The palace held its breath that morning.
Court duties were quietly postponed—officials told only that Lord Primus and his lady required privacy. Whispers spread like wildfire through the corridors: the goddess had awakened, the slayer had become something more, and the dungeon still reeked of burned magic and fear.
In their private chambers, the air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Sunlight filtered through half-drawn curtains, painting golden stripes across the tangled sheets and the two bodies sprawled atop them.
Hazel lay on her side, naked, the crescent-moon necklace resting between her breasts like a sleeping star. Her ginger hair fanned across the pillow, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from hours of kissing. She traced idle patterns on Primus's chest with her fingertip—slow circles over the faint scars that had healed centuries ago.
Primus watched her, crimson eyes soft in the rare stillness. He had never seen her like this: confident, commanding, utterly unafraid. The shy, gentle Hazel he had married was still there, but layered beneath her was something ancient, radiant, terrifying.
And gods help him—he loved every part of it.
"You're quiet," she murmured, voice husky from the night's cries.
"I'm… processing," he admitted, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "I've fought armies, burned cities, ruled for centuries. But you—" He caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. "You might actually kill me."
She laughed—bright, wicked, the sound of a goddess amused. "You survived seven stabs to the heart. You'll survive me."
He rolled onto his side, pulling her closer until their bodies aligned—skin to skin, heat to heat. "Tell me," he said softly. "What do you remember now?"
Hazel's smile faded. She stared at the ceiling, fingers tightening around the necklace.
"I remember… everything. Almost." Her voice dropped. "I was the Goddess of Heaven. I came to Earth because I loved it—its fragility, its beauty. I became the first witch, taught mortals to heal, to grow, to protect. But my sister…" She swallowed. "The Goddess of Darkness. She envied me. A demon seduced her, became the first vampire. Together, they plotted to steal my power."
Primus remained silent, letting her speak.
"She killed me," Hazel continued. "Tried to take everything. I hid my essence in this necklace—my memories, my full power. I reincarnated—again and again—waiting for the right moment. As Ruelle, I… loved you." Her eyes flicked to him, conflicted. "I think. But I can't remember those details yet. Only feelings. And hate."
He tensed. "Hate for what?"
"For vampires," she said simply. "You are the spawn of that demon—cursed, parasitic, against the balance I was born to protect. My soul remembers the betrayal. Every time I look at you, part of me wants to burn you to ash."
Primus exhaled slowly. "And the other part?"
She turned to face him fully, cupping his cheek. "The other part remembers why I chose you. Even as a goddess, I chose love over duty once. And I'm choosing it again."
He kissed her palm. "Then choose me, Hazel. Goddess or not—you are my wife. And I will fight the heavens themselves if they try to take you from me."
She smiled—small, fierce, divine. "Careful, vampire. I might hold you to that."
The kiss that followed was slow, deep, reverent. She rolled on top of him, straddling his hips, hands braced on his chest. He groaned as she rocked against him, already hard beneath her.
"You're insatiable," he murmured, half-laughing, half-pleading.
"I'm a goddess," she replied, voice low and teasing. "And I've waited centuries to feel this again."
She slid down his body, kissing a trail of fire across his chest, his stomach, lower. When she reached his cock—thick, straining—she took him in hand, stroking slowly, watching his face. Then she lowered her head, tongue flicking the sensitive tip, tasting him. Primus hissed, fingers tangling in her hair.
She took him deeper—lips stretching, tongue swirling, sucking with deliberate slowness. One hand pumped the base while the other cupped his balls, rolling them gently. He bucked into her mouth, groaning her name like a prayer. She hummed around him, the vibration sending shockwaves through his body.
When he was trembling on the edge, she pulled back with a wet pop, climbing up to straddle him again. She guided him to her entrance—already slick, aching—and sank down slowly, inch by torturous inch. They both moaned at the stretch, the perfect fit.
She rode him with divine patience at first—long, rolling grinds, hips circling, clit rubbing against his pelvis. Primus watched her—breasts bouncing, head thrown back, necklace glowing faintly between them. He gripped her waist, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin beneath her ribs.
"Faster," he growled.
She obeyed—pace quickening, rising and falling with rhythmic force. The bed creaked beneath them, headboard tapping the wall. She leaned forward, bracing on his chest, nails digging in as she chased her pleasure.
He surged up suddenly, flipping them so she was beneath him. "My turn."
He hooked her legs over his shoulders, driving deep—hard, relentless thrusts that made her cry out. Each plunge hit that perfect spot inside her, building pressure until she was trembling, gasping. He reached between them, thumb circling her clit in tight, fast strokes.
"Come for me," he commanded.
She shattered—back arching, scream echoing off the walls, inner walls clenching around him like a vise. He followed seconds later, spilling deep inside her with a guttural groan.
They collapsed together, breathless, sweat-slicked.
Hazel traced the line of his jaw, voice soft. "I still hate what you are, vampire."
He kissed her forehead. "Then hate me. Just don't leave me."
She smiled against his skin. "Never."
Outside, the palace stirred—unaware that the goddess had awakened, and the vampire who loved her was willing to burn the world to keep her.
But the memories were still returning.
And with them, the full truth of Ruelle.