Quenching Thirst

Had she perhaps seen wrong? Dalia froze, as if unable to believe the scene unfolding before her eyes.

Yet, the more she blinked slowly, the clearer it became that this was reality.

The moonlight pouring down on Clayton made his actions all the more vivid and explicit.

Her gaze was fixed on his exposed forearm, revealed through his torn sleeve, where fresh blood trickled down.

Strangely, at this moment, her first thought wasn't fear or terror.

Beads of sweat clung to the tips of her hair.

The man kneeling toward the sky looked like a priest offering a confession. He was beautiful.

She wondered if her eyes were deceiving her because even the moonlight illuminating him seemed sacred.

The blood dripping from the man's mouth slid down his throat and fell to the ground in droplets.

The rhythmic sound, like the ticking of a clock, felt surreal.

The intensifying scent of blood snapped Dalia back to her senses, and she let out a short gasp.

Only then did her mind start blaring red warning signals of danger.

Realizing this, Dalia instinctively stepped back. But…

Snap.

The sound of a twig snapping underfoot abruptly silenced the rhythmic noise.

The man, who had been frantically consuming his own blood, flinched and turned his head.

His eyes, red with excitement, clashed chaotically with her violet eyes filled with bewilderment.

A moment of silence passed.

Before Dalia could react, Clayton moved swiftly, tackling her.

"D-Duke…!"

It happened in the blink of an eye.

Dalia found herself helplessly pinned beneath Clayton.

The man, having completely lost his reason, tore through Dalia's dress with his rough hands.

Clayton buried his face in the pale nape of her neck.

"Duke, wait… Ah!"

She shivered as something hot and damp slid across her skin.

It was the same situation as what had occurred at the mansion just days ago.

The only difference was that then they were indoors, while now they were outdoors, making it slightly worse.

Panicked, Dalia desperately called his name, but her voice failed to reach the Clayton who had lost his reason.

She tried pushing his shoulders, but he didn't budge.

The more she resisted, the more persistent Clayton's movements became.

His sharp teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her neck.

So, this is how it ends…

I'm going to be devoured. Realizing she couldn't stop the current Clayton with her own strength, Dalia squeezed her eyes shut.

Her body tensed in preparation for the pain that was sure to come.

Just before his fangs pierced her neck, all of the man's movements stopped.

The overwhelming shadow that had been pinning her down suddenly disappeared.

Feeling an unexpected emptiness before her, Dalia slowly opened her eyes.

And then, the face of the Clayton she knew came into view.

The expression of a man realizing what he had just done was one she had seen a few days ago.

Shock, terror, and a deep self-loathing.

It was a face twisted with a chaotic mix of emotions.

As if in agony, Clayton covered his face with both hands and stumbled away from Dalia.

He lowered his head deeply, as though trying to suppress something.

"...Leave."

Clayton muttered through clenched teeth.

His trembling voice, filled with fear, prompted Dalia to sit up.

He stood with his back to her, pressing his hands against his face as though trying to block out the world.

Dalia adjusted her torn, tattered dress and touched the nape of her neck.

Thankfully, there was only the man's saliva; her skin was unscathed without a single wound.

"D-Duke…"

Calming her racing heart, Dalia called out to Clayton in a steadier voice than before. However…

"Go! Get out of my sight immediately!"

Clayton took another step back, almost convulsively, and bowed his head even deeper.

"Why do you think I've been holding back until now…!"

Then, he unleashed the frustration he had been suppressing.

"Do you have any idea what I've endured? And yet… you, you just had to come here on your own?"

"…Duke."

Barely holding onto the last thread of his sanity, Clayton continued speaking.

Even just from his back, she could tell. His trembling body revealed he was overwhelmed by uncontrollable emotions.

Unable to suppress his anger, he turned to face Dalia.

In a harsh voice, he shouted as though releasing everything he had bottled up toward her.

"Damn it, I've been holding back, afraid I'd drink your blood! Afraid I'd tear your neck apart with my own hands! Do you know how much I've…"

Clayton's face contorted mercilessly.

The realization that his deepest, ugliest side had been exposed to the last person he wanted to see it brought him immense shame.

Seeing him like that, Dalia let out a sigh.

'So, he had been holding back all this time.'

To avoid drinking my blood. His last, unguarded words made her realize why Clayton had been avoiding her and acting so tense around her.

He had been trying to protect her.

He had been fighting a grueling battle on his own, just to avoid drinking her blood.

With this brief realization, countless past events flashed through her mind like a lantern's light.

Bringing Lloyd to the mansion, pairing him with Clayton instead of herself—all of it…

It had been part of Clayton's own way of trying to protect her.

And yet, she had shown up at the imperial palace without warning. It was hard to fathom how he must have felt.

Dalia felt both guilt for her oblivious actions toward him and gratitude for everything he had done.

'If I gave my blood to Clayton…'

He wouldn't have to suffer like this anymore.

After all, she had already suspected that he wanted her blood.

And while it was happening earlier than in the original story, it was inevitable that she would one day take Lloyd's place. There was no need to hesitate. Perhaps…

'This might be an opportunity.'

An opportunity to make Clayton fall in love with her.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Dalia acted.

She picked up a fallen branch, snapped it in two, and sharpened one end. Then…

Slash.

She slashed her palm deeply. Blood welled up and streamed down from the wound.

The sharp scent of blood hit Clayton, making him freeze again.

He looked at Dalia with an expression of disbelief.

More specifically, at her palm, exuding a sweetness so strong it was dizzying.

"What are you…!"

"Drink."

"…What?"

Even as he asked in shock, her voice remained calm and steady.

"My blood. I'll give it to you. You've suffered so much, haven't you?"

"I…"

Clayton's face crumpled instantly.

He wanted to drink it—but he didn't. His eyes flickered with agony, conflict, and torment.

"It's fine. I'm okay, Duke. So…"

Dalia stepped closer to him with a smile.

Her voice was like that of a siren luring sailors to their doom—impossible to resist or ignore.

"Drink me."

Her final words broke him completely.

The sound of his reason snapping was almost audible as Clayton moved to her side in an instant.

Slowly, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to her palm.

He licked the blood pooling in her palm, his lips working tirelessly, as though determined not to leave a single drop.

"Ahh…"

The sensation of his tongue tickling her palm sent a strange heat coursing through her body.

He was merely drinking the blood that seeped from the wound on her palm, yet it felt as if his presence was exploring every inch of her body.

How long had he been licking her palm like that?

Finally, Clayton lifted his head. Under the moonlight, his crimson eyes looked sharper than ever.

As he pulled his lips away, his gaze shifted.

From her wrist, along her arm, to the pale nape of her neck.

He stared at her glowing, moonlit skin and murmured softly.

"Dalia."

Every time he spoke, his damp lips brushed lightly against her neck, tickling her.

"You're the one who said it was okay."

His voice, thick with restraint, was rough. With those words, Clayton sank his fangs into Dalia's neck.

A sharp pain, like being pierced by thick needles, surged through her as she felt her blood being drawn out.

"Ah…"

It hurt. But it was just as hot. Heat spread through her body, and her breathing slowed.

As her vision blurred, Dalia clung to the hem of Clayton's clothes.

In response, Clayton tightened his grip around her trembling body.

It was the release of the thirst he had suppressed for so long.