She fought desperately to retract her fangs, to clear the crimson from her vision, to calm the bloodlust raging through her veins alongside the brutal sexual frustration.
Her hands trembled violently as they held Marie.
Her entire body was screaming in protest—her pussy still clenching rhythmically, still dripping, still aching for release. Her clit throbbed so painfully she thought she might climax just from the aftershocks of pressure, just from the memory of friction. Her nipples ached, her skin burned, her muscles were locked tight with unfulfilled tension.
"When we come together," Lorenzo said, her voice shaking uncontrollably, barely more than a whisper, I want it to be because you choose me. Not because you are running from grief."
Marie had gone very still in her arms.
Then she started to cry—deep, wrenching sobs that shook her entire body.
"I am sorry," she whispered between sobs. "I am so sorry. I wanted—I thought I could—I just wanted to forget—"
"I know, cara mia." (my dear.) Lorenzo held her tighter, her voice gentle despite the chaos raging inside her—the unfulfilled desire, the barely-suppressed bloodlust, the violent trembling she could not control. "I know. And I understand. But not like this. You deserve better than this."
Her eyes flashed red once more before she finally forced them back to normal. Her fangs slowly, painfully retracted, leaving her gums aching and bloodied.
She was shaking so violently now that Marie surely felt it—her whole body trembling with the force of denial, with the effort of controlling two separate hungers that were both screaming to be fed.
But Marie, lost in her own grief and embarrassment and frustration, seemed to think it was just frustrated arousal. Just the physical response of someone who had stopped on the very edge of climax.
She had no idea about the red eyes. About the fangs. About the hunger that had nothing to do with physical desire.
Lorenzo held her through it all.
Held her as she cried.
Held her as the grief finally broke through the desperate need.
Held her even as her own body continued to shake, her pussy continued to clench and ache, her clit continued to throb with unfulfilled need.
"I have you," Lorenzo murmured, her voice rough and strained. "I am here. I am not going anywhere."
They stayed like that until Marie's tears finally subsided.
Until the water had gone completely cold, making them both shiver.
Until Lorenzo's violent shaking had mostly stopped and her eyes remained their normal color, though her body still ached with unfulfilled desire.
Then Marie climbed off Lorenzo's lap carefully, reaching for her drying cloth on the edge of the tub.
The moment Marie's back was turned, Lorenzo grabbed her own towel and quickly covered herself—hiding the prosthetic, hiding the evidence of her own arousal still coating the base and her thighs, hiding the way her hands were still trembling.
They dried in silence.
Marie wrapped the cloth around herself, her movements quiet, subdued. She was still flushed, still trembling slightly from arousal and crying.
Lorenzo stood and dried herself with the towel, her hands still shaking. She had to pause several times, bracing against the tent pole, breathing deeply to maintain control over the curse that still lurked beneath her skin, over the bloodlust that had been awakened and denied.
Her body still ached terribly. Her pussy still clenched occasionally, reminding her of the release she had denied herself. Her clit still throbbed faintly, hypersensitive. Her nipples were still hard, still aching.
But she forced herself to dress—pulling on fresh undergarments to secure the prosthetic back in place, then trousers, shirt, her black coat.
Marie dressed as well, donning her riding clothes with mechanical movements, then the long cape that fell to her knees, pulling the hood up over her still-damp hair.
When Marie finished lacing her boots, she turned to look at Lorenzo.
"Thank you," she said quietly, her voice small. "For stopping. For knowing I needed you to."
Lorenzo managed a boyish smile despite the hunger still lurking beneath her skin, despite the ache still pulsing through her body. "When the time is right, I am sure you will make it up to me."
The words came out more roughly than she intended, thick with barely-restrained desire.
Marie crossed to her and took her hand, a small smile touching her lips despite the redness around her eyes. "It is a deal."
A guard's voice called from outside the tent. "Your Highness, we are ready. You may depart whenever you wish."
Lorenzo called back, "Heard."
She grabbed her sword, buckling it at her hip with hands that had finally stopped trembling, then took Marie's hand again.
Together, they stepped out into the cold night air.
The cold was a blessing—it helped calm the fire still burning in Lorenzo's veins, helped ease the ache still throbbing between her legs.
Lorenzo helped Marie up onto her horse first, her hands steady on Marie's waist as she lifted her into the saddle—though the brief contact sent another unwanted spark of arousal through her body.
Then she mounted her own horse in one smooth motion, grateful for the movement, for the distraction.
Her men stood in a perfect line, bowing deeply as Lorenzo and Marie rode past—heading deeper into the forest, following the path that would take them away from danger.
They passed the last of the soldiers, and Lorenzo glanced back once.
Already, her men were moving—swift, efficient, trained to perfection. They would clean the camp thoroughly, erase every trace of their presence, then disperse in their assigned directions to execute the plan.
Within an hour, it would be as though they had never been there at all.
These were not ordinary soldiers. These were elite warriors who had trained under Lorenzo herself.
Then Lorenzo turned her attention forward, to the long road ahead.
And to Marie riding beside her, silent and pensive beneath her hood.
As the days passed and they made their way toward the citadel, Lorenzo began to notice things about Marie she had never fully appreciated before.
Small things. Beautiful things. Things that made Lorenzo's chest ache with affection and other parts of her ache with need she was constantly struggling to suppress.
When they passed through villages, children seemed drawn to her like moths to flame.
It happened in every settlement, without fail.
Marie would dismount without hesitation, crouching to their level as they shyly offered her wildflowers or small trinkets—a smooth pebble, a braided grass ring, a roughly carved wooden bird.
She would accept each gift with genuine delight, her face lighting up as though they had given her treasures beyond price. She would tuck wildflowers into her saddlebag or behind her ear, exclaim over smooth stones as though they were precious gems, wear the grass ring on her finger with obvious pride.
The children would giggle and blush and run away, peeking back at her from behind their mothers' skirts.
And Marie would return to Lorenzo, presenting her latest "treasure" like a trophy, her smile so bright and genuine and unguarded that it made Lorenzo's chest ache.
And made other parts of her ache as well.
More than once, Lorenzo had to physically restrain herself from dragging Marie into a shadowed corner and taking her roughly against the nearest wall—consequences be damned.
The need was constant now, simmering beneath her skin. Every smile from Marie. Every casual touch. Every time Marie laughed or tucked her hair behind her ear or licked her lips.
It all fed the hunger Lorenzo was desperately trying to control.
When they stayed at taverns, Marie's natural kindness and striking beauty worked consistently in their favor.
Innkeepers gave her free bread or extra blankets without being asked. Merchants offered samples of their wares—a sweet pastry, a ribbon, a small vial of rose water. Even gruff stable hands softened around her, offering to brush her horse without charge, bringing extra feed, checking her saddle straps with unusual care.
Being beautiful and kind opened doors that gold sometimes could not.
But it also had its disadvantages.
Men noticed her. Of course they did.
And some of them did not have the sense to keep their distance from a woman traveling with her "husband."
One night, they entered a crowded tavern—the only lodging in a small village halfway to their destination.
Marie removed her hooded cape and moved toward the bar to request rooms.
A drunk man—thick-necked, red-faced, reeking of ale—took one look at her and decided she needed his company.
He stepped directly into her path, blocking her way to the innkeeper.
"Well, well," he slurred, his eyes traveling over her body with blatant hunger. "Aren't you a pretty little thing. Traveling all alone, are you?"
Marie smiled politely, trying to step around him. "I am here with my husband, actually. If you would excuse me—"
His hand shot out and grabbed her waist, pulling her closer. "Your husband can share, can't he? A beauty like you shouldn't be wasted on just one man—"
He never finished the sentence.
Lorenzo crossed the room in three strides—moving so fast several patrons gasped—and punched him so hard he went down and did not get back up.
The sickening crunch of his nose breaking echoed in the suddenly silent tavern.
Blood pooled beneath his unconscious face.
Lorenzo stood over him, breathing hard, her hand still clenched in a fist, her eyes dark with rage.
The entire tavern had gone silent. Everyone stared.
Marie grabbed Lorenzo's arm and pulled her toward the stairs before the situation could escalate into a full brawl.
"Come,"she hissed. "Now."
Lorenzo allowed herself to be pulled away, though her eyes kept darting back to the unconscious man as though she wanted to hit him again.
They climbed the stairs to the room the wide-eyed innkeeper had hastily provided—free of charge, keys thrust at them with shaking hands.
Once inside with the door closed, Marie folded her arms and gave Lorenzo the coldest shoulder she had ever received.
She walked to the bed, sat down with her back to Lorenzo, and simply stared at the wall.
Lorenzo tried to explain. "Marie, he touched you. He was—"
Silence.
"He was being completely inappropriate. I could not just—"
Marie pulled the blanket up and lay down, still with her back to Lorenzo.
"Marie, please. I promised no unnecessary violence. You have to understand. I am your husband after all"
Nothing.
Lorenzo tried several more times over the next hour, but Marie remained stubbornly silent, curled up in the bed, refusing to even look at her.
Finally, as the candles burned low and the tavern noise below faded, Lorenzo resorted to desperate measures.
She moved to sit on the edge of the bed behind Marie.
"Cara mia," (my dear,) Lorenzo said softly, pitching her voice to the most apologetic, pathetic tone she could manage. "Please look at me."
Marie did not move.
Lorenzo tried the expression she knew Marie could never resist—the puppy dog eyes, wide and sorrowful and genuinely regretful.
Though Marie could not see it with her back turned.
"I am sorry," Lorenzo said quietly. "Truly sorry. I should not have hit him. I lost my temper. It was... inappropriate."
Silence, but Marie's shoulders tensed slightly. She was listening.
"He was touching you," Lorenzo continued, her voice dropping lower. "And I... I was jealous."
That got a response.
Marie shifted slightly, though she still did not turn around.
"Jealous?" Her voice was quiet, but no longer angry. Curious.
"Terribly jealous," Lorenzo admitted, and she sounded genuinely embarrassed. "I wanted to do far worse than simply punch him. I wanted to break every bone in his hand for daring to touch you."
Marie turned then, slowly, rolling over to look at Lorenzo.
Her expression had softened considerably.
Lorenzo gave her the full force of the puppy dog eyes—wide, apologetic, genuinely remorseful.
"Forgive me?"Lorenzo asked softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Marie's ear.
Marie's lips twitched, fighting a smile. "You can't just do such a thing all the time. Your jealousy flatters me but I find no joy in others suffering the consequence of it"
"I know," Lorenzo said, leaning down to nuzzle into Marie's neck, breathing in her scent. "I will try harder."
Marie's smile broke through fully then. "Do more than trying! These are peasant... they don't know better"
She reached up and pulled Lorenzo down beside her.
Lorenzo immediately wrapped her arms around Marie, pulling her close, holding her tightly.
"I promise to make it up to you," Lorenzo murmured against her hair. " I don't promise to be gentle though"
Marie softened completely at that, melting into Lorenzo's embrace.
They lay like that for several minutes, just holding each other, the anger completely diffused.
But then the quality of the embrace began to change.
Lorenzo's hands, which had been simply holding Marie close, began to wander—sliding down her back, tracing the curve of her waist, moving lower.
Marie's breathing changed, became faster, shallower.
Lorenzo kissed her neck, soft at first, then with more heat.
Marie's head tilted back, giving her better access, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
Lorenzo's hand slid beneath Marie's shirt, tracing the bare skin of her waist, moving higher.
Marie arched slightly into the touch, her body already responding with that immediate, desperate hunger that had been building between them for days.
Lorenzo kissed her jaw, found her mouth.
Marie kissed back eagerly, hungrily, her hands coming up to tangle in Lorenzo's hair.
Lorenzo rolled them so Marie was beneath her, settling between her legs, pressing her down into the mattress.
The prosthetic pressed against Marie through their layers of clothing, and Marie gasped into the kiss, her hips lifting instinctively.
Lorenzo's hand cupped Marie's breast through her shirt, thumb brushing her nipple.
Marie moaned, her head falling back, her body arching.
"Lorenzo,"she breathed, and there was so much need in her voice it made Lorenzo's control fracture.
Lorenzo's hands moved frantically now—unlacing Marie's shirt, pushing it open, finding her breasts and squeezing, thumbs working her nipples until Marie was whimpering.
Marie's hands pulled at Lorenzo's coat, her shirt, trying to get to skin.
Lorenzo helped her, shrugging out of her coat, yanking her shirt over her head.
Marie's hands immediately went to Lorenzo's bare chest—flat and strong. She traced the muscles, the lines, her touch curious and hungry.
Lorenzo groaned at the contact, her hips grinding down against Marie.
Marie cried out, her legs wrapping around Lorenzo's waist, pulling her closer.
They were both panting now, desperate, hands everywhere, mouths seeking, finding.
Lorenzo's hand slid down between them, unlacing Marie's breeches with shaking fingers.
Marie helped, lifting her hips, pushing them down just enough.
Lorenzo's hand slid beneath the fabric, between her legs.
Found her hot and wet and swollen and so ready.
Marie nearly sobbed at the contact, her hips bucking into Lorenzo's hand.
"Please try to be a little gentle," Marie begged, her voice breaking. "It has been a while I might not be used to you anymore"
Lorenzo's fingers found her clit, circled it firmly.
Marie's back arched off the bed, a choked cry escaping her.
"You...you are really ...driving me insane"
Lorenzo's free hand worked frantically at her own breeches, trying to free the prosthetic, her movements desperate and shaking.
She got the laces undone, began to pull it free—
Then it hit her.
The bloodlust.
Stronger than it had ever been before.
It slammed into her like a physical blow, stealing her breath, making her vision swim with crimson.
She could hear Marie's heartbeat thundering, could smell the blood pumping hot beneath her skin, could practically taste it.
Her fangs extended fully, painfully, cutting into her lip.
Lorenzo squeezed her eyes shut, her entire body going rigid.
A grunt of pain escaped her throat—guttural, barely human.
Her hand between Marie's legs stilled completely. Her other hand abandoned the prosthetic to press flat against the mattress, her whole body shaking violently.
"Lorenzo?"Marie's voice cut through the haze, worried and confused. Her hand came up to cup Lorenzo's cheek. "Lorenzo, are you alright? What is wrong?"
Lorenzo fought desperately to retract her fangs, to clear the red from her vision, to push down the hunger screaming at her to bite, to feed, to taste.
She was panting harshly through clenched teeth, her whole body locked tight with the effort of control.
"I am—" she managed, her voice strained. "I am fine. Just—"
She could not finish the sentence.
Marie's hand on her face was so gentle, so concerned, and Lorenzo wanted to turn into that touch and sink her teeth into Marie's wrist and—
No.
No.
She forced her eyes to stay closed, forced her breathing to slow, forced the hunger back down.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds, Lorenzo felt the fangs slowly retract. The crimson faded from her vision. The overwhelming urge to feed receded to a manageable level.
She was still shaking, but she had control again.
Lorenzo opened her eyes carefully, making sure they were their normal color before meeting Marie's gaze.
Then she rolled to the side, pulling Marie with her, tucking Marie against her chest in a tight embrace.
"I am sorry,"Lorenzo murmured against Marie's hair, her voice still rough. "I just... I am feeling a little odd today. Perhaps the journey is affecting me more than I thought."
Marie immediately wrapped her arms around Lorenzo's waist, holding her close.
"We have been riding for days with little rest. You have been so focused on keeping us safe, you probably have not been taking care of yourself."Marie said softly, her voice full of concern. She pressed closer, one hand rubbing soothing circles on Lorenzo's shoulder.
Lorenzo held her tighter, grateful for the excuse, hating herself for the lie.
They lay together in comfortable silence for a while, just holding each other, letting their breathing slow and synchronize.
Lorenzo could still feel the echo of arousal in her body—the ache between her legs, the sensitivity of her skin, the way her pulse was still elevated.
But the bloodlust had subsided enough that she could think clearly again.
She would need to feed soon. The hunger was growing stronger, harder to control.
Especially around Marie.
Especially when they were intimate.
She needed to tell Marie the truth. Soon. Before something terrible happened.
But then Marie shifted slightly in her arms, and Lorenzo felt her tense.
"What is it?" Lorenzo asked, pulling back just enough to see Marie's face.
Marie was quiet for a long moment, her eyes fixed on Lorenzo's chest rather than meeting her gaze.
Then, in a small voice: "Earlier... when we stopped in the bath... and many other times after... I am thinking perhaps you are losing interest in me. That you do not want me anymore."
Lorenzo's arms tightened around her immediately, almost crushing her close.
"Marie, no,"Lorenzo said fiercely. "Never. I have never stopped wanting you. Not for a single moment. If anything, I want you too much."
"Then why do you keep stopping?" Marie's voice was small, vulnerable in a way that made Lorenzo's heart ache.
Lorenzo was quiet, weighing her words carefully, trying to find a way to explain without revealing everything.
"Because I wanted it to be right," she said finally.
Marie was quiet, considering this.
Then she propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at Lorenzo with an expression of determination mixed with tenderness.
"I am ready now," Marie said firmly, her eyes locked on Lorenzo's. "What happened with my family... it hurts. It will hurt for a long time. But I am not running anymore. I am here with you because I want to be. Because I choose you. Because I want to focus on my husband and our happiness."
She reached up and cupped Lorenzo's face gently.
"I am ready, Lorenzo. Truly ready."
Lorenzo felt her throat tighten with emotion.
She pressed a kiss to Marie's lips.
"Soon,"Lorenzo promised. "Very soon. I want nothing more than to make you mine completely."
She paused, her expression growing serious.
"Also there are things about me you do not yet know. Things I need to tell you first. Important things."
Marie's brow furrowed with concern. She shifted to sit up more fully, looking down at Lorenzo with worried eyes.
"What things?" she asked. "Lorenzo, you are worrying me. Are you ill? Is something wrong?"
Lorenzo sat up as well, taking both of Marie's hands in hers.
"I am not ....ill per..se," Lorenzo said carefully. "And nothing is wrong, exactly. But there are... truths about me that I have not shared with you. Things I should have told you from the beginning, but I was afraid."
Marie's expression shifted from worry to confusion. "Afraid of what?"
"Afraid of how you would react," Lorenzo admitted. "Afraid that you would be frightened. Afraid that you would not want me anymore once you knew."
Marie squeezed Lorenzo's hands tightly. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. I will not run. I promise."
Lorenzo looked at their joined hands, gathering her courage.
"Tomorrow," Lorenzo said quietly. "When we make camp tomorrow, I will tell you everything. I will show you everything. And then... then you can decide if you still want to be with me."
Marie's grip tightened almost painfully. "Lorenzo, you are scaring me. Please, just tell me now—"
"Tomorrow," Lorenzo repeated, more firmly this time. "I need... I need to prepare. And I need to make sure we are somewhere safe, somewhere private. This is not a conversation to have in a tavern with thin walls."
She looked up and met Marie's eyes.
"Please, Marie. Trust me for one more day. And tomorrow, I promise, no more secrets."
Marie searched Lorenzo's face for a long moment.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
"Alright," she said softly. "Tomorrow. But Lorenzo... whatever it is, whatever you need to tell me... I am not going to stop loving you."
Lorenzo's eyes burned with unshed tears at those words.
"I hope you still feel that way after that" Lorenzo whispered.
She pulled Marie back down into her arms, holding her close.
Marie settled against her, tucking her head under Lorenzo's chin.
"I will," Marie said with quiet certainty. "I promise."
They lay like that for a long time, holding each other in the darkness.
Lorenzo stared at the ceiling, her mind racing with how to tell Marie the truth.
About her body. About the curse. About what she truly was.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
Either Marie would accept her, or Lorenzo would lose the only person she had ever truly loved.
The thought terrified her more than any battle she had ever faced.
But it was time.
No more running. No more hiding.
Tomorrow, Marie would learn the truth about the person she had married.
And Lorenzo could only pray that love would be stronger than fear.