Blood...

Ying gasped—whisked into the air before she could resist.

"Do you still think of me that weak?" Mao Zhen's voice dipped low, wrapping around her like silk. "I do not fear Haoran. I only fear losing you again..."

His words slithered into her mind, intoxicating—

Love. Desire. Submission.

Yes… yes… She wanted it all.

No. Not from him… A flicker of resistance. The duke...

Then—light. A sharp glow burst from the bedside. The candle flickered, its flame reborn.

And she was tangled in his arms. So tightly…

Ying's lips parted, but no words came. She was drowning in him.

He was so beautiful. So terrifyingly beautiful.

Her nightmare dressed in crimson silk.

Ying's chin lifted…

The delicate skin of her throat exposed.

"You and I…" His breath fanned across her lips, impossibly close, teasing. "Our children… We are bound, Ying." His touch traced the pulse at her neck, lingering where her blood thrummed. "We are all that's left of our Fox Spirit Clan." His voice was fire and water entwined, searing and soothing, threading through her veins like pure golden core energy. "We must remain together."

Her breathing slowed... Yesss… only they survived... He was right. Ying exhaled. "We must remain..."

Warm fingers cradled her face, his touch gentle—always safe.

Ying's lashes fluttered shut. Sweet memories of him surfaced. Ying sighed, her body relaxed. "I... I want..."

His fingers traced the delicate curve of her throat, his thumb ghosting over her pulse. "Your body remembers me… Tell me, do you still burn for me?" His ear rested lightly against the bosom of her chest. "You know it. I know it."

No... no. It wasn't true... She only thought of the duke... Or did she…

A sharp flick against her skin.

Ying flinched but it felt so good.

Fangs?

"Will you make me one of them now..." Her voice quivered, wanting to feel that satisfying pain once more.

"If we are to remain together, we must be of one, united..."

Ying found herself lost in the perfection of his face. He was so wonderful.

"Have you forgotten everything we promised each other?" His lips didn't move but she heard him clearly inside her head.

"No..." She could barely get out, followed by a subtle prick of pain. Ying gasped, satisfied... "Will it hurt?"

"I will never let it hurt you." He hushed her.

"Are you.. are you... A Bloodborn..." Ying tried to break free.

"I've only become a better version of myself, Ying. Let me show you…"

His hand withdrew, and the feeling of immense joy of a lovely dream slipping away saddened her she wanted that feeling back. "No… Don't stop…" She did miss him, but then—the duke. Her children. Ying let out a slow breath.

"I live for you only, my love…" Mao Zhen's hand hovered right above her skin, as if waiting for her answer.

Ying glimpsed a red-tipped fingernail, sharp as a sword, and swallowed hard, relieved he did not bite her. "I don't want... I can't..." The curse was in his bite, the poison came from his fangs.

Warm liquid dribbled down her neck.

His breathing grew heavy, ragged, as if he was the one who wrestled with control now. His nose grazed her cheek, lingering.

He paused.

"I want to see." His voice dripped with an insatiable hunger. "Why you keep resisting me, why you've ran from me these past ten years."

His tongue swept over her neck—slow, deliberate. Like a predator savoring its prey before the first bite.

"Let me in Ying." he murmured, his voice velvet-soft. "Show me your truths..." His fingers traced her throat, his touch deceptively tender—before his hand tightened. "You can't hide from me."

Her heart skittered. She didn't want this. But he was so, so convincing. Her body arched towards him.

His lips grazed over hers—sweet yet chilling, like the first taste of Tángrén. They trailed lower, leaving a lingering sensation against her skin, until his teeth scraped against her collarbone—a sudden crack in the sweetness that sent a shudder through her. Ying froze.

His tongue flicked over the spot where he cut her. A low hum vibrated in his throat. ""Even your body still remembers me..." Mao Zhen chuckled, inhaling deeply—savoring, drinking in the scent of blood. "It's exhilarating."

The room shrank. The walls, the air, even time itself folded in, pressing against her helplessness.

And—he drank.

Ying squirmed, twisting, struggling—but he was too strong.

Unmovable. Unrelenting.

Her lungs burned. "Mao Zhen, you're killing me..." she gasped, her fingers clawing desperately at his grip.

But he didn't stop.

His body tightened. His breathing grew ragged, his lips still pressed to her skin. He shuddered, a soft groan escaping his throat.

"Sweet... so deliciously sweet..." He sounded, dazed—almost drunk. His grip tightened around her. Shaking. Wanting more.

Ying's vision blurred her breath hitched. He wasn't just drinking her blood; he was consuming her qi. Terror shredded through her as her fox spirit drained.

"You cannot escape me." Mao Zhen looped an arm around her waist, pinning her against him.

And he drank more.

And he squeezed harder.

 A darkness encroached on her mind, and sifted through her thoughts, her memories. It was Mao Zhen peering at each one. Ying closed off her thoughts, tried to bury as much away as she could the things she didn't want him to see, but she couldn't.

Thump... thuummp... thuuump...

Ying's heart faltered. Her Fox Spirit core flickered—its protective force slipping through her grasp. Her blood drained, her qi nearly gone. She wouldn't last if he didn't stop.

A final thought entered her mind.

If she was to die, at least—at least she had known love, the love of a real man.

A great man.

A man like the duke…

"INSOLENCE!"

Mao Zhen ripped himself away, his voice a jagged snarl. His fingers snapped open. Ying collapsed, crumpling like a discarded petal. The cold seeped into her bones, her vision blurring.

He staggered backward, lips crimson-stained, breath ragged. His hand trembled.

"You…" His voice cracked—full of fury and pain.

Ying dragged in a breath, the pain sharp and raw. Her trembling fingers pressed against her bleeding neck, smearing warmth across her palm.

Her eyes locked onto his—dark, furious.

"Serves you right," she rasped, no longer under his compulsion.

For a heartbeat, something flickered in his gaze. A fracture. A terrible, aching hurt.

Then, it was gone.

A deep voice shattered the silence between them.

"Fūrén! Fūrén!"

Ying's breath caught.

The duke!

He was here.

Her head turned towards the opened door, where a shadow moved beyond the swirling snow, one she recognized. The sharp ring of steel clashing against steel reaching her ears.

A surge of determination crashed through her.

She had to survive.

She clenched her jaw, inhaling sharply, and released her what little remained of Fox Demon qi. The rush of warmth ignited through her veins, jolting her heart into a faster rhythm. The fog over her mind thinned, her limbs regained feeling.

Move…

She forced herself to her knees, dragging in ragged breaths.

Stay alive—for the duke, for the children.

Her gaze darted frantically.

There.

The lacquered table.

A small porcelain bottle sat at its edge—a gift from the duke. Qi restoring pills.

Pills that could restore her qi. That could stop her waning life.

"Ying…" Mao Zhen howled, his back to her, his entire frame bent in raw, seething rage. His hands twitched at his sides, his body tense—ready to strike.

Ying staggered forward, nearly falling as her fingers brushed the table.

A sharp cry tore from her throat as her hands fumbled, knocking the bottle over.

Pills scattered across the floor.

No. No. No!

She snatched the bottle, tipping what's left, desperately. The small pills tumbled into her mouth. Dry. Choking. She forced them down.

Behind her, a guttural snarl erupted.

"That fox demon blood..." Mao Zhen's voice was thick, almost breathless. "I had forgotten how intoxicating it is."

She had to get out.

She turned—

But it was too late.

A blur and air rushed around her.

Then—iron fingers clamped around her throat.

Ying barely had time to gasp before ice crushed against her chest.

"Mao Zhen…"

His arms tangled around her, his body pressing against hers, unyielding, stealing her warmth.

His fingers tightened at her throat. Not enough to choke—just enough to hold. To claim her.

Ying trembled.

His lips curled back, fangs gleaming like ivory daggers.

"So, it's true," Mao Zhen murmured, his grip bruising. His breath cold as death against her skin. "You always saw me as nothing more than filth."

His voice darkened, sharp with venom.

"A mongrel. Weak and lowborn wretch. A servant to be discarded."

"That's not true." Ying needed to reassure him, to buy herself time. "You are the great Lord of our Fox Spirit clan. The strongest demon cultivator." Ying turned towards the door. Her eyes searching for the duke.

His chuckle slithered over her skin. Low. Amused. Dangerous.

"How come you won't look me in the eyes then?" He fisted a lock of her hair, yanked her head back. "Let's see if your duke will still want you now."

Terror spiked through her.

"Please, don't Mao Zhen…"

She struggled, twisting in his grip, but—

Mao Zhen's lips brushed against her neck—

"You made me do this, Ying."

Fangs. Piercing. Sinking deep into her.

A tearing pain erupted from her throat, her veins igniting with searing agony.

All the pleasure, the intoxicating lure he gave her before—gone. Replaced by something far, far worse.

Darkness crashed over her like a wave.