Arven stepped back into the Arena halls, bare-chested and blood-soaked.
Every step he took was met with silence first, then whispers.
Some fighters looked away as he passed, unable to hold his gaze. Others tracked him openly, eyes filled with a mix of awe, disgust, and something else. Fear, maybe. Curiosity. A few stepped aside entirely, letting him through as if he were toxic.
He still felt phantom fingers tightening around his neck. His own. That damn illusion had followed him all the way back. He shook his head again, hard, like trying to clear water from his ears.
Her voice still whispered in his mind.
He gritted his teeth and turned a corner. The door to the common showers stood open. Steam curled out into the hallway.
He entered without a word.
The Arena showers were carved from smooth, pale gray stone, enchanted to stay warm and constantly draining. Dozens of curved spouts jutted from the walls, each releasing a steady stream of steaming water. The air inside was thick with mist, the heat clinging to every surface. The floor gleamed slick beneath Arven's boots, each step echoing faintly in the cavernous space.
He stripped slowly, peeling off what little remained of his fight gear, fabric stiff with dried blood, torn in places, sticking to his skin like old scabs. He cast the bundle aside, where it landed with a heavy, wet sound.
Steam curled up around his bare frame as he stepped beneath the nearest spout. The water hit him like ice at first, making his muscles jerk and his teeth clench, but quickly shifted to warmth. A wave of shuddering relief passed through his body. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and let the stream beat down on him.
Red flowed down his shoulders in thin trails.
His arms ached. His back throbbed. But the deeper wounds had already begun to fade. Bruises were softening. Muscle strains pulling themselves taut again. He rolled his shoulder, exhaled, then turned slightly toward the wide mirror set into the far wall.
His reflection looked wrong. Or right. He wasn't sure anymore.
He stepped closer, water dripping from his jaw and chest.
No real injuries. No fractured ribs. No ruptured vessels. Not even the strangling bruises he should've had from Borzak's illusion. He should've been wrecked. And yet his body looked untouched, fresh from a week of rest, not minutes of carnage.
His fingers skimmed over his side. Smooth. Solid. Not a single cut deep enough to matter.
"It's the blood," he muttered. "It has to be."
Each time he fed, something shifted. Not just healed. Transformed. His skin sat tighter. His bones repaired too quickly. His pulse ran hotter than it had any right to. Was this the benefit of being a vampire?
His eyes narrowed.
Then he blinked.
The mirror caught movement behind him.
Someone was there.
His body tensed on instinct, a twist in his gut told him to expect Veyra. But the silhouette wasn't her. The steps were slower. Calmer.
Evelyne.
She stepped into the mist without a word.
Naked.
She didn't hesitate. Didn't pause at the entrance. Her pale body moved through the steam like a blade through silk, unfazed. Her shoulders were lean and strong, corded muscle visible beneath damp skin. Her arms were tight from visible years of training.
Her breasts were high and firm, full enough to draw the eye but proportioned like the rest of her, sculpted, not soft. Water beaded across her chest and dripped slowly down over her taut stomach, tracing the faint line of her abs before slipping past the sharp curve of her hips.
Her long braid hung heavy and wet down her spine, strands clinging to the smooth surface of her back. The curve of her ass shifted slightly as she walked, round and toned.
She stepped beneath the stream two spouts down from his, rolled her shoulders with a quiet exhale, and tilted her chin slightly as the water poured over her. It glided over every line of her body, outlining her like sculpture, steam wrapping her in curls.
She didn't look at him at first.
But she could feel his eyes.
The steam swirled between them, heavy with heat and unsaid things. Evelyne tilted her head back into the stream, water cascading over her face and down her body in clean, uninterrupted lines.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said, her voice calm as she began rinsing her braid.
Arven didn't answer right away. His gaze lingered a moment longer, then he turned back toward the mirror.
"Just didn't expect you," he muttered.
"These showers are mixed," she said, glancing his way. "You forget that?"
He gave a loose shrug. "Doesn't mean it's a good idea."
She turned slightly, letting the water stream down her collarbone and across the subtle slope of her breasts. "I didn't design it. And anyway... if someone tries anything, they get executed. Arena law."
"Still stupid."
The room fell quiet. Only the sound of water hitting stone and skin filled the air, slow, rhythmic, almost hypnotic.
Then Arven spoke again. "Soo... you are a noble, right?"
"I am," she replied simply.
"Doesn't show."
"That's the idea," she said, her tone flat. "It doesn't matter here."
He gave a quiet nod, barely more than a tilt of his chin.
There was a beat of silence. Then Evelyne asked, without pretense, "You and Veyra. How close are both of you?"
Arven's mouth twitched.
He glanced at her through the mist. Her voice wasn't jealous. Just direct.
"We fight… And... we fuck. That's about it."
"Charming," she said dryly.
He grinned faintly. "Before this, I worked in a noble's mansion. Similar deal. Even if it ended abruptly"
Evelyne raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "So you're just a manwhore."
"I'm not," he said, voice low. "It's just... bad luck. Or good. Depends who you ask."
She let out a short snort, not quite laughter, but not scorn either.
Another pause passed.
Then her voice came again, quieter this time. "Why do you bite people?"
He blinked, wiping a stream of water from his face. "You mean during fights?"
"Are you a cannibal?"
Arven turned to face her fully now.
"I'm a vampire."
The word lingered in the air.
Evelyne froze, just a second, then locked eyes with him through the veil of mist.
"For real?"
"Yeah."
She didn't recoil. Didn't laugh, instead she just stared.
Then stepped toward him.
The System flickered faintly in the corner of his vision.
New Target Acquired: Evelyne (Fascination Triggered)
Current Desire: Direct proof. Fulfill to unlock path.
Evelyne approached slowly, until they were almost toe to toe. She lifted one hand and, without hesitation, grabbed his chin.
"Open," she said.
He did.
Her grip was firm, clinical. Her fingers tilted his jaw to the side, her thumb brushing along his cheekbone. She leaned closer, inspecting the sharp canines, their faint gleam catching the torchlight through the steam.
"Not long," she murmured. "But sharp, And pretty clean."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Why say it so easily?"
"Would you believe me if I didn't show my teeths?" he asked. "Most would not. Vampires don't walk in daylight, remember?"
She studied his mouth for another heartbeat, then released his chin.
Her fingers brushed his jaw as she stepped back.
Then she said, without pause, "Bite me."
Arven blinked. "What?"
"You feed on blood," Evelyne said, folding her arms under her chest. Her breasts lifted slightly with the motion, water still gliding in slow arcs across her skin. "That's how you get stronger."
He frowned. "Sure..."
"Then bite me," she repeated. "Make yourself stronger. So when we fight... you'll be worth beating."
He stared at her.
She wasn't smiling.
There was no heat behind it, no flirtation. Just raw, cold intention.
Serious.
Another damn freak, he thought. But not the worst kind.
After a second, he nodded.
"Alright."
She turned without a word and walked through the mist toward him.
When she stepped under his stream, the water caught on her skin and slid down every curve, her back gleamed in the low torchlight, spine taut, shoulder blades firm beneath pale flesh. Drops trickled along her waist, traced the tight slope of her hips, then streamed over the round, toned swell of her ass.
She tilted her head, exposing the long line of her neck.
Arven stepped in close behind her. Not touching. Not yet.
His breath deepened. The scent of her skin filled his lungs, faintly floral, but grounded in something raw and real. Sweat. Steel. Blood. She wasn't soft, but her body was flawless. His gaze lingered on the shape of her thighs, strong and lean, the slight spread of her legs under the water, and the fine arch of her foot gripping the floor.
He leaned down slowly, lips brushing the edge of her neck.
His fangs slid in with care, piercing her skin in one smooth motion.
Evelyne flinched, just a twitch, but didn't pull away. Her body stiffened for a second, then melted against his.
The taste hit like voltage.
Her blood was sharp, clean, layered. Not wild like Veyra's. Not rich like Borzak's. It was pure control, distilled into liquid. He drank slowly, savoring the way it coursed down his throat, awakening something deeper.
Her breath hitched.
One of her hands drifted back, fingers brushing his hipbone. Then settling. Gripping.
"More," she whispered.
He wrapped his arms around her waist. She didn't resist. She leaned into it. Her back pressed to his chest, wet skin to wet skin.
He bit deeper.
Her gasp turned into a quiet moan, one hand braced against the wall. The sound vibrated through him. His cock throbbed against her ass, hard now, twitching with every heartbeat.
The System pulsed behind his head:
Desire threshold exceeded. Path Unlocked.
He could feel it. Not just in her blood, but in the way she held herself. Tense, alert, not afraid. Anticipating. She was letting him lead. Testing what he'd do with it.
He didn't hesitate.
She turned in his arms suddenly, pressed her bare chest to his, and grabbed him by the shoulders.
Their lips collided, hard and hot.
He slammed her back into the stone wall. She grunted, legs spreading slightly for balance. Her fingers clawed at his scalp, dragging through wet red hair, pulling him closer.
His fingers traced down her spine, light at first, then harder, leaving thin trails. Her breasts crushed against his chest, nipples stiff from heat and contact. He reached down, gripped the back of her thigh, and lifted.
She wrapped her legs around him without needing a word.
Her cunt was already soaked, not just from the water. He felt the slick heat as she reached between them, took hold of him, and guided his cock to her entrance.
She pulled him in.
The tightness was immediate. Hot. Searing. She clenched around him like a vice, moaning low against his throat.
He fucked her into the wall.
No slow rhythm. No buildup.
Just raw, snapping thrusts that rocked her whole body. Her back slammed against stone with every movement, water slapping around them. She braced herself with both hands above her head, elbows locking, muscles trembling.
"Harder," she hissed, voice cracking.
He gave it to her.
His hips slammed forward again and again, burying himself deep each time. Her walls milked him, tightening each time his name nearly fell from her lips. She bit her tongue to stay quiet, but her body betrayed her, shivering, clenching, writhing.
His fingers dug into her thighs, holding her up as he drove in harder. She pulled his mouth down to hers again, kissed him like she wanted him to bleed.
Her moan turned into a choked cry, thighs shaking, cunt squeezing around him like a fist. Her nails raked down his back, sharp, vicious lines.
She came with a full-body tremor.
And he followed.
A final thrust, rough and deep. He buried himself to the hilt, groaning against her throat, spilling inside her with a raw exhale that echoed off the stone.
They stayed like that, locked together. Water still pouring down their bodies. Steam rising. His hands still on her ass. Her legs still tight around his waist.
Neither moved.
Finally, she leaned her head back against the wall, eyes hooded, lips parted.
"You really are a manwhore," she murmured.
His breath ghosted against her collarbone.
"Fuck you"