Rapha
The first time I see her, she’s barefoot in her father’s garden, crushing lavender beneath her toes like she’s never been told not to ruin something beautiful.
I’m perched in the olive tree above her, hidden in the dark. Not stalking. Not exactly. Just… watching. The way a starving man might watch a feast he has no right to touch.
She hums as she walks, head tipped to the moonlight, lips curved in a smile meant for the stars. A girl with secrets. A girl with fire.
Drusilla.
General Cassian’s daughter.
Off-limits in every possible way.
She’s supposed to be meek. Quiet. Invisible. Raised to be seen only when summoned, heard only when praised. But there she is, half-wild and wholly radiant, talking to the moon as though it’s an old friend and laughing under her breath like she’s in on a joke the world hasn’t caught up to.
And me? I’m undone.
Centuries of control, of wrapping myself in shadows and silence, fray the moment she steps barefoot onto the path.
The first time we speak, it’s because she lures me out like a siren with no song but all the same power. Her voice is low and certain as she steps into the olive grove after dusk, where I’m supposed to be alone.
“You don’t cast a shadow when the moon is full,” she says, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
I’ve killed men for less than the challenge in her beautiful brown eyes. But somehow, she sees me. Not with fear. Not with the awe most humans wear when they sense what I am.
She sees me like she’s already claimed me.
I go still. Centuries have taught me how to kill before a mortal can scream. But she doesn’t scream.
She smiles.
I should run.
Instead, I fall.
She keeps coming back. Every night for a week, then two. Sometimes, she talks. Sometimes, she listens. Sometimes, she sits beside me and says nothing at all, like we’re already something sacred.
It’s not supposed to mean anything. Not to me. I’ve had lovers. Fools who thought they could touch eternity and not burn.
But she’s different.
She doesn’t want eternity. She wants me .
Our first kiss is in the chapel ruins at the edge of the cliffs, where no one goes except ghosts and fools in love. Her hands shake the first time she touches my face. Mine do, too.
I tell her what I am. A vampire. Turned long ago, before the rise of Rome, when gods still bled and shadows had teeth. I wait for the fear.
It never comes.
“Is that all?” she asks. “I thought you were going to tell me you were married.”
I laugh for the first time in forever.
She doesn't want my power. She doesn’t crave immortality like so many others who’ve found me over the years. Her reasons are simpler. More dangerous.
She wants freedom. She wants us . She wants the life her father will never let her have, the one where she isn’t a possession traded for alliances or legacy. The one where she can speak loudly, laugh freely, and walk barefoot in the garden without punishment.
“He says my mind is too loud,” she once whispers into my chest. “That if I don’t learn silence, he’ll teach it to me with a belt and a locked door.”
I remember the way she flinched when a twig snapped. The way she touched her bruises like memories she couldn’t scrub away.
And Gods help me, I want to burn the whole Empire down for her.
But turning someone—choosing someone—isn’t a decision I make lightly. I’ve lived long enough to know how wrong it can go. How hollow forever can feel when it’s born from a wound instead of a wish.
So I refuse.
At first.
I tell her no. I tell her to wait. I tell her to forget me.
She doesn’t listen.
She cups my face and says, “Let me choose you. Let me burn for something that’s mine.”
The words brand themselves into my soul.
So I give in.
We don’t rush it.
For all her fire and fearlessness, she blushes when she tells me—softly, fiercely—that she’s never been with anyone before.
“I wanted it to be you,” she says, like it’s the most natural truth in the world. “It was always going to be you.”
Something in me breaks.
Not with lust, not even with longing, but with love —an aching, impossible thing I never thought I’d feel. Not after everything I’ve lost. Not after what I’ve become.
We find a hidden place beneath the cliffs, shielded by rock and twilight and the hush of the wind. The air smells like salt, dusk, and lavender, the kind she crushes beneath her toes. The kind I will now always associate with her skin.
I lay my cloak over the moss like an offering, smoothing it with trembling hands. I do not shake from hunger, though I ache with need. I shake from awe. Because she’s here. She’s real. And she’s mine.
She watches me as I strip off my tunic, her fingers curling into the hem of her dress, her breath coming faster. Fire flares in her eyes, but not fear. She is afraid of nothing. Not even me. Not even this.
“Come here,” I whisper, voice rough.
She steps closer. Slips her dress over her head. She stands before me in the dim light, bare as the moon, blushing but unbowed. Her body is all soft curves, flushed skin, and trembling strength. My breath catches in my throat.
“You’re shaking,” she murmurs.
“So are you.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Neither am I,” I lie.
She steps into my arms and kisses me like a vow, softly at first, then deeper, urgent, tasting wildness and want. I lift her gently, laying her down on the cloak, brushing moss from her hair. She’s laid out like a sacrifice, like something holy. And I am already hers.
“Tell me what to do,” she whispers. “I don’t want to get it wrong.”
“There is no wrong,” I murmur, kneeling between her thighs. “There is only us . Let me show you.”
I kiss my way down her neck, over her collarbone, down the soft slope of her breast. Her nipples are already tight, aching for my mouth. I take one in gently, teasing her with my tongue and teeth. She gasps, arches into me, fingers tangling in my hair.
Her legs shift restlessly beneath me. “Rapha?—”
“I’ll stop if you want,” I say, voice ragged. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”
She looks at me, eyes wide, pupils blown with desire. “No. I want…I need …I didn’t know it could feel like this.”
I suck her nipple into my mouth again, tasting her slowly, reverently. Her thighs clamp around my waist, her fingers claw at the moss.
I kiss her flushed cheeks, her parted lips. “Are you ready?” I ask, though every cell in my body is screaming for her.
She nods, tightens her legs around my waist, and pulls me close.
When I finally enter her, I do it slowly.
Carefully. She’s tight and wet and so very warm.
Her channel clenches around my cock with every delicious inch I sink inside her.
I grit my teeth, trying not to lose control, but the feel of her, the sound of her gasps and pants as she whispers my name like a prayer is too much.
“Gods,” I groan. “You’re perfect.”
She whimpers. “Move. Please. I want to feel all of you.”
I rock into her with long, slow strokes, memorizing every sound she makes. She grabs my shoulders, her nails raking down my back. Her eyes lock on mine, dark and dazed, like I’ve cast a spell.
“You feel…Oh, Rapha…”
I lean down, kiss her throat, whisper ancient words in her ear. Words that mean love. And yours. And always.
She tightens around me, cries out, and falls apart.
I bury myself deep inside her, spilling with a groan that echoes through the rocks. My body shudders, heart pounding against hers. I don’t know where she ends and I begin. I don’t want to.
After, we lie tangled together, my hand splayed over her belly, hers cupped over my heart.
“I can feel it,” she says softly.
“What?”
“The way you love me. It’s in my bones now.”
I press my lips to her temple. “You were mine long before this. Before time. Before memory.”
She smiles, soft and wicked. “And now you’re mine.”
She falls asleep like that, with my arms around her, her fingers curled over my heart like a brand. And it is. She is.
Forever.
It happens beneath the cliffs where we first made love, where the wind howls like prophecy and the sea lashes the rocks below, as if the earth is unsure whether to mourn or celebrate what we are about to do.
She lies beneath me, bare and brave, her dark hair a halo of tangled silk around her face, her eyes lit from within. Her fingers trail lightly down my chest, her voice calm even as the air vibrates with the unknown.
“Do it, Rapha. I’m ready.”
“No,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”
“I do,” she says fiercely. “I want this. I want you .”
My heart—whatever’s left of it—stutters.
She cups my cheek, pulls me down until our foreheads touch. “Don’t you see?” she whispers. “This isn’t death. This is the first time I get to choose . And I choose you.”
I exhale shakily, my fangs descending as my control frays. My body is tight with restraint, my cock already hard from the nearness of her, the scent of her skin, the truth in her voice.
“You’ll feel everything,” I warn her. “The pleasure. The pain. The hunger.”
Her thighs open, cradling my hips. “Then give it to me. All of it.”
I growl low and possessively, kissing her like I’m drowning. My tongue sweeps into her mouth, my hands clutch her hips as I grind against her, letting her feel the weight of what’s coming. She arches into me, panting, needy.
“Please,” she gasps. “Don’t be gentle.”
“Gods, you don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Yes,” she moans, pulling me tighter. “I do.”
I trail kisses down her neck, my breath hot against her throat. Her pulse beats wildly beneath her skin, so fragile, so sweet. My fangs brush her flesh, and she shudders, her hands clutching my hair.
“Now,” she whispers. “Do it. Make me yours.”
With a groan that’s part agony, part ecstasy, I sink my fangs into her throat as I sink my cock into her body.
Her cry is sharp and sudden, but she doesn’t pull away. Her body tenses, back arching hard as my venom floods her system. Her heartbeat stutters. Her hands seize mine, fingers laced tight.