True Desire

Mike grinned, trying to play it cool. "She said I might be able to cast spells without chanting soon."

"Hmm," Leon muttered, eyes narrowing playfully. "Still gotta swing a sword though."

Althea, dressed in a modest maid's uniform with a silver sash, stepped in gracefully and began clearing the empty plates. She smiled at Mike as she leaned over to replace his goblet of juice.

"You did well today, Master Mike," she said gently. "You have the makings of a true master."

Mike puffed his chest a little, earning a quiet giggle from Selene.

"Don't inflate his ego too fast," Leon said with a smirk.

As dessert was brought in—lavender cream tarts and honeyed fruit—the hall grew quieter. The peace of night settled around them like a blanket. The moonlight now spilled like silver paint across the stone floor.

Selene finally broke the silence with a sigh. "I never thought we'd have this again. A peaceful dinner. Laughter. Even hope."

Elira looked around the table, her fingers delicately holding her fork. "Peace is rare. But that's what makes it sacred."

Leon raised his goblet. "Then let's protect it."

Everyone followed suit. Even little Mike, raising his juice with surprising gravity.

"To peace," Selene said softly.

"To the future," Elira added.

"And to more dinners like this," Mike chimed in with a grin.

The glasses clinked gently in the warm air. And though the night beyond the windows was vast and full of unseen dangers, for a moment, inside the Serevas estate, there was only warmth, food, family—and the faint shimmer of starlight magic.

"They all go to their respective rooms."

The shutters groaned against the wind's restless clawing, as if the storm outside hungered to witness what transpired within.

Elira had followed Mike without a word, her presence a velvet blade slicing through the gloom. Her robe, a cascade of midnight blue, shimmered faintly as she lowered herself onto the bed, the ancient frame creaking like a sigh. Mike's pulse quickened, a traitor to his resolve, as he sank onto the mattress beside her.

His head came to rest against the soft warmth of her thighs, a reckless intimacy that sent a shiver through him. Her closeness was a spell, binding him in place, his cheek grazing the silken edge of her robe where it parted to reveal the pale curve of her skin.

Elira opened the book, its leather cover scarred with runes that pulsed with a faint, unnatural glow. "You wanted a story," she murmured, her voice a low, honeyed venom that coiled around his senses. "This one… it devours the weak." Her eyes flicked to his, sharp as obsidian, holding a promise—or a threat—before returning to the pages.

Mike's gaze, unmoored, drifted to the delicate hem of her robe, where a glimpse of white panty peeked through, a stark contrast against the shadowed fabric.

The sight was a spark in the dark, igniting a rush of forbidden thoughts—sensual, ravenous, and edged with a hunger he barely recognized. His mind churned, each pulse of the candle's flame stoking the fire within him. The story she wove only deepened the spell.

It was a tale of a mage ensnared by a siren's curse, their bond sealed in a ritual that demanded surrender of both body and soul. Elira's voice was a chant, each word a caress that sank into Mike's bones, stirring something primal.

"Her touch was a flame that burned without light," she read, "a vow of ruin he craved more than salvation."

The words were a mirror to his own turmoil, amplifying the dark, sensual whispers in his mind—urges to reach out, to trace the line where fabric met skin, to drown in the danger of her nearness.

His breath grew shallow, caught in the web of her voice and the warmth of her thighs against his cheek. The candlelight danced across her form, carving shadows that seemed to beckon, to taunt. The white panty, a fleeting detail, became a symbol of temptation, a boundary he teetered on crossing. His thoughts spiraled, dark and untamed, as if the book itself were feeding them, planting desires that weren't entirely his own.

"You feel it, don't you?" Elira's voice cut through the haze, low and deliberate, her lips curving into a smile that held no warmth. She hadn't looked up, but her fingers paused on the page, one nail grazing a rune that flared crimson. "The story… it knows what you hide."

Mike's heart thudded, a captive to her words. "What are you doing?" he rasped, his voice raw, torn between defiance and surrender. He shifted, his face still pressed to the soft haven of her thighs, the contact both anchor and torment. His mind screamed to pull away, but the story—or Elira's gaze, now locking onto his—held him fast.

She leaned closer, her breath a warm shadow against his ear. "Some tales don't just speak," she whispered, "they consume." Her eyes were abysses.

"Elira continued, "the sky shimmered with colors no one had ever seen before."

Mike let out a soft breath, his head slowly lowering until it gently rested on her thighs. Elira paused, glancing down with a small smile. His eyes had fluttered shut, his face relaxed in peaceful sleep.

She adjusted slightly, careful not to wake him, and continued her story in a quieter tone—just for him, just in case he could still hear her in his dreams.

Her hand instinctively brushed through his hair as the candlelight flickered beside them, casting a warm glow over the serene moment.

"Elira seems unusually close to Mike—do you think she has a hidden purpose for staying by his side, or "What does Elira truly desire from Mike—a hidden agenda woven into her seductive charm, or a deeper, forbidden connection that could bind them forever?

Let me know!!!!