Rose was still in his lap.
Her breath warmed his neck, her hips slowly rocking in gentle aftershocks as Corven's fingers continued their slow, deliberate rhythm inside her—less urgency now, more tenderness. There was no rush. Just motion, heat, and the quiet pulse of her pleasure as it rose again in delicate waves.
She whimpered softly, her lips brushing his collarbone, her nails dragging faint lines down his back.
"Still…?" she breathed.
He smiled against her skin. "You don't seem like you're stopping anytime soon."
"Not at all."
Corven's fingers moved again, curling with practiced care, his thumb brushing where she was most sensitive—eliciting another tremble from her body. She clung to him, her form molded perfectly against his, like she had always belonged there.
Minutes passed, or maybe longer. Time had lost meaning. The cave felt timeless—silent but alive with breath and skin and touch.
But then…
A faint breeze stirred.
Rose's eyes blinked open first, confusion flickering across her face as she turned toward the cave's mouth.
Moonlight.
A shaft of cold silver light spilled across the stone floor—bright, pale, and pure. Not the death-flame of day, but the promise of freedom.
Corven paused. His hand stilled.
They both looked toward the entrance.
The sun was gone.
Night had fallen.
"…Wait. Did we seriously make out through an entire day?" Corven muttered, blinking.
Rose snorted, forehead dropping to his shoulder in a burst of laughter. "That's got to be a world record."
For a long second, neither of them moved—caught between the lingering glow of what they'd just shared and the sudden clarity that came with the world returning.
Rose exhaled, long and shaky.
Corven slipped his fingers from her gently, his hand resting again on her thigh.
"So much for killing time," he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
She shifted in his lap, a lazy stretch of muscle and satisfaction, then leaned forward to press one last soft kiss to his jaw.
"Guess that means I have something to look forward to." she whispered.
"You say that like it's a threat." Corven laughed.
They stood slowly, reluctantly. The moment wasn't gone—it had simply… paused.
Because now?
Now it was night.
And they had the world again.
Their peace lasted exactly three more seconds.
"Wake up, lovebirds—the time is ripe!"
The unfamiliar voice echoed off the cave walls with such casual cheer that both of them flinched like they'd been slapped.
Corven sat up sharply, shielding Rose on instinct. She blinked groggily and squinted toward the entrance.
A figure stood just past the mouth of the cave—silhouetted in moonlight, arms crossed, clearly unimpressed. He looked… vaguely vampiric. Pale, smirking, and dressed like a middle-class noble from another era.
Dark velvet coat with silver trim, a high-collared shirt slightly frayed at the edges, and boots polished more out of habit than necessity. His hair was a tousled chestnut brown, shoulder-length and slightly windswept, and his eyes—sharp and amber-gold—gleamed with a mischief that didn't quite reach menace.
"…Also," the stranger added, tilting his head, "are you new around these parts? Because you reek of first-week bloodlust."
Corven and Rose exchanged a look.
"Should we kill him?" Rose whispered under her breath.
"Tempting," Corven muttered, "but I think we should hear what the hell his intentions are first."
The vampire laughed, a sharp, amused sound that echoed lightly against the stone walls, waving off any suspicion with an almost theatrical flick of his wrist.
"I'm not here for trouble," he said, tone relaxed, eyes glinting with mischief. "To be honest, I wasn't even expecting… this scene."
He gave an exaggerated shrug, as if walking in on two bloodstained vampires mid-afterglow was just another Tuesday.
"I just sensed an ascension happening nearby and figured—why not check it out?"
Then his ears twitched, ever so slightly—his expression shifting as if a thought had just resurfaced.
"Oh, right! Almost forgot." He snapped his fingers. "You two must've been starving, being stuck in this cave the entire day!"
Without waiting for a response, the stranger turned on his heel and casually strolled out of the cave—like he owned the place. A few moments later, he returned, his arms burdened with two freshly hunted corpses, their necks still warm, blood faintly steaming in the cool night air.
He dropped the bodies in front of Corven and Rose with a smug grin—an unspoken truce offered through the universal vampire gesture: free food.
"Peace offering," he said simply, stepping back with arms raised in mock surrender.
Corven eyed the gift warily for only a moment before practicality won out. He crouched beside one of the bodies, sank his fangs into the neck with practiced ease, and drank deeply.
— Blood (25 Units)
"Where are you from?" he asked mid-feed, wiping a smear of red from his lip with the back of his hand.
The stranger glanced down at Rose, who had already followed suit, sinking her teeth into the second corpse.
"Me?" he echoed, settling into a lazy stance against the cave wall. "Just from the city a few leagues out from here… though, I gotta say, a vampire ascending out here?" He let out a low whistle. "That's rare."
Corven paused, licking his lips clean. "Why?"
The vampire tilted his head, raising a single brow like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Oh, right—forgot you're new." He smiled, fangs just barely peeking out. "To make it simple, this place?" He gestured vaguely around them.
"We're way too far off from any of the usual vampire societies. Like, really off-grid."
Then he grinned wider, unbothered and bizarrely enthusiastic.
"So it's kind of a welcome surprise seeing fellow kin in the wild! Kinda like finding a long-lost cousin."
He laughed again, light and carefree—far too giddy for someone who was supposed to be a bloodthirsty predator of the night.
"Want a tour?" he offered, brows wiggling. "I know all the cool places around here."
Corven blinked, still trying to process this oddball encounter. Somewhere between relief and suspicion, a strange thought crossed his mind:
Vampires could be anyone.
Even… random drunkards.
So he supposed, in the end—he couldn't judge.