All Chapters of Compilation Of Short Stories (Erotica): Chapter 91 - Chapter 99

The bell above the door of Nocturnal Blooms chimed, a soft, silver sound that was always followed by her scent. Valtor looked up from the stark black petals of a Mourning Glory, his undead heart giving a single, hard thump in his chest. Rivenna.She moved through the dim, greenhouse-like shop with a predator’s grace that her human guise couldn’t quite conceal. Her scent was of cold night air, wild sage, and something inherently, deeply wild. It was a scent that bypassed his refined vampire senses and went straight to the base of his spine.“Valtor,” she said, her voice a low thrum.“Rivenna.” He placed the flower aside, his long, pale fingers stark against the black velvet of his work apron. “What calls to you tonight?”Her eyes, a shifting shade of gold and green, scanned the displays. The shop was his sanctuary, a place where he cultivated flora that fed on moonlight and whispered secrets. His creations were not for the simple-minded. A bouquet from Nocturnal Blooms could stir a for

The note hung in the air, a shimmering thread of sound so pure it seemed to tear a hole in the very fabric of the night. Saskia’s bow arm trembled with the effort, her entire being focused on sustaining that single, perfect pitch. It was a sound that could not exist in the mortal world, a vibration that spoke of realms beyond human understanding, and she had sold her soul to command it.The attic room was her sanctuary and her prison, lit by the warm glow of a single lamp that cast long shadows across the scattered sheets of music. The air smelled of rosin, old wood, and the peculiar, ozone-like scent that always lingered after Lyriux’s visits. She was playing his composition, a piece he called “Lament for a Fallen Star,” and it was the most difficult thing she had ever attempted. Her fingers flew over the fingerboard, a blur of motion, each shift and vibrato executed with a precision that had made her famous. But the price for this mastery was a chain around her soul, and the demon w

The only sound in the cell was the drip of water on stone and the ragged pull of Malyster’s breath. Lyraka watched him from the cot, her wrists raw from the ropes he himself had tied hours before. But her eyes held no fear, only a deep, unsettling knowing.“The guilt is a shroud around you, Witchfinder,” she whispered, her voice a husky thread in the damp dark. “It clings to you thicker than these shadows.”Malyster turned from her, his broad back tense beneath the dark wool of his coat. He could not meet her gaze. For weeks, he had tracked this witch, this Lyraka, fueled by the righteous fire of his office and the desperate, gnawing hope that purging one of her kind might somehow cleanse the taint in his own blood. But here, in this cold cell, her words struck not at the witchfinder, but at the demon hiding behind his eyes.“Be silent,” he commanded, but the order lacked its usual force. It was a plea.She shifted on the thin mattress, the chains at her ankles clinking softly. “You t

The air in Thraxnir’s private kitchen was thick with the scent of searing scallops and something else, something primordial and electric. Lyriamme leaned against the granite counter, her gold-flecked eyes tracking his every move. She was a critic of formidable reputation, a werewolf known for her discerning palate and ruthless reviews. Tonight, however, she wasn’t here to critique the food for the public. She was here for a private tasting of his infamous aphrodisiacs, and the tension between them had been simmering since she first walked in.Thraxnir, a demon of the ember-ember court, moved with an unnatural grace. His skin held the faint, shimmering quality of heated coal, and when his dark eyes met hers, she felt a jolt of pure, undiluted heat. He finished plating the scallops, drizzling a glossy reduction that smelled of passion fruit and a spice she couldn’t name.“The first course,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in her bones. “Desire on the Half-Shell. The scallo

The air in Kalthor’s private examination room was cool and still, carrying the faint, sterile scent of antiseptic and something else, something ancient and metallic, like old coins and dried herbs. Dr. Liam, a werewolf whose heightened senses were usually an asset, found them to be a profound distraction here. The vampire cardiologist, Aquilith, moved around the space with an economy of motion that was both efficient and hypnotic.“The echocardiogram results are conclusive, Doctor,” Aquilith said, her voice a low, cool murmur that seemed to vibrate directly in Liam’s bones. She tapped a long, pale finger on the lightboard where the images of a patient’s supernatural heart were displayed. “See the flutter in the left ventricle? It’s a classic sign of spectral fibrillation. Beta-blockers are useless. What she needs is a tuned frequency.”Liam leaned in, his focus split between the intricate patterns on the screen and the woman beside him. Aquilith was centuries old, her beauty a sharp,