25. Kaisner
KAISNER
I feast my eyes on Clarissa as she ascends the winding steps to the VIP rooms. She’s a vision in that white, skin-tight dress, the fabric clinging to her sinful curves.
The sight sends molten heat coursing through me, my fingers itching to trace every dip and swell, to map her with hands and mouth until she trembles with need.
Seeing her here, in one of my nightclubs, is more than a pleasant surprise— it’s a wild card thrown by fate. As I watch her navigate the crowd, her gaze scanning the space with curiosity and trepidation, a slow, predatory smile curves my lips, anticipation tightening in my gut.
I’m perched in my booth, holding court over the dance floor below, a king surveying his kingdom.
The party rages on, my business partners indulging in the finest liquor and the most beautiful women money can buy.
The air is thick with alcohol, perfume, and the pulsing beat of music that thrums through my bones.
But when Clarissa stands in the room’s threshold, her presence beams through the dull sea of bodies. Everything else fades away. The world narrows to the space between us, crackling with tension.
She moves through the crowd like an avenging angel, her gaze locked on me with an intensity that thrills and terrifies. I’ve faced enemies beyond mortal comprehension, but nothing prepares me for the storm her presence stirs.
As she draws nearer, I see the change within her. The desire in her eyes deepens, becoming something fiercer. Her posture stiffens, the air around her sizzles with energy, and for a moment, I swear I glimpse the shadow of wings unfurling behind her.
A jolt of astonishment runs through me. I know that shifting is mostly a male trait, yet watching her now, I realize she’s as close to a true shifter as I’ve ever seen in a woman.
The dragon inside her is not a faded bloodline—it’s a living, breathing thing, as real and powerful as any male shifter I’ve encountered.
This is no longer just Clarissa Draken. This is a dragon in human form, her ancient power about to burst free. Her energy is so strong that those nearby instinctively step back, widening the space between us.
Her eyes, usually soft blue, now burn with an inner fire that would make lesser men cower. But not me. I am Kaisner Drachenstein, and I hold her gaze unflinchingly, even as a thrill of something alarmingly akin to fear runs down my spine.
At last, she stops inches away. The heat radiating from her is tangible, an expression of barely contained fury. Her scent, usually jasmine and rain, now carries the tang of smoke and brimstone.
Yes, she may be furious. But rage coils just as hot in me—at the memory of that worthless wolf’s hands on her, the way she laughed, danced in his arms. It makes my dragon pace beneath my flesh, restless and ready to burn.
“Enjoying yourself down there?” I ask, my voice deliberately controlled, though every instinct screams at me to claim her, to erase any trace of another man’s touch from her skin.
She lifts her chin, sapphire eyes flashing with challenge. “Actually, yes. Is that a problem?”
I close the distance between us, unable to resist. My fingers brush against her arm where he touched her, marking my territory. “You know damn well it’s a problem.” The words come out as a growl. “His hands were all over you.”
“You lost the right to care when you disappeared,” she snaps.
But I sense the shiver that runs through her at my touch.
The knowledge that she’s still affected by me soothes some of my fury.
But not enough. Never enough when it comes to her.
The beast in me demands more—demands everything .
And by all the gods, I intend to take it.
“Where have you been?” she demands, her voice cutting through the music, carrying the force of a roar. “Weeks, Kaisner. Not a word for weeks!”
Her inner dragon is so close to the surface now that I half expect to see scales ripple across her skin. This is Clarissa as I’ve never seen her—raw, strong, magnificent in her anger. I realize I’ve underestimated not only her feelings, but the true extent of her power.
In her eyes, I meet the fury of centuries. She’s more than a warlock descendant. She’s extraordinary—a woman with the heart of a dragon, defying the very laws of our kind. The realization thrills and terrifies me.
Her anger is justified. But how can I explain? How do I tell her every moment of silence was torture, that I stayed away to protect her from the shadows that cling to me?
“Clarissa, I—” I start, but she cuts me off, hurt pouring out of her.
I can’t bear it. Swept in despair, I grab her arm, pulling her toward a quieter corner. But she isn’t having it. She twists in my grip, her free hand coming up to push against my chest.
“Let go of me,” she hisses, her eyes flashing with anger and something deeper, untamed.
I loosen my grip but don’t release her entirely. “Clarissa, let me explain!”
“No!” She struggles, her movements fierce. In our tussle, her nails rake across my chest, catching on the fabric of my shirt. There’s a ripping sound, and suddenly, cool air hits my skin as the garment partly tears open.
Clarissa freezes, her eyes widening as they fall on the markings visible on my flesh.
She catches only a glimpse of the vast dragon tattoo stretching across my chest, back, and shoulders.
But it’s the section beneath the scales, the daemonic script scrawled in angry red, that truly catches her attention.
The symbols burn brightly against my tanned skin, as if they’re alive, marking me with something darker than mere ink.
I watch as shock, then concern, and finally fear cross her face. Her hand, still pressed to my sternum, trembles slightly.
“Kaisner,” she breathes, anger giving way to worry. “What happened to you?”
The warmth of her palm against my skin sends a jolt through me, soothing the constant burn of the daemonic markings. I fight the urge to lean into her touch, to seek more of that relief.
Instead, I take a deep breath, bracing myself to explain. The truth about the dark magic I’ve wielded, the price I’ve paid, and the dangers still lurking in the shadows.
As I meet her gaze, I see not just the woman I’ve come to care for, but a potential ally in the battles ahead. If only I can find the right words.
My jaw clenches as I remember the ritual—the dark magic I used to eliminate the threat to my clan…
and to her. The daemonic language is more than forbidden lexicon; it’s a conduit for power beyond comprehension.
Each scripture on my chest represents a life taken, a curse laid, a bargain struck with forces demanding payment in blood and pain.
The backlash of dark magic is brutal and unforgiving. The red lines crisscrossing my skin will soon turn black, yet they’ll remain, cruel reminders of the lengths I’ve gone to protect her.
“These are—” I begin, my voice low and rough, gesturing at the markings.
“Daemonic scriptures,” Clarissa interrupts, barely a whisper. Her eyes trace the patterns with fear and fascination. “I know what they are. But… why?”
The shock of her recognition hits me like a physical blow. I hadn’t expected her to understand. For a moment, I’m speechless, torn between explaining and hiding this dark part of myself.
“It wasn’t just me they were after,” I say, voice low and ragged.
“They wanted everything I care about. That means you.” The words taste like ash.
“You think I could stand there and watch them circle you like wolves? I’ve faced monsters since that night at the opera—bargained with devils, bled in shadows. All to stop them from touching you.”
I pause, jaw clenched, breath shallow.
“You don’t know what I’ve done, Clarissa. And gods help me, I’d do worse. Just to keep you safe.”
Clarissa reaches out, her fingers brushing the script on my chest with hesitant reverence. Her touch burns. “You did this... for me?” she asks, her voice trembling.
I catch her hand in mine, holding it close to my heart. “For you,” I confirm, my speech rough. “For us . For the future I see with you.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes, and it nearly breaks me. How can she look at me with care when my hands are stained with blood, when my soul is scarred by darkness?
“Oh, Kaisner,” she breathes, her voice full of emotion—fear, yes, but also acceptance. Compassion. And beneath it all, a profound connection that makes my heart race and my breath catch.
This moment is a turning point. Clarissa has seen the darkness in me, and yet, she hasn’t turned away.
I nod, unable to trust my voice. Yes, I was protecting her. But in doing so, I hurt her in ways I never intended.
“I was waiting for the right time,” I explain. “When I could see you without exposing you to more gossip. I never meant to hurt you.”
Her anger fades, replaced by a flood of emotion that disarms me. The caress nearly undoes me. “I only care that you’re alive and well.”
My gaze rakes over her—this woman who means more to me than blood, power, or breath itself.
Heat coils low in my gut, hunger, and something bordering on awe darkening my voice.
“My sweet baby girl,” I murmur, the endearment rasping out like a secret I hadn’t planned to confess.
“I never thought I’d see you here tonight…
and yet, here you are. Like a reckoning. ”
She swallows hard, her reaction painting a mirror of my own—this charged air between us, this ache that never dulled. “I never thought I’d be here,” she whispers. “But now I am...” The words dissolve, but the meaning remains—raw, undeniable.
“Now you are,” I echo, stepping in until there’s nothing but heat between us. My fingers trail up her arm, slow and claiming. “And fate doesn’t give second chances, Clarissa. She brought you here for me. For this.”
I lean down, my lips brushing her ear.
“Tell me you feel it too—this pull. This fire. Tell me your body’s screaming for mine the way mine’s been aching for you since the fucking opera.”
She gasps, and it’s all I need.
“Good,” I growl, backing her into the shadows, a predator cornering his prey. “Because I don’t want your fear. I want your surrender. Every moan, every breath, every broken cry that leaves your mouth tonight—mine.”
My hand curls around her throat, not to hurt, but to hold. To own.
“Kaisner,” she breathes, voice shaking like the last leaf before the fall. “I want to be yours.”
“You’re already mine,” I growl, the words ripped from somewhere primal.
And then I’m kissing her—no, claiming her. My mouth crashes into hers with fevered intensity, all teeth and tongue and hunger, like I could taste the truth off her lips. It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s a warning to the world.
She moans into me, surrendering, melting—and I take. Gods, I take.
My hand slides from her throat to her jaw, angling her head just so I can deepen the kiss, devour her from the inside out. Every flick of my tongue is a promise. Every rough pull of her bottom lip is an apology in blood and heat.
I break the kiss only to drag my mouth down her neck, teeth scraping, breath ragged.
“You feel that?” I murmur against her skin, voice wrecked with restraint. “That’s what it’s like when a monster falls for something he was never meant to have.”
She gasps, and I sense her pulse stutter beneath my lips.
“But you’re mine now,” I growl, biting down—just enough to make her shiver. “And if anyone tries to take you from me, I’ll rip the fucking world in half to get you back.”
Her fingers fist in my shirt like she can’t bear to let go. Good. She won’t have to.
“Say it,” I demand, my hand fisting in her hair, tilting her head back. “Say who you belong to.”
She’s panting, lips parted, eyes glazed with heat and something dangerously close to devotion.
“You,” she whispers. “I belong to you, Kaisner.”
“Damn right you do.”
And this time, when I kiss her, it’s not just a kiss.
It’s a vow.
The taste of her is intoxicating—sweet, warm, with just a hint of defiance. I deepen the kiss, my touch exploring every curve, every breathless shudder. She gives in, surrendering with a fervor that unravels me. She was made for this—for me.
Clarissa doesn’t pull away. She leans into me instead, her body pressing flush against mine, her hands tangling in my hair, nails raking against my scalp with just enough pressure to send a shiver down my spine. My control, already precarious, hangs by a thread.
I break the kiss before I forget myself entirely, before I forget where we are and who might be watching. My forehead rests against hers, both of us breathless, our chests rising and falling in sync.
This is madness. The thought cuts through the haze of desire like a blade.
She’s the key to everything I’ve worked for—the blood that will awaken my dragon, the power that will restore my birthright.
But as I look into her sapphire eyes, all my careful plans crumble to ash.
I can’t use her. Not like this. Not when she looks at me as if I’m something more than the monster I’ve become.
The daemon’s whispers echo in my memory, reminding me of what I came here to accomplish. Take what you need. Claim your power. But her trust burns brighter than any dark magic, and I find myself drowning in emotions I swore I’d never feel again.
“I should walk away,” I murmur against her lips.
Her fingers tighten in my hair. “Then why don’t you?”
I chuckle darkly, the sound low and rough. “You know why.”
And now, I understand. Everything has shifted. The darkness within me, the sacrifices I’ve made, and the ones yet to come—none of it matters.
Because what’s between us isn’t just heat or desire. It’s deeper, rawer. A meeting of souls, a recognition of something true and untamed. As if the universe itself, in all its chaos, conspired to bring us together—two fractured halves of a whole, finally locking into place.
I claim her lips again, the kiss urgent, reckless. My hands explore her, memorizing all her curves, every tremor of delight, worship woven into every touch. And she succumbs, like waves crashing against rocky shores, unstoppable and relentless.
Clarissa is my fate, my greatest temptation, the missing piece I never knew I was searching for. And as I lose myself in her, as the fire between us consumes everything else, I know one thing with certainty.
I will chase this feeling—chase her —for the rest of my days.