Pictures

Pictures
Reyna’s POV

My fingers trembled as I turned the old, wooden doorknob and pushed open the door to my room. The stone walls were cold, and the fireplace was out, leaving a chill in the air. The room looked the same at first—my cloak thrown over the chair, the candle still burning low—but something felt off.

And then I saw them.

Photos. Dozens of them. Laid out carefully on the bed as if someone had placed them there for me to find. My heart skipped a beat. I walked closer, each step slow and shaky. The pictures were black and white, some old and faded, others clearer, but they all had one thing in common.

Draven.

He was in every single one.

The first showed him holding a silver goblet to his lips. Blood. Thick and dark, dripping from the edge. In another, he was feeding from a woman’s neck, her eyes closed, face pale. Some photos looked like parties, but not the kind I knew—dark rooms filled with people dressed in long velvet robes, gold and black fabrics, sharp smiles, and vials of blood passed around like fine wine. There was laughter in their eyes, but it wasn’t joyful. It was... hungry.

My stomach twisted.

And then I saw it—the one that made my breath catch. Draven standing shirtless, blood smeared down his neck and chest, a wicked smirk on his face. His eyes looked darker than usual, wild and glowing. A drop of blood slid down the corner of his mouth. He looked like a monster. A beautiful, dangerous monster.

Yet, he still looked... perfect.

That was the scariest part. Even with blood all over him, he was breathtaking. My heart shouldn’t have raced the way it did. But I remembered how it felt—that night when he fed from me. I remembered the heat, the way his lips felt on my skin, how I didn’t want him to stop. That same dark, powerful energy… I saw it in these photos. This was who he truly was.

Not just a man. A vampire.

My eyes kept jumping from one photo to the next, unable to look away. In one, Draven was seated on a throne-like chair, head tilted back as someone poured blood into his mouth from a golden vial. Another showed him licking blood off his fingers, eyes half-lidded in pleasure. There was one where he had a woman pressed against a wall, her neck exposed, his mouth on her skin—but her face wasn’t in pain. She looked dazed, lost, maybe even wanting it. A strange heat rushed through my body, shameful and confusing. I pressed my thighs together, trying to ignore the way my skin tingled, the way my heart pounded not just in fear—but something deeper. Something darker. I was horrified. But I was drawn in, too. His eyes in the pictures were the same ones that had looked into mine. That calm, commanding presence—even with blood on his lips—still made something deep inside me stir. I hated it. But I couldn’t deny it

It was wrong. Wasn’t it?. To find beauty in something so cruel, yet a strange heat bloomed in my chest I felt like I was staring at a spread, wild and dangerous , yet impossible to ignore
I shook my head, willing the thoughts away. This wasn’t normal. I wasn’t supposed to feel… this. I reached out and grabbed the pictures with trembling fingers, ready to shove them back into the envelope, hide them, pretend I never saw any of it. But my hands froze midair. My chest felt tight, like something heavy was pressing against it. This was Draven. The same man who held me when I cried, who looked at me like I mattered. But also… the same man with blood on his lips and eyes that looked far too calm while people bled around him. I felt sick. I felt angry. I felt—aroused. And I hated myself for it. I backed away from the bed, arms wrapped tightly around myself like I could hold the confusion in. The door creaked, and I knew he was there before I saw him.

I was still staring at the photos when the door creaked open.

My heart jumped.

Draven stepped inside. He stopped when he saw the bed, his eyes darkening. He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at the photos. Then, slowly, he looked up at me.
For a second, he didn’t speak, just stared—his face unreadable, but something flickered in his gaze, like tension hiding behind calm. The firelight caught in his eyes, making them glow strangely, and the sharp lines of his jaw looked more dangerous than ever. My heart thudded. He looked like the man in the pictures—cold, powerful, inhuman—but still… maddeningly beautiful. A part of me wanted to step back. Another part wanted to step closer.

He looked like danger wrapped in velvet—cold, sharp, and beautiful enough to make me forget to be afraid.

There was something in his eyes I hadn’t seen before—fear.

“Reyna…” he said my name softly, like a question and a warning at the same time. He took one step toward me. “Who gave you these?”

I opened my mouth, but my voice cracked. “I—I don’t know,” I said honestly. “They were just here.”

He stepped closer again, his boots quiet against the stone floor. He wasn’t angry. He looked… careful, like one wrong move would break something between us.

His eyes searched mine. “Reyna, are you scared of me?”

That question hung in the air. Heavy. Real.

Was I?

I didn’t know what to say. My heart beat fast, not just from fear, but from something deeper. I remembered his touch, his closeness, how I felt safe in his arms—even when I shouldn’t have. But now… knowing this part of him, the dark side he never showed…

Was I scared?

He waited, barely breathing, his eyes full of something raw. Something like pain.

And I stood there, caught between fear and the strange, burning pull I always felt around him.

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