{IRIS}
My body tensed, a shudder rippling through me, though whether from the cold or the unbearable weight of his gaze, I couldn't tell
The heat of embarrassment crept up my neck, tightening my chest, making my breath hitch.
"Y-you . . . ?" I gasped, feeling exposed—not just physically, but in a way that unsettled me to my core.
He withdrew slightly, his expression hardening with something close to distaste. But there was something else beneath it—something I couldn't name.
"Besides the mud, sweat, and that awful stench of monsters clinging to you," he said, his voice edged with quiet curiosity, "you have no scent."
The words lodged in my throat like a blade.
No scent.
My lips parted, but no words came. I should have laughed, should have quipped something sarcastic—thank you for stating the obvious—but all I could do was inhale sharply and, to my own humiliation, subtly sniff myself.
How long had it been since I last bathed?
His silver eyes flicked away from me, scanning the carnage that surrounded us. He studied the torn bodies, the grotesque remnants of the monsters that had hunted me. His expression didn't change, but I could feel his thoughts shifting, calculating.
"Did you do this?"
His tone had changed. The condescension was gone, replaced by something quieter. Curious. Almost intrigued.
I followed his gaze, my stomach twisting at the sight of the blood-soaked ground, the bodies torn as if by something far stronger, far more savage than the monsters themselves. My fingers curled into the damp earth as a tremor ran through me.
"I . . ." The words stuck in my throat. I had no answer. My mind was still raw, struggling to piece together the fractured remnants of memory.
Then I glanced down—and the world stopped.
My breath caught. My pulse stammered in horror.
I was bare.
My clothes, or what was left of them, clung to me in scraps. The cold air pressed against my exposed skin, tracing over my ribs, my stomach—one of my breasts slipping free, pink nipple stood erect before I could cover myself with trembling hands.
Heat surged up my face, my heart pounding wildly. Shame clawed at me, but when I dared to look up, I realized—
He wasn't looking at me.
Not even a flicker of interest.
His attention remained on the battlefield, his gaze distant, unreadable, as though my state of undress didn't even warrant acknowledgment.
A sting of something unspoken burned in my chest.
Even my mate had rejected me. What was a stranger to do but the same?
But then, just as the thought formed, his gaze flicked back to me, sharp and assessing. He studied me for a long moment before exhaling softly, almost as if in reluctant acceptance.
"You're a strange one," he muttered under his breath. It wasn't an insult. If anything, there was something strangely contemplative in the way he said it.
And then, without hesitation, he reached up, unfastened the clasp of his cloak, and draped it around me.
The fabric was thick, impossibly warm against my chilled skin, heavy with his scent—cold rain, steel, and something darkly intoxicating, like night itself had woven its essence into the fibers.
His hands, though gloved, moved carefully, almost hesitantly, as though unfamiliar with the act of dressing someone else.
A kindness I hadn't expected.
I swallowed hard, gripping the edges of the cloak to pull it tighter around me.
"I won't ask again," he murmured, his voice now lower, threaded with quiet insistence. "Did you do this?"
I blinked up at him, my thoughts still a tangled mess. I shook my head slowly, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I . . . I don't know."
His silver eyes narrowed into slits.
"I was hoping you were the one who did this," I admitted, my throat tight.
A beat of silence stretched between us, heavy with something unspoken. He studied me as if searching for a lie, but I had no more answers than he did.
Finally, he exhaled, a sound barely audible over the rain.
"I just arrived." His voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful. "I was hunting them."
I stiffened. "Hunting?"
He didn't elaborate, only gave a slight wave of his hand, dismissing my question like it was nothing. But then he hesitated.
And that hesitation was my only warning.
In a heartbeat, he moved.
One moment he stood before me—the next, his breath was hot against the nape of my neck. A whisper of movement. A brush of his lips against my skin. And then—
Pain. Sharp and piercing, sinking deep into my flesh.
A strangled gasp ripped from my throat. My body arched against him, my fingers clawing at his shoulders. My pulse surged in panic, instinct roaring to the surface.
He was biting me.
My mind reeled in horror.
Vampire.
The realization hit like a crashing wave, violent and brutal. But his dilated eyes weren't red but silver, like the moon.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up, my instincts screaming for me to fight. Vampires were our natural enemies. My kind had been hunted by them, slaughtered by them. My blood boiled, a surge of primal fury igniting within me.
I shoved at him, desperate to break free. But he was impossibly strong.
He caught my wrists in one fluid motion, pinning them effortlessly. The weight of his body pressed me down, his grip like iron, his fangs buried deep.
I should have been terrified.
I was terrified.
But beneath the fear, something else stirred.
His lips, so cold against my fevered skin. The slow, intoxicating pull of my blood leaving me. A heat that coiled in my stomach, unfurling like something dangerous, something forbidden.
A moan slipped from my lips before I could stop it.
Shame burned through me. But it wasn't my fault. I knew this. A vampire's bite was laced with something unnatural, something designed to seduce, to trap, to make the victim succumb.
Yet even as I struggled against it, my body betrayed me.
The pain dulled. The fire spread.
I shuddered beneath him, my breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. My heart raced, pounding against my ribs in a mixture of panic and something I couldn't name.
He groaned softly against my neck, his hold tightening. His voice, low and thick, brushed against my skin like velvet.
"Your blood . . ." He inhaled deeply, as if savoring something rare, something exquisite. "It's sickeningly sweet."
A tremor ran through me.
I could feel his gaze now—tracing the curve of my throat, memorizing every beat of my pulse beneath his lips.
"You're strange," he murmured, almost reverently. "You have no scent . . . but the scent of your blood once drawn . . ."
His lips brushed the bite mark, sending a jolt of something electric through me.
"It's hypnotic. It's maddening."