thuri Wengwithil, and the girl? Their blood was drained… how did you do it?”

“I didn’t touch either of them.” His tone was almost bored, and that made it worse.

“I don’t believe you.” She managed to muster the shred of insolence that was left to her.

“Why so sure?” His gaze softened, darkening with something indecent. Like a moth to a flame, the fierceness of the hazel in his eyes drew her in.

“Your fingerprints…”

“Where? Where did you find them?” His words were uttered softly, like a prayer.

“On a glass, by the body.” As she said it, her own body began to hang limp – all tension that was once there now seeping away.

He tsked at her, “Come on, Galadriel. You’re smarter than this. You saw me put that glass down on the bar. Why would I go back for it, and leave it to be found next to the girl I’m meant to have murdered?”

She wanted to believe him, even when all rational thought screamed at her not to. But his proximity was intoxicating. “Someone left it there.”

“And who do you think would have done that?” Finally, he removed his hand from her throat, but only to graze his fingers up her neck to grab hold of her jaw. He pressed himself against her as he did so.

Her breath faltered. He could feel it in the way her chest ceased to rise and fall, in the sporadic bursts of breath that ghosted the hand that held her fast.

Her mind raced back to all she knew about the crime scene – the puncture wounds, the rape, the nail – the nail. “Who else knew Thuri? Might have copied her nail art?”

Bending his head, his mouth hovered over her ear. The hand at her jaw softened, curling round the back of her neck now, while his other slid across her waist. “You’re asking the wrong questions.”

His lips drifted up the shell of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, clashing with the warmth that had returned between her thighs.

Galadriel’s hands twitched where they lay, palm down against the wall. Itching to mirror the way he caressed her now, his hand gliding up from her waist, stopping dangerously close to her breast.

She strove to focus, eyes becoming languid, voice breathy now. “Tell me the right question.”

“Now, now. That would spoil the fun.” The lull of his voice had her tilting her head back, her teeth catching her lip as he grazed his thumb over her nipple. “You know the right question. About Thuri. About her death.”

Slowly, he slid his hand back down her body until he reached the hem of her skirt.

She shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be letting him touch her like this.

She scrunched her eyes shut, forcing herself to concentrate. “You disappeared around the same time as her death.”

He pulled at the fabric, ruching it up her legs.

“Stop focussing on me. Focus on her.”

His request seemed impossible when he was already sliding his hand between her thighs, catching the gusset of her underwear and tugging it aside.

He smiled as he silently revelled in how wet she was. “What was strange about it.”

Her breathing became heavy with want, her mouth dry with anticipation as she felt his fingers press at her entrance, but went no further.

“Galadriel… the question.” He purred her name.

After a few more stuttered breaths, she answered. “How did her body disappear from the morgue?”

“That’s…” He breached her, slowly, sinking two fingers deep inside. “The right question.”

She gasped as his fingertips reached the sensitive place within. Her eyes snapping open as he crooked them, massaging that spot that had her spilling reluctant moans for him.

He kissed her. Hard. Too hard. Brick scraped her shoulders and she gasped, half from pain, half from the shock of wanting more.

He drew his face away so he could watch her writhe - so he could meet her surrendering gaze with his own ravenous stare.

Ripping her hands away from the wall, she grabbed at him. One hand scrunching the collar of his shirt while the other clutched at the forearm of the hand that worked so mercilessly between her thighs.

His lips curled at the edges as he watched her coming so utterly undone for him after threatening him so. He liked the fight in her. Even now, he could see she was still resisting a little. Still clinging to some semblance of self-righteous principals that had her believing she shouldn’t be enjoying this.

So, he changed tact.

Leaning in again, he began nipping at her jaw, continuing the trail down her neck while he carefully unbuckled his belt with his free hand. Silently unzipping his trousers.

He murmured against her neck, the scent of her blood - a tantalising sin - coursing through her veins so close to the surface. “Stop fighting yourself, Galadriel. I know this feels good.”

Her reply came broken between pants. “I don’t trust you.”

He smiled like that was a point.

At that, he snatched his fingers from her, earning another gasp as he spun her round to face the wall.

Pushing her skirt above her hips, he tore her underwear. Ripping it from her and casting it swiftly aside as he braced one of her hands against the wall.

She squealed then. When she felt the fabric cut harshly into her skin before being torn away completely.

The next sensation was him. Filling her. His cock stretching her insides as he pressed himself in.

A high-pitched whimper fell from her mouth as he buried himself to the hilt.

“God, I forgot how good you felt.” He sighed into her hair.

Giving her no time to adjust to him, he began to move.

Fucking her hard, ruthlessly.

And when sighs of pleasure came tumbling out her mouth, he grinned, baring his teeth – the point of his canines having grown sharper from the thrill.

“That’s it.” He sighed between thrusts. “You want this. I know you do. Give in.”

“I…” Her words came broken between moans. “I don’t.”

He plunged particularly hard and deep, the hand at her hip grinding her down onto him with a vice-like grip – a punishment.

It ripped a cry from her, one of blissful shock that had her tightening around him.

“Don’t lie.” He cautioned. Sliding his hand from where it fixed hers against the wall, up her arm and back to her throat. Forcing her to straighten her body against him. Gifting breathy utterances in her ear. “I know you feel it… this pull towards one another.”

His pace slowed, each staccato thrust filling her deliberately as he waited for the inevitable whimper that chased each one.

“Tell me you don’t want it. That you don’t want me to fuck you like this. To have me take you again and again while you cry out in pleasure.”

She shut her eyes tightly, shaking her head. Her body betraying her with every moan she let slip, every fresh wave of arousal that coated his cock.

“Galadriel…” He persisted, voice molten but dangerous against the shell of her ear. “Tell me.”

The moment seemed to stretch for a lifetime while she tried to formulate an answer. Tried to reclaim any semblance of sanity while his tip struck the depths of her, punctuating the would-be silence but for the sound of her sighs.

But her mind was blank. The only thing filling her thoughts was the same thing that filled her so completely at the apex of her thighs.

“I need you to tell me – with words, Galadriel – if you want me to stop. Otherwise…” His pace began to quicken again. “I’ll do as I please with you. And I can’t promise to be gentle.”

Straining between keens, a whisper began to emerge from her. “I-”

But then – a hand clasping tightly over her mouth.

The sound of metal clanging on metal.

The side-door to the club swung open and ricocheted off the railing that ran along the small flight of steps down into the alleyway.

Galadriel’s eyes widened with horror as she watched a barman descending the stairs – two bags of rubbish in his hands.

Desperately, she tried to twist away from Halbrand. But his grip on her held firm as he continued to drive himself in and out of her, though he had subdued his efforts a little so the slap of his hips against her behind wouldn’t draw any attention.

“Shhh,” he whispered, “he won’t see us. But he’ll hear us if you don’t keep quiet.”

She watched on out the corner of her eye, mortified at the idea of being caught as the barman opened the lid to the dumpster and threw the first bag in.

That’s when she felt it – Halbrand’s finger slide down the seam of her, collecting her arousal from around where his cock breached her entrance, then back up to her swollen bud.

A small, muffled whine escaped her as he began to trace determined circles there. Her eyes quaking, panicked, as she silently begged for the barman not to hear.

His grip tightened over her mouth.

The pressure on her nerve-centre doubled, as did the speed of his patterns.

Galadriel’s breath shuddered unevenly out her nose as she tried to quell the wave of bliss that was building.

She almost cried out in dismay when she saw the second bag split – the contents of empty cans and bottles spilling out onto the floor.

“How long will it take you to orgasm do you think?” Halbrand continued to utter his depraved thoughts into her hair.

She could practically hear the smirk on his lips.

“As I recall, it doesn’t take very long. Not when you really want it… Do you want it, Galadriel?”

Her chest began to heave, spine arching away from him as he worked her more insistently. Pleasure mounting with every masterful stroke, swelling again with every purposeful surge of his manhood, buried inside her.

The barman picked up the cans one-by-one. Excruciatingly slow. Grumbling something about how he didn’t get paid enough.

She was almost there; the crest was coming.

“Do you want it?” Halbrand’s voice again.

The barman tossed the last of the rubbish into the dumpster. Closed the lid.

“Shall I take my hand away so you can answer me?”

She shook her head frantically, knowing she wouldn’t be able to keep quiet if he did.

The barman was on the stairs, almost inside.

It was happening. She could do nothing to stop it.

“Galadriel?” Another incorrigible drawl in her ear.

The door slammed shut.

Halbrand ripped his hand away from her mouth and she immediately gulped in the air.

“I want it! Yes! God, don’t stop!” The words came tumbling out of her in a desperate flurry.

“Then scream for me.”

She did.

Her orgasm ripping through her. Dulling all other senses until there was only the pleasure he was so expertly drawing from her – a wave of bliss that surged through her body, originating at her core and fizzing all the way to the tip of her tongue.

She threw her head back onto his shoulder, mouth agape and baring her neck to him.

Bending his head, he ghosted his lips along her throat, savouring the sounds coming from it – her voice, yes, but also the way her pulse quickened, an insistent bass drum to his ears.

He raked his gaze over her collarbone languidly while releasing a satisfied hum, its vibrations caressing her skin as he eased her through the remains of her aftershocks. “You keep pretending you’re chasing me for some sense of justice,” he murmured. “But I know you’re chasing something to feel. Tell me I’m wrong.”

She didn’t answer, pressing her lips together and breathing heavily through her nose.

Slowing his thrusts, he came almost to a stop. Only indulging the slightest roll of his pelvis to remind her what she was missing. Teasing her with only a taste of everything he had just taken away.

Her brow creased, mouth whining a little in protest.

“Am I wrong, Galadriel? You haven’t answered me. Do you want me to stop fucking you?” His words spilled out slow and heavy, soaked in smug pleasure.

Rocking her hips against him, she mewed - frustrated - chasing after the friction he was so cruelly keeping from her. “No. Please.” Every word breathier than the last. “I need to feel you. Please. Fuck me. I want you.”

“Bad kitten…” He slapped the curve of her backside, commanding her to stop squirming against him. “Answer me first time.”

She yelped, nodded, then stilled.

“Bend over.” His tone left no room for disobedience. “Both hands on the wall.”

Slowly, sinking her upper body away from him, she did as he ordered.

“I warned you I wouldn’t be gentle.” Gripping both hips tightly, he tugged them to him.

“I’d be disappointed if you were.” Came her response from over her shoulder, a wickedness in her eye she wasn’t expecting to show.

“That’s my girl.” His voice steeped in slow satisfaction.

But there was nothing slow or gentle in how he resumed his taking of her – rutting in her with a powerful determination to have her screaming again.

It didn’t take long for her cries to begin echoing off the wall, her volume and pitch increasing with every pitiless motion. Her head lolling back and forth as she took him again and again. Like a starved woman suddenly finding herself at a banquet, she didn’t want it to stop. She could have her fill of him for hours until her throat was hoarse from moaning.

If any of the staff exited the bar to the alley now, they would hear it all.

She ceased caring.

Concerned only for how he rung that place deep inside her like a bell, deftly struck, over and over.

Until she felt him grip harder. Fingers digging into her flesh as his last few thrusts went as deep as they could go. His own groans mixing with hers as he spent himself. The liquid warmth of him thoroughly claiming what he already knew to be his.

For a heartbeat the world was still, as if deciding whether to keep turning.

But after a few seconds, he pulled himself from her, twisting her round and pinching her wrists against the wall up by her head. The demon in him clawing its way to the surface, baring its teeth and blackening his eyes.

“Your mine. Do you understand?” He seethed, body pulsating, barely able to contain his need to have her in all the ways he wanted. Needed. Too afraid that everything she was, everything that drew him to her - alive and beautiful - would be lost if he did.

Galadriel stiffened. Every hair on end.

The streetlamp at the other end of the alley flickered, a low hum rising to a hiss before the bulb went dead. The world seemed to inhale and hold its breath.

Her pupils shimmered with fear at the visage before her - the animal that Halbrand had become - fangs on show and an otherworldly ink blotting out the whites of his eyes.

The only thing that moved was the slow trickle of his seed running down her inner thighs.

She dared to glance at his wrists, still holding hers against the rough brick – the rings of the handcuffs around each one, broken apart.

Her mind snapped to work despite the horror. Trying to reconcile what she was seeing with the reality she knew. No trick of adrenaline could explain what was in front of her.

Her body trembled as she spoke, so softly it might have been missed but for the sharpness of his hearing. “What are you?”

He hid his teeth away then, jaw clenching closed. Wincing.

It was rash to let the beast show itself. He’d not been careful. He didn’t want to be – a part of him desperate for her to know, to see.

The way she held his gaze, still shaking from how he’d claimed her, had him questioning if he had made a mistake. Unable to hold it in when all his instincts told him to take.

She was waiting.

The shadowy smoke in his eyes retreated - cool green returning, quelling the fire. There was something hollow in his eyes then - not cruelty, but a quiet ache she recognized. The same hollow she carried, masked by duty and caffeine and long nights pretending to care.

He swallowed, hesitant. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Though she was still trembling, Galadriel lifted her chin, defiant. “That’s not what I asked.”

Oh, she was persistent - his kitten. In the face of everything, she stared him down. It had his lips twitching into the slightest upturned curl.

He was sure of it now, of who she was to him, having only suspected before.

Still, best not overload her with too much too soon. From his own wretched experience, he knew the coupling would take better if she wanted it, accepted it. So, he didn’t opt for the truth, instead he chose something more cryptic, something that might intrigue her – reel her in.

“Your destiny.”

She glowered at him now.

Glowered. It astonished him, how bold she was.

Accompanying her glare with a bitter laugh, she sneered. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? Besides, I only have one destiny, and that’s-”

Lowering her eyes, she didn’t care to finish. But Halbrand caught the small crinkle on her brow, the way her lip quivered for a second before she pressed her mouth firmly into a thin line.

She was sad.

Carefully - tenderly even - he released her wrists, bringing them down in front of her while he stroked his thumbs over the reddened scratches the wall had left behind. As he did so, a disconcerting feeling sprang up from his chest, rattling him to the core.

He wanted to comfort her.

No, not wanted, was compelled to.

Not entirely sure if he even remembered how to do it, he knew he wanted to look upon her eyes as he did so. So he brought his hand to her chin, cupping it gently, caressingly, as he tilted her head upwards. But when the brilliant blue of her eyes met his, he felt suddenly naked, as though his skin had been stripped away and left only the core of him; exposed and vulnerable. Starkly aware now of how his trousers were still open at his crotch, how he hadn’t had the decency to let her pull her dress down.

With infinite care, he placed his hands on her hips, smoothing the fabric of her dress down her legs. Then, almost bashfully, he tucked himself away, zipping himself up and struggling then to meet her eyes.

He could feel her looking though.

His eyes danced under his eyelids as he tried to find some words. Something to break the silence, and if he could, mollify her sadness, even if all he could manage was a distraction from it.

“You asked what I am.” His voice almost sombre. “I am… a lot of things, and I’ve done… evil. But I promise you, I did not kill the girl you found, or Thuri.”

Tentatively, he dragged his eyes up to her face to gauge her reaction.

Her eyes darted side-to-side, searching his. Studying him. It was almost too much – the scrutiny she put him under, and he strained to keep his gaze fixed where it was. Not knowing how long he could keep it there.

But then, she did something he didn’t expect. She canted her head to the side, and drifted her gaze down his body and back up to his face, curiosity glinting through her piercing stare. “What things?” She bit her lip, as if she wasn’t sure that she should be asking. “What evil have you done?”

He frowned, his conscience so rarely confronted, it pained him to face it. His vision sank to where purple stripes were already beginning to bloom across her neck from where he gripped her earlier. Bringing his fingertips to her skin there, he barely caressed the marks. But even so, she pressed her eyes closed at his touch, her lips parting slightly before opening them again.

“This…” He murmured. “This was evil. Everything I did to you just now.” The shame in his eyes seemed to haunt him as he drew his hand away. “I’m sorry.”

But she grabbed it. Preventing him from recoiling any further. She guided it then, gently back to the side of her neck and directing his fingers to curl around the back of it. With her other hand, she coiled around the collar of his shirt, coaxing him closer. He took it upon himself then to stroke his thumb along her jawline, completely enraptured by whatever she might do next. She kept surprising him so.

“Don’t be sorry.” She uttered, “It’s the most alive I have felt in months.”

Her heels were still an inadequate height, tall as they were, so she stood on tiptoes - pulling him down by his collar so that his lips could meet hers in a soft, slow kiss. His eyes fluttering closed at how tender it was.

If it were even possible, it felt like as though she’d stolen his breath from his lungs. When at last their lips parted; an unfamiliar ache lingered in his chest. It may even have been him that was trembling now.

He swallowed the feeling down as best he could, determined to keep his composure as he cocked an eyebrow, masking how unsettled he was with an amused huff. “So, you do like it rough?”

She chuckled softly at that, her lips still brushing against his – the softness of her breath on his mouth seeping life into him he had long forgotten. “Maybe.” She purred, leaning in again for another kiss, her tongue seeking this time, unhurried and adoring.

When the kiss broke, his eyes remained closed, savouring this feeling – whatever it was – and dipping his forehead to rest against hers. “May I walk you home?”

She smiled, her own eyes still closed, nodding softly in response.

Breaking apart, he took her hand in his, turning to pick up her handbag from off the ground and hooking it over her shoulder.

He picked up the knife next.

“You like being in charge,” he said.

“So do you,” she countered, watching the flicker of amusement that betrayed how much he liked being caught out.

“Maybe that’s a dangerous thing,” he murmured.

She hummed, ponderously, as he gave it back to her.

Squeezing her hand, he led them out of the alleyway.

A comfortable silence had fallen, and Halbrand found himself swinging her hand back and forth a little while caressing it with his thumb, simply watching her as she walked beside him.

She could feel his gaze.

Smiling, she stopped under the streetlight outside her apartment building, her skin glowing like a luminous spectre in the night.

“Will you come inside?” Her eyes imploring like beacons in the night, calling him home.

He stepped up, meeting her under the lamp’s beam. The light washed him bone-white, like a sun-bleached photograph drained of colour. Stroking her cheek lightly with the back of his fingers, his brow knitted together, a solemn cloud shadowing his features. “I’m not sure I can trust myself.”

“Trust yourself?”

For a moment, his eyes softened - just long enough for her to glimpse the sorrow hiding beneath the swagger. It undid her more than any touch.

“I can’t stay till you wake.”

“Why not?” She whispered.

“For the same reason Thuri walked out that morgue.” Gathering her hand in his, he planted a delicate kiss upon her knuckles before backing up into the shadows. His eyes sparkled at her in the dark, only letting her hand fall away when he finally stepped out of reach.