ash_knight17

The clock struck midnight when Ruelle heard the echo of footsteps. She tensed, the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end in the cool night air.

"You shouldn't be here," Ruelle whispered, her voice a breathless murmur. The silhouette finally came to stand under the moonlight, his dark red eyes watching her and his inky black hair ruffling.

"Shouldn't I?" His voice was a dark caress, and she stood there captivated by the danger he exuded like perfume.

"I haven’t seen you for the last two days," his tone low. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against the silk of her nightgown, tracing the trembling outline of her collarbone. "Tell me, were you avoiding me, or perhaps... entertaining other offers?"

Ruelle’s heart raced, her breaths shallow. She declared, "I don't belong to anyone.”

"A bold claim," he murmured, his breath a tantalising chill against her skin as he leaned in. "Yet here you are, pulse racing, your body tensed as if in anticipation of my touch."

His fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face towards his. The moonlight caught his eyes, revealing a glint of predatory intent. "Or must I remind you whose touch you truly crave?"

Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

The weight of the borrowed boots on Ruelle's feet tugged at her steps, the oversized leather strange as she focused on walking steadily. It wasn't until a gentle pressure on her arm that she noticed Ezekiel's hand resting there lightly.

"Mr. Henley," Ruelle said softly, while pulling the mask from her face. She glanced down at the faint outline of his hand against her sleeve, her tone edged with polite warmth. "I think it's alright now. There's no one around to notice."

Ezekiel turned his gaze to her, pausing briefly before murmuring, "Of course."

He withdrew his hand slowly, his fingertips brushing her sleeve as though reluctant to part, lingering just a fraction too long. As they continued to walk, Ezekiel couldn't help but stare at her. Something about her appearance reminded him of her scent that night he had hugged her, the hesitant warmth of her presence. The memory burned like a brand.

Climbing without threads