The orchestra fell silent as the dance floor cleared, every eye in the grand ballroom turning toward the throne. Primus rose first, extending his hand to Hazel with a commanding yet gentle smile. She placed her gloved fingers in his, her heart fluttering as he led her down the steps to the center of the polished marble floor. This was their first dance, and though fear still lingered in her veins from the day's horrors, the music swelled—a slow, haunting waltz—and she found herself swept into it, loving the graceful rhythm despite everything.
Primus held her slender waist close, pulling her body flush against his chest as if she were a fragile clay pot that might shatter at the slightest mishap. His touch was possessive, protective, his cold strength a stark contrast to the warmth blooming in her cheeks.
"You look so beautiful tonight, little rabbit," he whispered seductively into her ear, his breath cool against her skin. "I might not keep my promise if you keep looking this good."
Hazel's face flushed crimson, heat rising to her ears. He leaned closer, his cold lips brushing the bare curve of her neck exposed by the swept-aside braid. She shuddered, a storm of butterflies erupting in her tummy, sending tingles through her limbs.
"I don't think we should be doing this, my lord," she murmured, her voice barely steady.
Primus smirked wickedly, his fangs grazing ever so lightly. "What shouldn't we be doing, love?"
"My lord, I believe you know what I'm talking about," she said shyly, avoiding his intense gaze.
"I don't know—please tell me," he teased, his face still buried in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. Her blood smells so nice, he thought, hunger sharpening his senses.
"I want to taste your blood again, little rabbit," he said hungrily, his voice a low growl.
"Huh? My lord, the music has stopped," she blurted, seizing the excuse as the final notes faded. She attempted to step back, ready to escape the intoxicating pull of him.
He released her reluctantly, stepping away and glancing around. The entire gallery watched them in rapt silence, whispers already stirring like smoke. "Come with me, little rabbit," he said, taking her hand firmly and leading her toward the exit.
They had scarcely left the floor when two figures approached—his cousin Tobias and aunt Morwen, their smiles polished but their eyes sharp.
"Greetings, my lord. I'm glad you are back and healthy," Tobias said with an exaggerated bow, Morwen following suit.
"My, my, look who we have here. My cousin and aunty," Primus drawled, his grip on Hazel's hand tightening. "Here I thought you must be in an ant hole, plotting how to bite."
Morwen's attention fixed on Hazel, curiosity burning beneath her feigned warmth. The girl reminded her of someone—a ghost from the past—but she couldn't place it. "Oh dear, Hazel, would you mind taking a walk with this old lady?" she asked, flashing a saccharine smile.
"Oh dear Aunt," Primus interjected coldly, "it's Lady Hazel, not Hazel. And I can't trust anyone enough to leave her with—you don't know what people might be planning." His red eyes bored into Morwen's with fierce warning.
Fear gripped her chest at that look, but she masked it quickly.
"Cousin, Aunt only wants to know our sister-in-law. Why act so rude?" Tobias asked, pretending offense.
"She is not your sister-in-law," Primus snapped, "and I can see you now have the nerve to talk back to me. I must've been too friendly. Right, cousin?" His red eyes flared with fury, a burning fire that made the air thicken.
Hazel watched the exchange silently, noting the venom between them. Seems they are bad people, she thought. He doesn't like them, so I should not befriend them in the future.
"Now if you will excuse me," Primus continued nonchalantly, "I have unfinished business with my bride-to-be. Cousin, I have some taxes for you—make sure you see me later. Enjoy the party… and don't keep spies around."
With that, he led his little rabbit away, leaving Tobias and Morwen seething in his wake.
In a dark hallway far from the revelry, where no one traversed and shadows clung to the walls, Primus pinned Hazel gently against the stone. His hands encircled her waist, pulling her close as he licked the sensitive skin of her neck.
"What do you think you are doing, my lord?" Hazel asked breathlessly, a tight, unfamiliar heat building between her legs.
"Taking my meal, of course," he whispered, fangs elongating.
"I am not your meal," she protested weakly, her hands wrapping protectively around her chest.
His hand moved to the side of her breast, squeezing lightly through the silk. She hitched a breath, muttering something incoherent as pleasure sparked through her.
Then he sank his fangs into her skin, drawing out her blood—its sweetness flooding his senses like nectar. The most exquisite thing I've tasted… no, this taste is so familiar.
Hazel braced for pain, but instead, a sweet, euphoric warmth spread through her veins. She nearly moaned aloud, her body arching toward him involuntarily.
But abruptly, he stopped, withdrawing his fangs and stepping back. Confusion clouded her eyes as she touched the small punctures, a shy flush staining her cheeks. She looked away when he said nothing, only staring at her with an unreadable intensity.
"Are you there?" he called softly into the shadows.
Lazarus emerged silently, as if materializing from the darkness itself.
"Take the lady to her chambers to rest for the evening," Primus commanded. "Send the servants to tend to her."
Without another word to Hazel, he turned and strode away, leaving her standing there.
Hazel felt wronged, hurt piercing her chest. He drinks my blood and then leaves like that? Bloody sucking monster—he will pay for this.
"My lady, I know you are pissed," Lazarus said gently, trying to explain for his master, "but you must retire for the night. The master will explain tomorrow."
She ignored him, starting toward her room alone. Halfway there, a thought struck her, and she paused. "Laz, did you watch… I mean, did you see what…"
"I didn't see anything, my lady," he cut in quickly.
She resumed walking, embarrassment burning. Wait a minute—did she just call him Laz? Lazarus thought, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. Only one person has ever called me that. Who is Lady Hazel?
He shook it off, escorting her the rest of the way in silence. At her door, he instructed the waiting servants on her care before departing to find his master.