Between Teeth and Temptation

The silence after his confession was more deafening than the howling winds outside.

"I choose you," he had said. Not a whisper, not a plea—an undeniable statement, like a claim carved into the bones of the world itself.

Lyria could still feel the weight of those words pressing against her chest, even as the flickering candlelight barely kept the darkness at bay. She sat stiffly on the edge of the ruined bed, the tattered remains of an abandoned house their only refuge for the night. Across the small space, he stood—a predator draped in the illusion of a man.

Aether.

His name tasted dangerous on her tongue, and his presence was worse. His human form was a deception wrapped in beauty—tall, impossibly elegant, with skin like obsidian dipped in the faintest silver sheen. But it was his eyes that unraveled her, the abyss reflected in twin orbs of molten gold.

"I should run," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

Aether tilted his head, in a slow, deliberate motion. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to shift in response, slithering closer.

"But you won't."

Lyria swallowed hard.

She hated that he was right.

Something about him—about this unholy bond between them—made it impossible to turn away. The others, the warriors she had once called comrades, would see him as a beast. But Lyria had seen what lay beneath the monstrous exterior, the sharp edges of something darker, deeper.

And worse still, she had started to crave it.

He took a step toward her. She held her ground, despite the primal warning screaming at her to move, to run, to flee from the creature that had claimed her in a way no human ever had.

"I felt you hesitate," he murmured, his voice as smooth as silk over steel. "When I touched you last night."

Lyria's fingers curled against her lap. He was talking about the moment his clawed hand had ghosted over her wrist, the moment she had expected death but instead had felt something far more dangerous—an unspoken promise.

Her pulse quickened. "You were testing me."

Aether's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "I already know you don't fear me the way you should."

Lyria shot to her feet, her chair scraping against the floor. "You think I don't fear you?" Her voice was sharp, but her heart pounded against her ribs, betraying the storm within her. "I know exactly what you are."

Aether's expression didn't change. He simply stepped closer, until the space between them was reduced to nothing but a breath.

"And yet," he murmured, "here you stand."

Lyria exhaled shakily. She could see the sharp edges of his canines when he spoke, the glint of something primal just beneath the surface. The illusion of his humanity was just that—an illusion. Beneath the elegant form, he was still a monster, still the abyss made flesh.

And yet she didn't run.

She couldn't.

"Why me?" she whispered, the question slipping from her lips before she could stop it.

Aether's gaze softened—not with kindness, but with something ancient, something inevitable. His fingers ghosted over her wrist, tracing the pulse hammering beneath her skin.

"You were never meant to belong to them," he said, his voice lower now, rougher. "They threw you away. I will not."

Something inside her cracked at the words, at the way they settled inside her like an oath written in blood. She had spent years being unwanted, overlooked, and sacrificed. And now here stood a monster—one feared by all—saying he would never let her go.

Lyria's breath hitched. "That sounds a lot like possession."

Aether leaned in, his lips brushing just beside her ear. "It is."

A shudder ran down her spine. His presence was suffocating, intoxicating, but there was something else too—an unrelenting hunger coiled beneath his skin, just barely restrained.

And she wasn't sure if it was his… or hers.

Something shattered outside.

Lyria's instincts took over. She grabbed the nearest blade, yanking it away from Aether just as the entire side of the ruined house exploded inward. Dust and debris clouded the air as figures emerged from the wreckage, weapons gleaming under the pale moonlight.

Warriors.

Her former allies.

And at the front of them—General Rhyen, the man who had sent her on a suicide mission. The man who had left her to die.

For a brief moment, no one moved. Then Rhyen's eyes locked onto Aether, and his expression twisted into something triumphant.

"There it is," Rhyen breathed. "The Abyssborn."

Lyria's stomach turned. He wasn't looking at Aether like a threat—he was looking at him like a prize.

They weren't here to kill him.

They were here to capture him.

And use him.

Rhyen turned his gaze to Lyria, his smirk widening. "I have to admit, we thought you were dead. But this?" He gestured to the scene before him. "This is unexpected."

Lyria gripped the hilt of her blade tighter. "Leave."

Rhyen chuckled. "Now why would I do that? You brought us exactly what we need."

Aether hadn't moved. He simply stood there, quiet, still. But the air around him shifted, a pulse of something dark unraveling beneath his skin.

"Come quietly, Lyria," Rhyen continued, stepping closer. "And maybe we won't kill your pet."

The ground beneath them trembled.

It was the only warning they got before the shadows surged forward, consuming everything in their path.

Screams echoed through the night as Aether moved, faster than any human could react. One of the warriors lunged at him, blade raised—only to be slammed into the ground with a sickening crunch. Another barely had time to react before Aether's claws raked across his chest, sending blood spraying across the broken walls.

Rhyen cursed, stumbling back. "Restrain it! Now!"

Lyria barely had time to react before she saw them—a set of silver chains, glowing with runes, aimed directly at Aether.

A trap.

Something in her snapped. She didn't think—she moved.

Her body collided with Aether's just as the chains flew toward him. Pain exploded through her as the enchanted metal wrapped around her arms instead, the force of the impact sending her crashing to the ground.

Aether's roar split the night.

It was the first time she had heard him sound truly enraged.

The moment his gaze landed on her bound form, something in the air changed.

The world seemed to bend around him, darkness curling at his feet like a living thing.

And then he was no longer human.

The shadows consumed his form, shifting, stretching—until the illusion of a man was gone, replaced by the nightmare that lurked beneath.

Aether, in his true form, was devastation incarnate.

And he was furious.

Rhyen took a step back, real fear flashing across his face. "Impossible—"

Aether moved.

The night exploded into chaos.

Lyria barely managed to raise her head, her vision swimming. Through the haze of pain, she saw Aether tearing through soldiers like a storm-given form. The chains around her pulsed, their magic burning against her skin, but she didn't care.

Because Aether wasn't just fighting.

He was unleashing something.

And the last thing she heard before darkness claimed her was his voice, low and lethal, whispering through the abyss.

"You tried to take what is mine."

A promise.

A reckoning.

And as the world faded away, Lyria finally understood—there was no escaping him.

She had never needed to run.

Because the abyss had already chosen her.