The Dread of Damned-Chapter 138: Drink

I watched her writhing form, trembling and moaning beneath me. As I lifted my foot from between her legs, she instinctively leaned up, desperate for the sensation to return—but the silver chains tightened, binding her down.

She glared at me, her red-streaked eyes brimming with unshed tears, her hair a tangled mess around her face.

"Oh, you must have quite the arrogance in your control over pleasure, succubus." My voice was a whisper of amusement, edged with cruelty. "I will enjoy watching you beg."

I rose slowly, each step deliberate as I walked away, her gaze burning into my back. I had already given Rowena her orders—soon, the succubus would be transported to an empty, dark chamber, alone with her torment.

I returned to my room.

I had discovered the secret chamber while scouring the mansion for any trace of the damned. It was hidden beneath the estate, concealed by layered enchantments. But it was those very same spells that betrayed its presence to me—magic leaves an imprint, and I had followed the faint pulse of essence until I found the chamber's entrance.

Later, after persuading Finnian, I uncovered her secret. She had no children, not by chance but by design. She considered men nothing more than amusements—playthings unworthy of impregnating her. She would take them, break them, and discard them once they had outlived their usefulness. House Lewellyn had never belonged to Finnian; he had been nothing but a puppet in her hands.

I stepped into the washroom and let the cool water cleanse the remnants of the night. When I returned to my room, I wore only a simple white robe.

Sitting on the bed, I reached for the fireflies. Their glow pulsed like tiny dying stars in my palm. I focused, guiding them toward my body, but just as I was about to absorb them, they dispersed. Again and again, I tried, yet no matter how I pulled at their essence, nothing changed within me.

Then, I remembered Lucian's words.

Fireflies were mere conduits, crutches for those unable to manipulate raw essence. But I was awakened now—I should have been able to shape the very essence of the atmosphere itself.

I exhaled and let the fireflies fade, turning my focus outward. The air around me thrummed with a presence just beyond my grasp. I honed in on that connection, coaxing it, molding it, until the strands of essence coalesced around me. A silver current formed, circling my body like a living thing, guiding energy from the atmosphere into me. Slowly, carefully, I directed it to my liver.

My heart, veins, and blood were already silver, but my organs remained untouched. This process was different—like forging a blade from raw iron. I had to keep pouring essence into my body, layering it over and over until the transformation was complete. Yet, despite hours of effort, I hadn't seen even a flicker of silver in my lungs.

The night passed. Dawn broke over the horizon.

Only two days remained until my coronation as Crown Prince.

I had secured the Grand Elder's loyalty. My parents were already in my favor. The kings, the queen, the Council of Elders, the head of the Academy, the Astral Knights—one way or another, they were all under my control.

Still, exhaustion weighed on me. Physically, I was stronger than ever, but my mind was worn thin. I drew the curtains, blanketing the room in darkness, and allowed sleep to claim me.

When I woke, something felt wrong.

A heavy fatigue lingered in my mind, an exhaustion deeper than restlessness. I lay there for a long while, unmoving, caught between wakefulness and sleep.

Then the door opened.

A soft voice, sickly sweet.

"How are you feeling, brother?"

I glanced up and patted the bed beside me. She approached without hesitation, sinking onto the mattress.

"I'm fine," I murmured, reaching out. My palm rested against her bare back, fingers trailing across her skin as I pulled her down. She fell against me, her white hair cascading over my chest, her green-tinted eyes locking onto my silver ones.

"I'm good," she whispered.

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I tangled my fingers in her hair and pulled her closer, claiming her lips. They parted beneath mine, warm and pliant, allowing me to deepen the kiss. Her taste was intoxicating, her softness irresistible. I devoured her slowly, savoring her.

A muffled moan vibrated against my mouth as my hand gripped the curve of her ass, pressing her against me.

"Don't tell me you were worried again, my little worrywart," I murmured against her lips before kissing her again, teasing, tasting.

"Humph. Who would be worried about the Crown Prince of House Aestherisin?" she teased, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile.

"There's nothing to worry about." My voice was low, final.

I flipped her beneath me, caging her in. She didn't resist.

My lips found her forehead, then the bridge of her nose, then the softness of her mouth before trailing down, down to the curve of her neck. Her scent filled my lungs, thick and sweet, the unmistakable pull of her blood calling to me. I could hear it, feel it thrumming beneath her skin.

Her body shuddered beneath me.

My fangs slid deep.

She gasped—high, breathy, blissful—as her fingers tangled in my hair, pressing me against her. The first taste flooded my senses, richer than wine, sweeter than desire itself.

And I drank.