Hunger in the Cage

Lucian:

The night drips golden and warm, too bright, too.... everything.

I linger in the cloisters, swallowed by shadow, one shoulder pressed to the cold spine of a column. The scent of earth and iron lies heavy in the air, sharpened by the faintest trace of blood. Not hers—thank the gods—but I can feel her nonetheless, a star burning too bright in this cursed place.

It’s Silas who draws my attention first. He moves like smoke, too soft, too graceful, too careful. And she follows him. My jaw clenches. I shouldn’t care. But I watch, rigid, as he leads her up the steps of the east wing. Her little figure wrapped in pale light, his form bending to shield her like some solemn oath.

It should enrage me. Instead, it tempts.

My hands flex against the stone as they reach her door. She pauses, saying something soft, and he tilts his head, listening as though her voice is scripture. My teeth ache.

I wait. I imagine him slipping inside with her, and the thought tears hot across my chest. But at the last moment, Silas turns. His body folds into itself, unspooling into mist, disappearing through the stone like the coward he is.

That leaves me.

And a cracked door.

An invitation. A dare. A promise.

I move before thought can catch me. My boots make no sound against the ancient floor. The door groans faintly as I push it open with two fingers, slipping into the dim candlelight.

She is there, in the center of the room, framed by the tall arched window. The sun spills light across her hair, catching in the strands like a net of fireflies. Her knees are slightly bent, arms wrapped around herself, staring out into the abyss beyond the glass.

My little raven.

Locked in her cage of solitude.

For a moment, I only look. I let myself have this one forbidden indulgence—her back turned, her shoulders trembling faintly as though she carries the weight of some unseen crown.

Then she speaks, without turning.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

A slow, dangerous smile curls my lips. “And yet you knew I would be.”

Her head tilts, just enough to glance at me over her shoulder. That look—wide, guarded, gleaming with both warning and want—nearly unmans me. She swallows and faces the glass again, as though afraid that if she looks at me too long, I’ll devour her whole.

“Lucian…” Her voice is soft, but there is steel beneath it. “You’re dangerous.”

I step closer, letting the shadows follow me in, curling along the floorboards like serpents. “Yes. And you—” I breathe her in, every note of her like wine poured over embers— “you are the only thing keeping that danger leashed.”

Her shoulders stiffen. A flicker of a shiver runs down her arm. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I murmur, circling her slowly, like a wolf scenting prey. “Don’t admit the truth? Don’t confess that the taste of you is the only thing I dream of, the only thing that keeps me from slaughtering every creature that crosses my path?”

Her breath catches. I see it in the way her hand trembles at her side, the faint twitch of her fingers like she longs to reach for me, but doesn’t dare.

“You can’t say things like that,” she whispers.

“Can’t I?” My voice drops low, velvet and blade at once. “If I can’t say them, how can I stop myself from doing worse?”

I’m close now, so close I can feel her warmth seeping through the inches between us. I let my fingers ghost along the edge of her sleeve, not touching skin, but near enough to burn.

“Lucian…”

I lower my mouth until my lips hover just beside her ear, my voice a rasp. “You are the chain around my throat, little raven. And I don’t know whether I want you to tighten it or break it.”

She turns then, finally, and the force of her gaze nearly undoes me. Her eyes shine with unshed words—fear, yearning, defiance. She is trembling, and I am trembling with her.

The silence stretches, thrumming with tension sharp enough to cut.

And then I do what I swore I wouldn’t.

I kiss her.

The first brush of her lips is fire and frost colliding. She gasps softly, startled, and I take the sound into me, greedy, starving. My hand rises, cupping her jaw, tilting her to me as though I’ve been waiting lifetimes for this moment.

She doesn’t pull away.

Instead, she leans into me. Her lips part, hesitant, and that sliver of surrender is my undoing. My teeth graze her bottom lip, a warning, a temptation, a promise. My hunger snarls, straining at the leash, begging me to take more. To sink fang to flesh, to drink until I drown in her.

I wrench myself back before I can. My chest heaves, breath ragged, as though I’ve just clawed my way out of the grave.

She blinks at me, lips swollen, pupils wide. “Lucian…” Her voice is ragged, unsure, but gods, she says my name like it’s a prayer.

I step back, forcing distance, though my entire body revolts. “That—” I rasp, “—was a mistake.”

Her brows knit, her lips part, but before she can speak, I press a finger gently against her mouth.

“No,” I whisper, aching, raw. “Don’t ruin it with words.”

The silence between us thickens, heavy, suffocating. I can’t stay. If I do, I’ll lose what little control I have left.

So I retreat into shadow, dissolving against the stone, but not before I let my gaze burn her into me one last time—standing in the silvered window, lips kissed, trembling, mine and not mine.

And when the darkness takes me, I carry her taste on my tongue like sin.