Aiden leaned against the cold stone wall of the viscount’s mansion, his fingers raking through his white hair, the strands catching the dim light of the evening torches.
His throat was parched, a dry ache that mirrored the gnawing hunger deep in his core. His incubus blood thrumd with need, urging him to storm into the room where Amber and Lady Flora sat, to lose himself in their warmth, their essence, their lips.
He could almost taste it—the sweet collision of their desires, Amber’s fiery surrender and Flora’s untapped longing. But the heavy oak door remained shut, and the wait was maddening too maddening. He glanced toward the mansion’s gates, his golden eyes narrowing as a familiar figure approached: the high butler, his stern face etched with disapproval.
"Fuck," Aiden muttered under his breath, his hand dropping to his side.
"This old bastard’s gonna chew out and saddle with so pointless chore." The high butler, Master Gerald, was notorious for his iron grip on the servant quarters, his hawk-like gaze missing nothing.
Aiden’s heart raced, not from fear but from the irritation of being delayed. He needed to feed, to recharge his ember, and the butler’s presence was a ticking clock.
He turned his head, biting his nails, a nervous habit from his old life that clung to him in this strange, mana-soaked world. The butler’s heavy footsteps echoed closer, each one a warning.
’Maybe I should’ve just...’ Aiden’s mind raced, searching for an escape. He could slip away, charm his way out, or—
The door to the servant’s passage creaked open, and Akidna erged, her dark ponytail swaying as she ushered Lisa and a handful of other servants away from the upper hall. Aiden’s shoulders sagged with relief, the pressure in his chest easing.
His golden eyes darted to the butler, who had spotted him, their gazes locking for a fleeting mont.
"Aiden?" Gerald’s gravelly voice carried across the courtyard, sharp with suspicion.
Aiden feigned ignorance, his head whipping around as if he hadn’t noticed the man. His legs moved before his mind caught up, carrying him toward the stairs with practiced stealth.
Akidna’s quick thinking had bought him a mont, her group of servants blocking the butler’s path just long enough. Aiden’s lips curled into a smirk.
’Good girl.’
"Aiden!" Gerald’s shout bood from the mansion’s lower hall, but Aiden was already bounding up the stairs, the voices of Amber and Flora drifting through the heavy door of the lady’s private chamber. Their words were soft, intimate, laced with the weight of secrets. Aiden’s hand hovered over the door, his system interface flickering in his mind’s eye:
[Ember: 1%]
’Now or never, he thought, his hunger a roaring beast in his veins. He pushed the door open, the hinges groaning softly.
Queee...!
Amber jolted in her seat, her green eyes wide with alarm. She sat on one side of a gauzy curtain that bisected the room, a traditional barrier used during noble confessions to shield identities and preserve discretion.
On the other side, Lady Flora’s silhouette was visible, frad by the golden light streaming through the tall, arched window. The young noblewoman sat poised, her shadow delicate yet heavy with the burden of her words.
Aiden pressed a finger to his lips, his golden eyes locking with Amber’s, urging silence. Her face flushed, a mix of panic and sothing deeper—sothing that mirrored the heat he’d ignited in her before. She nodded, understanding his silent command.
"Who’s there?" Flora’s voice was soft but edged with curiosity, her shadow shifting slightly.
Amber’s gaze flicked to the curtain, then back to Aiden, her expression a storm of conflict. "Nothing, my lady," she said, her voice trembling but steady enough to pass. "Just the wind."
"Hmm," Flora murmured, her tone tinged with fatigue. "Lisa left the door open? That’s rare. I’ll close it—"
"No, no, it’s fine," Amber interjected, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I’ll handle it." She shot Aiden a pointed look, her eyes screaming for him to shut the door before Flora noticed. The last thing she needed was the viscount’s daughter discovering a servant—a man—in her private confession chamber. The scandal would ruin them both.
Thud!
Aiden eased the door closed, his movents silent as a predator’s. "Thank you, Abbess Amber," Flora said, her voice softening with relief. "You’re as humble and kind as the rumors say."
Aiden crept closer, his steps soundless on the polished wooden floor. The room was opulent, its walls adorned with tapestries depicting saints and celestial battles, a stark contrast to the sinful tension crackling in the air.
Amber sat rigidly in her chair, her nun’s habit doing little to hide the curves Aiden knew so well. He smirked, picking up a feather quill and a sheet of parchnt from a nearby table. His mind buzzed with possibilities—this was no ordinary confession, and he intended to make the most of it.
"Can we start?" Flora asked, her voice hesitant but resolute.
Amber’s eyes darted between Aiden and the curtain, her teeth grazing her lower lip. "Y-yes, of course," she stamred. "You...can start confessing."
’Oh, oh oh ohhhhhh.... this is gonna be entertaining,’ Aiden thought, his pen scratching across the parchnt. He scribbled words that would make a demon blush, each stroke fueled by his incubus instincts. He passed the note to Amber, his grin wicked.
Amber’s fingers trembled as she took the paper, her eyes scanning the words. Her face flushed crimson, a mirror of the mont he’d claid her in the church, under the watchful eyes of the Holy Father’s halls. But before she could react, Flora’s voice cut through the silence.
"Abbess Amber," Flora began, her tone heavy with reverence, "I wish to confess in the presence of the Holy Father, for He is almighty, and His forgiveness is the salvation we all seek."
Amber swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. "Yes, daughter of the Holy God, He listens and forgives. Please... proceed."
Flora cleared her throat, her words slow, as if each one cost her dearly. "I confess...I confess... I have slept with soone."
Amber’s eyes widened, not just at Flora’s words but at the sinful script on Aiden’s note. She glanced at him, his golden eyes glinting with mischief, that sa predatory smile he’d worn when he’d unraveled her in the church. Her breath hitched, her body betraying her as heat pooled within her.
As what he wrote, was not sothing that happened in the past, or what he was going to do in the future, but what he was going to do now.
To her.
User Comments
0 comments from readers