Aiden didn’t want to leave that room. The air still clung to him—perfumed with jasmine, sin, and the phantom echo of a kiss that never was. He stood there too long, eyes devouring the fading figure of Flora, her smile lingering like poison sugar.
She waved goodbye.
The maid, thin and trembling, pushed him out before the door clicked shut with finality.
He blinked.
Once. Twice.
The scent stayed. And then it didn’t.
"...She’s doing it on purpose," he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. "Woman."
The hallway felt colder now. As if stepping away from her meant leaving behind not just warmth, but gravity itself.
He descended the stairs like a drunk god, every step heavier than the last. Each floorboard creaked like it protested his descent, like it missed the sound of her laugh already. His jaw tightened. His throat was a furnace.
’All I wanted... was a fucking kiss,’ he thought bitterly. ’One. Fucking. Kiss. And that bastard Gail just had to show up, stinking of desperation and devotion.’
His hands clenched.
His body burned.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
There was a heat under his skin, clawing out from his bones. The thirst again. That cursed, relentless thirst—rooted in blood, blooming with rage, blooming with... need.
His breathing came shallow. Heat curled in his throat. He blinked the sweat from his lashes and tried to will it away.
But it was growing.
Fast.
’Just hold on. Restraint,’ he told himself.
He didn’t believe it.
Not really.
The main hallway buzzed with servants. Maids moved briskly—arms full of linens, trays, glass, and sweat. Their chatter was a background hum.
Irrelevant.
Until one passed a little too close.
Aiden’s hand moved before he could think.
Fingers gripped her shoulder.
Soft. Warm. Human.
The maid turned, eyes wide, lips parted in immediate guilt. "I—I’m sorry! I’m new here, I didn’t mean—"
’No,’ he told himself. ’Let go. Let go, you piece of shit.’
But his fingers didn’t listen.
For a moment, something primal screamed from inside. The beast that came with the bloodline. The one that didn’t ask for permission.
The scent of her skin hit him like a hammer—salt, soap, copper. His pupils dilated.
His breath caught.
"...I said no," he hissed through clenched teeth, yanking his hand back like it burned him.
The girl froze.
He took a shaky breath. "Sorry... I’m just... not well."
She nodded, nervousness cracking her voice. "You should—maybe go to the church. Outside the gates. They help people like you."
People like me?
She had no idea.
"Thank you," he said with a soft nod.
And then—without effort, without intent—he smiled.
Just once.
And the poor girl flushed pink from cheeks to ears, all her fear swept away in the wake of his charm. His curse. His stupid, beautiful face that got him everything and nothing.
Outside, the world was too bright.
The sun stabbed down like it had a grudge. Heat shimmered off the cobbled streets. The market nearby was chaos—meat hanging from hooks, vendors shouting over each other, children darting through alleys with stolen fruit and devilish smiles.
And yet... Aiden barely noticed.
"Haaa... haa..." his breathing hitched. Each inhale scraped his lungs like knives.
The thirst grew claws.
His throat was dust. His chest felt hollow. Not like pain—like absence. Like something vital was missing. Blood. Touch. Her. Something.
’Maybe Akidna,’ he thought desperately. ’i will have to...use her....’
He needed her. She was like him.
But she wasn’t here.
His steps turned uneven.
Vision blurred. Skin went cold, then hot again.
Every face he passed was a potential victim. A heart he could rip from a chest and drain like wine. No. No. NO.
He pressed a hand against a brick wall, the stone burning against his palm.
’Restraint,’ he thought again, this time like a prayer. ’I can’t... not again. Not here.’
The sound of the crowd blurred, twisted. His senses turned too loud. The rustle of clothes. The scratch of sandals. The pulse of passersby.
He was drowning in it.
A memory struck—
(–his hands soaked red, the girl’s scream caught in her throat, the blood tasting like guilt and honey–)
—and was gone.
He clenched his eyes shut.
’Fuck Fuck Fuck...Fuucckkk... this bloodline. Fuck this curse.’
His mind scrambled for escape.
For anchor.
Then he saw the shop.
"Brother," he croaked to the old man sitting outside under the shade of a faded canvas. "Can you... give me a rope?"
A pause. The old man looked him over. Frowned.
"...yes, brother. But... you look pale. Sick. You alright?"
Aiden nodded, lying with his smile. "Just tired."
He gripped the rope like it was a lifeline. His legs trembled again. The dizziness hit harder now. Sound warped. Direction faded.
’Just a few meters more... the servants’ quarter... almost there—wait. Am I even walking the right way?’
His steps wobbled. The alley spun around him.
And then—
A hand.
Gentle, firm.
On his shoulder.
He turned.
The shopkeeper had returned, this time with someone else.
A nun.
She was... cloaked in black. Modest, but striking. Hair hidden under the veil. Green eyes clear like forest dew after storm. Her presence was calm, clean. Pure. Something about it made his blood scream.
"This man needs help," the shopkeeper said.
The nun stepped forward, frowning.
Even through the layers of cloth, he could smell her. And what he smelled made his hunger explode.
Sweet. Alluring. Wrong.
He blinked.
[Amber nickson
Status: -------
Bloodline: blessed bunny Bloodline (low tier)
Mana: low
Grade: C class
Personality: Caring/Horny
Skills: light healing (low Tier), low Aura (low Tier), Saint blessing (locked)
Beauty: voluptuous ( High Tier)
Talent: ⭐⭐]
His eyes widened.
Bunny bloodline. In a nun?
It was like finding sin wrapped in prayer.
She shouldn’t exist here. That bloodline belonged in the Red Markets. In brothels and back alleys, not within church walls.
His mind clouded.
His hunger surged.
And still—he smiled.
"You’re sick," Amber said, her voice soft but edged with command. "Let me take you to the chapel. We have potions. Warm beds."
She moved closer. Slipped his arm over her shoulder.
The scent of her skin hit him again. Soft. Warm. Inviting. Like spring in a graveyard.
"Please, brother," she said. "Can you walk?"
"Please... please.." he tried to say. But even his voice cracked. The scent, the touch, the proximity—it was too much.
Then he looked at her again.
Her eyes—honest. Her grip—steady. Her chest—hidden by fabric but unmistakably curved. His gaze flicked lower, involuntary. Her body didn’t lie. The bloodline didn’t lie.
"...Yes, Sister," he whispered. "....take me please... you’re a life saver."
Her cheeks flushed slightly, as she saw him upclose.
The bunny bloodline... always made them feel too much. Touch too long. Feel too fast.
They walked together, her holding him like a sinner wrapped in mercy.
Each step toward the church made the heat worse.
He bit his tongue until it bled, but the thirst didn’t fade.
She helped him up the chapel steps, the great oak doors rising like judgment.
He looked at the carvings. Saints. Angels.
He wondered how long it would take for them to catch fire if he stepped through.
"You’re almost there," Amber said again, her voice kind.
He chuckled, dry. "...Sister, I’m really sorry...."
"No need for apologizes...it’s my duty Brother.’’
She hadn’t caught the weight behind it.
And he?
He hadn’t missed the way her thighs shifted with every step. The way her hand lingered on his lower back. Whether she meant it or not—the bloodline spoke louder than vows.
As they reached the threshold, he thought:
’Im not sorry for this....but I’m sorry for what I’m about to do....’ he thought.
The church swallowed them whole.
And the devil walked in wearing a smile. A lustful smile.