Part 1 — The Birth of Lord Reven
The mask was porcelain white, etched with gold. The eyes were empty black hollows—like his past.
Auren adjusted it over his face and examined himself in the mirror. His reflection shimmered slightly, a product of layered illusions. The magic was crude, weak compared to his old might, but enough to change his features.
Gone was the bruised prince.
In his place stood Lord Reven Virel, a minor noble from a distant, dead barony. Tall. Pale. Dangerous. Handsome in a way that made women ache and men question themselves.
He smirked.
"Time to make a name they'll never forget."
The masquerade was held in the upper ring of Dunhollow, in a half-ruined estate of fading grandeur. Music drifted from its halls like smoke, gilded with laughter and moans. Wealthy merchants, rogue aristocrats, and outlawed mages mingled behind masks.
Every face was a lie.
Just the way Auren liked it.
He slipped past the guards with a whisper. Their eyes glazed, enchanted briefly by a sigil carved into the palm of his glove.
Inside, the ballroom glowed with fireglass chandeliers and enchanted lanterns. Dresses sparkled. Skin was bared. Wine poured like rain.
And at the center of it all… she stood on a balcony, drinking alone.
Part 2 — The Wolf in Velvet
Lady Vexa of the Moonfang was taller than most men, dressed in midnight-black silk split down to her navel. Her skin was dusky bronze. Her silver hair cascaded like wild frost, and her wolf ears twitched at every sound. A beastkin noble.
She reeked of danger.
Of violence.
Of sex.
Auren approached with a goblet of blackwine, careful, calculating.
"You look like you want to devour someone," he said.
She didn't turn.
"I already did."
His smile widened.
"Still hungry?"
That got her attention.
Her golden eyes flicked to his mask, then down his body.
"You're bold."
"Only because you're beautiful."
She chuckled low. "Careful, little man. I bite."
He leaned close. "Good. So do I."
Their conversation unfolded like a fencing match—teeth behind smiles, blades behind glances. Vexa was blunt, brutal, but curious. She hadn't been chased in years. Men either groveled or ran.
But Lord Reven? He teased.
Flirted.
Dared.
By the end of an hour, she leaned closer, her voice husky.
"You're lucky I'm in a generous mood."
"Then prove it."
Her eyebrow lifted.
"Upstairs. Now."
Part 3 — Wolf and Sovereign (NSFW, Explicit Content)
The bedroom was dark, lit by firegem candles. Heavy silk curtains surrounded the bed. The scent of wine and musk clung to the air.
Vexa pinned Auren to the door the moment it shut.
Her mouth crashed into his, all fang and heat. Her claws tore open his shirt, eyes blazing.
"You know what I want," she growled against his neck.
"Yes," he whispered. "To be undone."
She froze.
Something in his voice—smooth, soft, commanding—made her tremble.
He kissed her throat. Her pulse raced.
"I don't grovel, wolf," he murmured. "I tame."
She snarled.
He grabbed her by the waist, turned her, and pushed her against the wall. Her gasp turned into a moan as his lips trailed down her neck, to her collarbone, to her cleavage.
She wasn't used to being touched like this.
Not worshipped.
Not wanted.
Just taken.
And now… she was melting.
"Strip," he said.
Her eyes narrowed. "You're giving me orders?"
He stared, unmoving.
She hesitated.
Then smirked—and obeyed.
The silk slid from her shoulders. Her dusky bronze skin gleamed. Her breasts were full, tipped with silver-pierced nipples. Her toned stomach quivered.
Auren circled her like a hunter.
He whispered into her ear, "On the bed."
She climbed on, on all fours, growling softly.
He removed his trousers, slow, deliberate. Her eyes widened.
"Fuck."
"Later," he whispered. "First, you beg."
She bit her lip.
And whimpered.
Part 4 — The Sovereign's Touch (NSFW – Continued)
Vexa's body was a furnace beneath his hands. Her skin radiated primal heat, her breath ragged with need. Auren moved slowly, deliberately — dragging out every moment until her muscles tensed, her claws clenched the sheets, and her silver tail flicked with frustration.
"You're not… like the others," she gasped as his lips descended her inner thigh.
"I know."
He didn't plunge. He didn't rut.
He worshipped.
She arched beneath him as his tongue moved—deft, expert. Her thighs squeezed around his head. Her cries came sharp, wild.
"Auren—"
She caught herself.
Reven, she corrected, voice trembling.
But the name Auren had already slipped from her lips.
His true name.
His past.
His curse.
He rose above her, kissed her mouth hard, and then slid into her—slow and deep.
Vexa's entire body shuddered.
She clung to him, teeth bared, eyes wide.
"Gods," she whispered.
"No," he breathed into her ear, voice low, dangerous.
"Not anymore."
The rhythm started slow, a tidal pull that left her begging, clawing, moaning. Then faster, harder, until her cries echoed off the walls and her limbs trembled.
He didn't just take her.
He claimed her.
And when she finally broke—body spasming, lips murmuring prayers she didn't know—he didn't stop.
He made her feel everything she'd ever denied herself.
When he finally finished, it was with a growl against her throat, one hand knotted in her silver hair, the other gripping her thigh.
She lay trembling beneath him, panting, stunned.
Ruined.
And addicted.
Part 5 — A Hook Sunk Deep
Later, wrapped in silk and sweat, she stared at the ceiling in silence.
No man had ever left her like this.
Not breathless.
Not aching for more.
He leaned against the bedpost, half-dressed, sipping wine.
"Who are you really?" she whispered, voice hoarse.
"A shadow," he said, eyes unreadable. "Nothing more."
She reached for him—but he was already pulling away, slipping into his clothes.
"You'll disappear now?"
"I never said I'd stay."
Her tail twitched, irritated.
"You're arrogant."
"No," he said with a smirk. "I'm inevitable."
Then he was gone.
Leaving her tangled in silk, cheeks flushed, heart racing.
Lady Vexa of the Moonfang, devourer of men, lay still.
Cursed by the only one who ever made her beg.
Part 6 — The Priestess's Tremble
Auren returned to the lower city under starlight. The streets were quiet. Snow fell soft as ash.
In the temple ruins where Serenya worked, he found her kneeling before an ancient statue of a forgotten goddess, her robe clinging to her curves in the candlelight.
She looked up when she sensed him.
"You vanished."
"I walked," he said simply.
Her silver eyes studied him.
"You feel… different."
He knelt beside her.
"I am different."
She reached for his hand—hesitant, gentle.
"I dreamed of you. Before I met you. You stood in fire. Eyes like starlight. And behind you, a thousand thrones burned."
He didn't speak.
She leaned closer, whispering, "Who are you really?"
Auren smiled.
"Someone the world thought dead."
Her breath caught.
And in that stillness, something inside her—shifted.
Part 7 — In the Elven Court
Far away, across snow and sea, Lady Lyrielle knelt in the Grand Court of Silverleaf, her fingers trembling as the oracle's smoke curled around her.
"You are haunted," the oracle rasped, blind eyes glowing.
Lyrielle said nothing.
"You killed a man," the oracle continued. "But his soul did not pass."
"I know," Lyrielle whispered.
The oracle tilted her head.
"You feel him… don't you?"
Lyrielle's hands clenched.
"Yes."
"Then your punishment has just begun."
The candles blew out.
And Lyrielle heard a voice in the dark — one she thought buried in a tomb.
A whisper.
A name.
"Auren."
She gasped.
The shadows laughed.
Chapter 2 End