Chapter 12 – Lilith
CHAPTER TWELVE
LILITH
Pinned beneath him, I realize with a startling clarity that this hunger, this closeness, is the only thing that has felt right since I turned.
Since the world sharpened and broke into blood and shadow.
My leg hooks around his hip, pulling him closer, grinding my centre against him with a deliberate need.
“You’ve waited all these years, Silas,” I breathe, my voice trembling with something feral.
“Don’t wait any longer. Fuck me.” There’s no shame in it.
No restraint. Only hunger. Maybe it’s the hunt.
Maybe it’s the blood thirst still burning through my veins.
Maybe it’s him. I don’t care. For once, I don’t want the noise in my mind, the endless thoughts clawing for control.
I want instinct. I want to surrender. I want to feel.
For a split second, his eyes flare, something ancient and dangerous flickering gold in the dark.
Then he crashes his mouth to mine. The kiss is brutal, consuming.
His mouth takes mine like a claim, his tongue forcing past my lips, commanding, devouring.
The taste of him—dark, metallic, intoxicating—ignites something wild in me.
His grip loosens just enough. I wrench my hands free and tear at him, desperate.
My fingers drag down his chest, nails biting into hard muscle.
A low, animal growl rumbles from him, vibrating straight through me.
Not enough. I rip his shirt open, fabric tearing beneath my hands.
He pulls back just enough to break the kiss, blood smeared across his mouth, his expression edged with something wicked and unrestrained.
The faint curl of his lips is dangerous and utterly devastating.
Cool air kisses my exposed skin, but his gaze burns hotter than any flame.
He kneels between my legs, looming over me.
Dark, scarred, beautiful. Blood streaks his chest where my hands have marked him.
His dark hair falls into his eyes, shadowing that predatory stare that makes my breath catch.
He looks like ruin. Like sin. Like everything I shouldn’t want, and everything I do.
His hands move more slowly now, deliberate, torturous.
Each button of my jeans was undone with agonizing patience, as though savoring every second of my unraveling.
My body aches with it. When he finally drags them down, discarding them carelessly, whatever patience he had vanishes.
His control slips. Good. I don’t want gentle. I don’t want careful. I want him.
His hand glides down my body—slow, claiming—until I gasp at the first touch where I need him most. My hips lift instinctively, chasing more. “Silas—”
“Feed,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding, threaded with something darker than desire. “Feed… and feel.”
The corpse beside us is still warm. I hesitate only a second before instinct takes over.
He moves me effortlessly, flipping me onto my knees, one hand pressing firmly against my back, holding me there, positioning me.
I sink my fangs into flesh, the rush of blood flooding my senses, thick and intoxicating.
And behind me. Him. The dual sensation is overwhelming.
The taste of life draining into me, the heat of his body, the deliberate way he touches me, building, pushing, unravelling me piece by devastating piece.
Pleasure coils tight, fed by every swallow, every breath, every movement.
“I can smell you,” he growls, voice rough with hunger.
“Sweet…so fucking addictive.” The loss when he pulls away is sharp and almost painful.
But it’s replaced instantly. His mouth. Pure heat.
Pressure and devotion. He doesn’t hold back now.
He consumes, devours, drives me higher with a relentless precision until the world fractures into sensation.
“Silas—” I choke, my voice breaking. Too much.
Not enough. It’s everything at once. The pressure builds, unbearable, completely unstoppable, until it snaps.
The sound that tears from me isn’t human.
It’s something wilder. I collapse forward, shaking, the blood on my lips forgotten as wave after wave crashes through me.
He doesn’t let me come down. In a blur, I’m on my back again, the world spinning as he looms above me, dark and intent, his restraint hanging by a thread.
“Don’t hold back,” I plead, breathless, desperate.
“Don’t you dare—” That thread snaps. What follows is raw, consuming, driven by hunger, by years of denial, by everything we’ve refused to face until now.
He leans down, fangs sinking into flesh beside my head, drinking again, then pulling back just enough to share it.
His hand grips my jaw, forcing my mouth open as he lets the blood spill between my lips.
It’s intoxicating. Him. Me. Blood and heat.
Silas moves again, flipping us effortlessly until his back hits the ground, and I’m straddling him.
The shift steals a breath from my lungs, but I don’t slow.
I can’t. His hand claims me instantly. The broad heat of his palm glides up my stomach—slow and deliberate—dragging over the curve of my breast before closing around my throat.
His grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me exactly who I’m dealing with. Power. Control. Hunger.
A grin curls across my lips, fangs bared as I begin to move over him, slow at first, then deeper, harder.
My hips roll, drawing him into me again and again, every motion deliberate, every rise and fall chasing something just out of reach.
My head tips back, exposing my throat, my body arching as the pressure builds.
Beneath me, a low, primal rumble vibrates through his chest—felt everywhere, inside me, around me—his body reacting to mine as my walls tighten, pulse drawing him deeper.
We’re a mess of blood and heat. It slicks our skin, stains our hands, marks us as something inhuman.
The corpse of our feed lies discarded beside us; forgotten, irrelevant, nothing more than the echo of the hunger that started this.
This is something else entirely. Something darker.
Something consuming. The tension coils tighter, snapping thread by blissful thread until it becomes unbearable.
Until there’s nothing left but instinct and sensation.
My body shudders, convulsing and clamping down around him.
A pulsing heat, pure and absolute, floods me.
Words don’t exist here, only sensation. Only the overwhelming, electric surge building, brighter, stronger; utterly impossible to contain.
When it breaks, it takes everything with it.
The world explodes into light and shadow, my body shuddering violently as the intensity consumes me whole.
He follows moments later, his control finally shattering completely, the sound he makes raw and unrestrained.
And then, stillness. After the storm, there’s only the aftermath.
My body softens, heavy, sated in a way I didn’t know was possible.
The constant tension, the noise, is gone.
For once, I feel… quiet. I collapse against him, my head resting against his neck.
His arms wrap around me instantly, holding me close, grounding me.
A soft kiss presses into my hair, so at odds with everything that came before it.
“That was…” I start, but the words fail me. There aren’t any that could do it justice.
“Yeah,” Silas murmurs.
And for once, that’s enough.
Moments blur together; minutes, maybe hours. Time feels irrelevant.
Silas is still inside me, unmoving, as though neither of us dares break whatever fragile spell has settled over us.
My body hums in the aftermath, every nerve alive, every breath slow and heavy.
His arms are wrapped tightly around me, not possessive, not forceful, just…
certain. As if letting go would mean losing me entirely.
I don’t move. I don’t want to. For the first time in my long, cursed existence, I feel something dangerously close to safe.
“At some point, we need to move.” His voice is deep and velvet smooth as it vibrates through me.
I lift my head slowly, reluctant to disturb the quiet.
His arms loosen just enough to let me look at him.
Dried blood streaks across his face, stark against his pale skin.
His eyes—dark and endless—are fixed on me, softened by something I don’t dare name.
His fingers rise, gentle despite their strength, brushing a strand of my hair, no longer golden but now stained crimson, behind my ear.
“I don’t want to,” I admit, my voice unsteady.
Because moving means reality, it means distance.
It means he is him and I am me. His chest rises with what feels like a weighted breath, understanding flickering across his features.
“The night is still ours,” he murmurs. “Reality only comes with the sun when we’re forced to rest. When this ends.”
“And then?” I ask quietly.
“Then we return to what we were.” His gaze sharpens, intensity threading through his tone.
“I go back to the club. You go back to your world.” A pause.
Then, softer, rougher. “But I’ve waited twenty-seven years to feel you.
Once isn’t enough.” His hand tightens slightly at my waist. “Give me the night,” he says.
“Just the night. And when it’s over. I’ll let you go. ”
My mind resists. My body doesn’t. The war between them is brief and hopeless. “Okay,” I whisper. “Deal.”