Seven Nights

**Jean**

The chamber was silent now, save for the faint drip of wax from the candelabras, pooling on the stone floor like blood.

Queen Narttyri was gone.

Her body cold, her eyes glassy, the dagger still buried in her chest where I’d left it. A clean strike, precise, the work of a moment’s resolve. I stood over her, my hands steady, my breath even, feeling nothing-no grief, no regret, only the faint satisfaction of a burden lifted. I’d never loved her, not in all the years of our brittle union.

She was a means to an end, a crown I’d wanted through her lineage, a necessity I’d tolerated until she’d outlived her usefulness. Her death was inevitable, a step I’d planned in the quiet corners of my mind, and now it was done.

The witches would mourn her, of course, but I’d give them something else to focus on, something to stoke their fury and secure my reign. The Tasmanian Devils. Those mangy Lycans, with their snarling pride and their half-breed spawn, were the perfect scapegoat. I’d weave a tale.

Narttyri, assassinated in her own sanctum, a victim of their savage ambition. It wasn’t hard to imagine; they’d crossed witches before.

No one would question it, not when I delivered the story with the right mix of outrage and sorrow.

I knelt beside her, arranging the scene. I tilted her head just so, letting her blood smear the floor in a convincing arc. The dagger bore no markings, but I’d whisper of Lycan steel, of claws and fangs lurking in the shadows. The Tasmanian Devils had no love for us, and that was enough to make it believable.

Collateral damage for a greater gain.

I rose, brushing my robes clean, and summoned the council with a flick of my wrist, the air crackling with a spell to carry my voice.

“Queen Narttyri has been murdered,” I declared when they arrived, my tone heavy with feigned grief. “The Tasmanian Devils struck in the night—an act of war against our kind.”

Gasps rippled through them, eyes widening, hands clutching staffs as anger took root. Perfect. “They sought to destabilize us, to claim our power,” I continued, pacing before her body, letting them drink in the sight. “We will hunt them down. Every last one.”

It was a lie, of course, but a useful one. Narttyri’s death cleared my path, king unchallenged, free of her nagging piety and her endless demands. Blaming the Lycans would rally the witches, unite them under my rule, and if it dragged Nosferatu into the fray, all the better.

He’d wanted a spell to walk in daylight, a promise I’d dangled without intent to deliver, and Vicky had been my leverage. If he thought the Tasmanian Devils had disrupted that, he’d turn his fangs on them too. Two enemies pitted against each other, and I rising above the chaos.

My gaze drifted across the council, settling briefly on a young man near the back, Prince Marcelo, Queen Narttyri’s son, his sharp eyes glinting with something too keen for my liking. He stood tall, and I felt a flicker of unease. His lineage gave him sway, a voice that could stir dissent if he chose to use it. But I didn’t have time to deal with him. For now, he was a minor thorn, unworthy of my immediate attention.

I turned from the council, hiding a faint smirk.

Power was my mistress, and this murder was her dowry.

**Vicky**

The second night, we had dinner at his house. Each dish was an explosion of exotic flavors, spiced meats, fruits that burst with sweetness I’d never tasted, wines that danced on my tongue. Dimitri watched me, his white-blue eyes glinting with delight as he urged me to try everything, feeding me bites with a teasing precision. Then his mouth became my tormentor. He kissed me slowly, trailing his lips across my skin, igniting a fire that built and built until I was trembling, horny beyond reason.

I begged him to let me cum, my voice raw with need, but he only smiled, a predator savoring my lust.

“I want your desire, little one,” he murmured, and I fell asleep clinging to him, my body aching, unsatisfied, wrapped in his cold embrace.

The third night, he blindfolded me. The silk was soft against my eyes, plunging me into darkness. What followed was a symphony of sensation.

Hot wax dripping onto my skin, then ice trailing in its wake; rough textures scraping against me, followed by the lightest feathers brushing my nerves alive. Every touch was a shock, a tease, pushing me closer to the edge. I felt his breath, his hands, his presence orchestrating it all, and by the end, I was so close to come and I could taste it, my pleas echoing in the room.

“More, Dimitri, please,” I gasped, but he left me there, teetering, desperate, my body humming with unspent energy as I drifted into sleep.

The fourth night was something totally new for me. He tied me up, silk cords binding my wrists and ankles, leaving me exposed, vulnerable, and alive with anticipation.

I watched, heart pounding, as he kissed and touched two vampires. They were his brides, pale and ethereal, their movements fluid and deliberate. The sight of him with them, his hands roaming their bodies, set me ablaze with a jealousy I hadn’t expected, a possessive ache that twisted into raw arousal.

I wanted him to come to me, to claim me instead. His eyes never left mine, a silent tether as he orchestrated their pleasure, and then he kissed me, his lips a storm against mine. He stepped back, reclining as his brides descended on me, their mouths sucking and licking, exploring every inch until my desire erupted, unstoppable. I held his gaze through it all, locked in those white-blue depths, and saw his own pleasure mirrored there, feeding off mine.

It was intoxicating, maddening, and I collapsed into sleep, still bound to him in ways I couldn’t untangle.

I woke on the fifth night with my body on fire, every nerve alight with a need that had grown monstrous, insatiable. Shame had burned away; I wanted him to possess me, to take me fully, and I didn’t care how I sounded asking for it.

“Dimitri,” I breathed, my voice thick with longing, “I need you.”

He was there in an instant, his smile soft and triumphant.

“Whatever you want, my muse,” he said, and I felt him already slipping into my mind, a shadow weaving through my thoughts as if he’d claimed that too.

He led me to a bathtub, the water warm and fragrant with oils, and we sank into it together. His hands roamed my skin, gentle now, a contrast to the nights before, and I leaned into him, letting the tension ease for a moment. When we emerged, he draped me in a long red nightgown, the silk clinging to my damp body like a second skin. Dinner followed, then a parade of sweets, delicate confections that melted on my tongue, their sugar igniting a restless energy in me. I felt electric, buzzing with anticipation, the night stretching out before us like a promise. He watched me, his eyes dark with desire, and I knew this was building to something I craved as much as I feared.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I climbed on top of him, my hands trembling with need as I tore off his shirt, kissing him with a hunger that consumed me.

No more games.

I wanted him, but Dimitri loved to play, and I let him. He fastened handcuffs around my wrists, the metal cool against my skin, and brought a whip down across my ass. The crack echoed louder than the sting, a teasing bite that fueled the fire already raging inside me. Then his mouth was on me, sucking my vulva with a fervor that made me think it was his favorite fruit, drawing me to the edge and over it in a shattering climax.

For the first time, he let me touch him. My fingers found his pre-cum, slick and warm, and I licked it, tasting him before taking him fully into my mouth. He groaned, his hand squeezing my neck as he exploded, the sensation incredible, a rush that left me dizzy and alive.

Then he took me. His shaft thrust inside me—one, two, three, four times—each movement a claim, a rhythm that built until we were lost in it, stopping only when the faint glow of sunset crept toward us.

It was the seventh night, the end of our deal, and I longed for it—not for my freedom, but for his touch. I’d surrendered completely to the pleasures of the flesh, to lust, to Dimitri. He was a great lover, a master of my body in ways I hadn’t known possible, and I was his, caught in the web of desire he’d spun around me.

But beneath it all, a thread of purpose tugged at me, a mission unfinished, a life I couldn’t fully abandon.

“Do you ever wake up thinking, little one?” he asked, his voice pulling me from the haze as we lay tangled together.

“Yes, sorry,” I murmured, guilt flickering through me.

“You can get ready while I take care of some things,” he said, brushing a kiss against my temple. “We’re going out for a bit today. I’m sorry you came just when I’m forced to stay stuck here.”

“No, it’s okay,” I replied, meeting his gaze. “I’m with you.”

“So beautiful!” he said, his smile soft.

I slipped away to fill the bathtub, the steam rising around me, but as I caught my reflection in the mirror, a wave of dizziness hit. I stared at myself.

Skin pale from seven days away from the sun, flushed from nights of passion, eyes bright yet shadowed, hair wild and untamed. Who was I?

The Vicky I’d been felt distant, replaced by this creature of silk and desire, molded by Dimitri’s hands. I dressed in the gown he’d left for me. It was white and gold, gorgeous, shimmering like sunlight caught in fabric. It enchanted me, made me feel radiant.

He appeared behind me, his reflection absent in the mirror.

“You are my light and my sun, Vicky,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “Together we could travel the whole world, see every corner. Why don’t you stay here?”

I turned to face him, his words sinking in, stirring a mix of warmth and unease. “I thought you didn’t want a half-breed…”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you like this, you know,” he replied, stepping closer, his hand brushing my cheek. “You know you mean something to me, don’t you?”

“You mean something to me, too.”

We were kissing, his lips cool and insistent against mine, when a howl pierced through me.

Veny. My wolf was back, her presence a fierce, wild pulse, stirring the parts of me I’d let slip away these past seven nights. She wasn’t angry, not exactly, but she was reclaiming her space, reminding me who I was beneath the silk and the lust.

I pulled back slightly, catching my breath, and decided to keep my news to myself for now, a plan forming, but it could wait until after dinner.