Alastor's POV:
The voice echoed in my mind incessantly. A single word, possessive and undeniable.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
The scent of lily of the valley enveloped my senses, sweet yet intoxicating. It coiled around me, digging into the very fibers of my being. A warmth, featherlight and hesitant, pressed against my lips—a fleeting touch, yet potent enough to shatter the void I had been trapped in.
I swallowed, my throat parched, the sensation foreign and unbearable.
So dry.
My body felt like a hollow husk, drained of everything but an insatiable thirst. A thirst not for water, but something richer, darker—something that pulsed with life itself.
Then, like a cruel tide, memories surged forward in a relentless flood.
Blood.
So much blood.
Carnage. Screams. The taste of iron thick on my tongue. War, endless and brutal. Bodies torn apart in the frenzy of battle. The deafening clamor of swords clashing, of flesh rending, of power igniting the very air around me.
And then—nothing.
Darkness. Silence.
A void stretching for what felt like an eternity. My consciousness drifted through the abyss, slipping in and out of awareness, my body encased in an icy prison that numbed everything—until now.
The warmth on my lips disappeared, and a startled gasp sliced through the silence.
My eyes snapped open.
A sharp inhale filled my lungs for the first time in centuries. The sensation was nearly overwhelming, like breathing fire into withered embers. My vision blurred before sharpening into vivid clarity, and the first thing I saw was red.
Red lips.
A red dress.
A red mask.
Red, everywhere—calling to me, teasing my thirst, coaxing something primal and insatiable to the surface.
My throat burned. My body ached with a hunger that clawed at my insides. The thirst was unbearable, and I knew exactly what I needed.
Blood.
The word still echoed in my mind, twisted with another that refused to be ignored. Mine.
Before I could think—before logic could chain the instincts that had been dormant for too long—I moved.
In a blur, I seized her, yanking her into the coffin with me. The moment her body collided with mine, an electric jolt raced through me, igniting every deadened nerve, every frozen muscle. She gasped, her head landing against my chest, and I felt something I hadn't felt in over a millennium.
Heat.
A searing, burning fire beneath my skin, melting the ice that had encased me for so long.
I clenched my jaw, desperate to maintain control, but the scent of her—delicate yet maddeningly potent—filled my lungs, sent my mind into chaos. Without thought, I tilted her chin up and claimed her lips again, desperate to drown in that warmth, to devour every ounce of it before it slipped away.
She tasted like the promise of life itself and I wanted more.
My fingers curled around the nape of her neck, pulling her to me as I deepened the kiss, my hunger a feral thing breaking free. But it wasn't enough.
More. More. More.
A growl rumbled deep in my chest as I nipped at her lower lip. The sharp sting made her gasp—a sound so intoxicating it nearly made me go mad. The way her body melted against mine, the way her breath hitched in the space between us—it was both foreign and painfully familiar.
Had I ever felt something like this before? This unbearable need? This suffocating possessiveness?
No.
I don't remember ever feeling this before.
Only after a long time did her punch—well, more like pat—-on my chest register and I realized she was out of oxygen.
Her lips were swollen when I finally tore myself away, my breath ragged, my throat drier than before. But it was her neck that caught my attention next—the delicate line of her throat, pulsing, inviting.
I lifted my gaze, meeting her covered eyes. My eyes trailed back below. Watching as her lips trembled. As though she was afraid. But she didn't fight to get away from me.
I smirked, tilting her chin further, exposing the smooth expanse of her throat.
"You dare wake me, little one?" My voice was rough, tinged with an edge of amusement. I let the words hang between us before adding, "Then bear the consequences."
Her pulse stuttered.
Then I struck.
My canines extended, piercing the tender flesh of her neck. A sharp gasp and a pained groan escaped her lips, but there was no struggle. Only a shudder that rippled through her as I drank deeply.
The first taste sent a shiver down my spine.
Warmth. Honey like sweetness.
Her blood coated my tongue, flowed down my throat like molten gold, spreading through my veins, reawakening something long buried. My muscles loosened, the stiffness fading as every dormant nerve came alive with raw energy.
I swallowed mouthfuls.
The sluggishness dissipated. The world around me sharpened. Colors bled back into existence.
I could feel again.
A soft moan escaped her lips and satisfaction spread through me at the sound. After all…feeding wasn't supposed to be painful. It was meant to give the feeder pleasure and the one being fed, energy.
I froze however when I felt the blood slow.
I knew then that I had taken too much. If I didn't stop now, I would drain her completely, consume the very essence that had brought me back.
An unfamiliar feeling twisted in my gut at the thought.
Regret.
I forced myself to pull away, my fangs retracting as she gasped for breath. Four crimson drops trailed down her throat, stark against her pale skin. The sight was maddening.
My hand instinctively tightened around her waist as I shifted, sitting us both up within the coffin. She fit against me perfectly, her body settling in my lap as if she had always belonged there.
For a moment, I simply stared at her.
She had been trembling, her breathing uneven. Yet despite her fear, she hadn't fought me.
Curious.
I leaned in again, my lips hovering just above her wound. The scent of her blood was still thick in the air.
She stiffened. Then, surprisingly, she pressed her palms against my chest, trying to push me away.
"Please… no."
Her voice was small, weak.
Something in my chest tightened and I frowned.
"Be good," I murmured, brushing my fingers against her cheek. "I need to close the wound."
She hesitated, then wavered, her strength already waning. I took the opportunity to lean in, my tongue tracing over the punctures, sealing them with ease.
Her breath hitched.
Her fingers twitched against me. I could hear the rapid beat of her heart, the way her thighs instinctively tried to press together in frustration.
I smirked.
As much as I wanted to indulge, to take my time giving her the pleasure she was non-verbally begging for, there were far more pressing matters at hand.
Like how I had fallen into a slumber that had lasted centuries.
And why she—this fragile, curious little thing—had been the one to wake me.
Who was she?