Scent of the woman
Hadeon's gaze lingered on Mallory's serene face as she slept soundly before him. Her features were relaxed, and her pink lips were slightly parted in the rhythm of her calm breathing. As she lay on her side, the curve of her neck was exposed, drawing his vampire instincts to the surface.
"What a tempting canvas to mark it red," he whispered, his voice low. The choker necklace he had designed for her wrapped itself around her delicate neck.
In his long, often tumultuous life, Hadeon had indulged in the countless pleasures of the living world—women, sex, death, and the rich weave of human experience had all been his command. Yet, over time, these indulgences had lost their charm. And he decided to sleep in the coffin until the serphant's descendant would one day open his coffin lid.
"Lord Hadeon, Lady Mallory's lineage is absent from the Scrolls," Barnby had reported with a hint of perplexity.