Hunger

Kael’s thoughts turned over themselves like slow-burning embers.

Moping. That was what his peers had called it.

He scoffed at the memory.

They had already begun mocking him the moment she fell into that coma. 

The great Kael Blac’hil, distracted. 

His weakness. They called her that.

As if Elisa alone could sully the name of Blac’hil, a name that had once brought the entire Highcliff Basin to heel.

The world was different now. Many contingencies were given to ensure an immediate revolt wouldn’t arise in the Highcliff populace. 

He could only thank the Concordant for being so lackadaisical and neglectful about their ruling before this. Their only difference being that it was the devil they knew. The demonkin were made of species who were red in color, and red was evil. Ergo, the demonkin were evil.

It didn't entirely make much sense either. He supposes if Concordant's been here for the living memory of four generations of people, then subsequent generations would gradually warm up to their presence.

He cannot believe Concordant tossed away such an opportune region. Too embroiled in their own infighting to notice the diamond that gleamed in the mountain of shit.

Hence, Highcliff being scarce of hex-mag technology. 

With the new infrastructure in place ensured by the Blac'hil's administration, at least the demonkin ruling this corner of the world can make its case that it cares for the interests of its people. 

It really needed it.

But power wasn’t absolute anymore.

Humans did not respect power.

They feared it. And fear, unlike respect, was something they could one day overcome.

Kael sighed, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

This bed was too big and too empty without her. A foolish sentiment. He should be used to sleeping alone. 

Efficiency. That was what mattered. If he had taken the same approach as his parents, if he had chosen a wife who knew her place, his rule would be simpler.

He would have done as all rulers of Highcliff had done before him, including the humans’—kept the workers near the Basin, controlled the flow of goods, reduced everything to what was necessary, what was stable.

That was all this land was meant to be. But Elisa had never been stable.

She was the picturesque uncooperative wife.

And it thrilled him.

Not just the resistance, the way she pushed back harder the more he pressed. But the idea of it, the possibility that one day—one day—she might truly be his. Might truly love him.

As much as he loved her.

Kael exhaled.

Why?

Why did he want this?

She would call his behavior psychopathy. She’d be right. Maybe it was instinct. The demonkin way—to conquer, to claim. 

But he had heard the topic often enough in court. You’re softer now. Mellowed. Giving her too much leeway.

He didn’t see it that way. As far as he was concerned, Elisa had as much push to give as any demonkin woman.

Yes, the allure of a human wife had been intriguing at first—exotic, fascinating. But it had long since lost that novelty.

Now, she was simply her. And that was worse.

Because that meant it was not curiosity that kept him tied to her.

And he suspected it was much the same for her.

Who wouldn’t love a vampire?

Especially a Highcliff woman. Headstrong, willful. Determined to remain independent even as the world crushed and molded her into something else.

That part, at least, he admired.

No, their marriage was not picturesque. Not like his parents’.

But then again, his parents’ union had been as successful as any demonkin marriage could be. Cold. Calculated.

Yet somehow, it had still worked.

Kael tapped his fingers against the desk, glancing at the ledgers stacked before him.

The human customs Elisa had introduced into his rule—he hated to admit it, but they had changed things.

For better or worse, her influence had begun to seep into the very structure of Highcliff. She had taken advantage of it. She fast-tracked what he thought would require much more deliberation. So far, it was working. Not all, but at least a sizable amount of the population, was satisfied. The same couldn’t be said for the work of his other contemporaries.

And Highcliff, for all its old traditions, was a strange thing.

There was no one king.

No singular ruler.

Only chiefs—unified in a yearly conference. Each one, in some way, had once laid claim to his Basin. A weird system, one that was inefficient. And perhaps by design.

They were fine with being technologically backward, if it meant keeping their way of life free. In his opinion, a culture doomed to be run over by others. But it was not his place to voice that bit out.

Regardless, they were unhappy. More so than usual.

The past week had seen too many things come to a head.

The timing of it all was almost laughable. His closest advisor had been in a coma, for crying out loud.

And for the first time in his rule, Kael had been forced to interact with the humans himself.

Underground trade flourished beneath his nose.

Crime was on the rise. Quelled, sure, but crime began all the same.

The rebellion, once a dying ember, had been rekindled into something more dangerous.

It was all so sudden.

And now, it was approaching the night of their anniversary.

Kael dragged a hand down his face.

Then there were the forest clans, and the powerful entities contained within. Theirs was a gaggle of natives who refused integration. 

They had always preached independence, freedom, autonomy. 

Good, in theory. 

In practice? Now was not the time. War was brewing on the macro level, and they, along with this entire region, will get toppled over for good if he let them get what they wanted. He was aware more of his people were turning towards them. But it shouldn’t be much of a problem, should it?

It was almost suspicious, though unlikely.

Kael’s jaw clenched.

And now, Elisa—awake but distant, watching him like he was a stranger she had only just met. Worse, the stranger that tore and ripped her homeland apart.

It left him a feeling with a word he can’t describe.

And worse—hungry.

He had gone a week without feeding properly.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. He had survived off the blood bank reserves, given freely by the staff.

It was never the same.

Stored blood, even the best-kept, even siphoned from willing donors, never carried the same potency as when taken directly from the source.

The vitality, the life-force, was strongest at the moment of extraction. Once separated from the body, it dulled. Like sipping watered-down wine.

He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders, trying to ignore the sharp, gnawing pull in his veins.

The Vow had made things... difficult. The age difference gnawed at him. They were in their youth still, yes. Physically similar, too. But the gulf in knowledge and experience between them is staggering.

Time revealed something else to him entirely.

He started to realize now that her appearance changed the longer she was with him. Changed to suit his tastes. Changed as she lost hers.

How time and feeling can morph one perception's of reality is terrifying. He should have remembered how his wife first looked when she came into the manor. 

The past few days was the first time in years he saw her wear that pendant. The feather of a falcon, he believed. Perhaps to regain some sense of control in an impossible situation.

His teeth throbbed.

No.

Kael clenched his fists.

Not after that attack. Not after the poison.

The Purpleshade alone would have been enough to leave any undead in a weakened state, but the intent behind it—the precision—meant that whoever had orchestrated it had known exactly what they were doing.

It would have done a number on anyone.

His instincts, his nature—they would not rule him.

The first time he had tasted her, he knew. No other blood would compare.

No fine-aged reserves from the treasury, no willing donors offering themselves up in gilded chambers. Nothing else would ever satisfy him again.

Because Elisa’s blood was alive with the spices of Highcliff.

Her body tensed against him, her breath coming out in sharp, uneven gasps as his lips grazed her skin, as his fangs hovered just over the delicate pulse of her throat.

She was so warm.

The heat of her skin, the way her heartbeat drummed against his lips, erratic and wild, as if she knew exactly what was coming and yet—

"Kael…" Her voice was breathless, unsure.

He felt her fingers grip his collar, not pushing him away—but holding him there.

He remembered everything. Remembered that his restraint was razor-thin.

He pressed a kiss against her pulse, feeling the way her body shuddered beneath him.

A whisper of a growl rumbled in his throat. "Tell me to stop."

She didn't.

She moaned instead.

Kael’s eyes snapped open.

Darkness.

The familiar weight of his chambers.

The bed was too empty, too cold.

His hands curled into the sheets. Just a memory. Just a ghost of something that no longer existed.

He exhaled, pressing his fingers against his temples.

He needed his wife bad.