Crimson Heat and Cold Desire
The instant the gilt doors of the queen's bath chamber shut with a gentle click, Alex was engulfed by a reality different from anything he had ever experienced—overrun with sensual heat and a forbidden beauty that caused his heart to stall.
Crimson chandeliers wept like mourning stars overhead, bathed the vast room in muted, sensual light. It was the smell that hit him first—roses drenched in black wine, thick on the air, overlaid with a raw, near-primal undertone curling around his senses like a lover's breath. With each step he made, the sound echoed hollowly across the obsidian marble, its black surface streaked with ruby veins and so highly polished it reflected the flickering lights like a blood-kissed mirror.
Silver sconces cast low flames down the walls, their crimson candles casting quivering light that glimmered in the swirling fog. The whole room pulsed with decadent heat, as if a womb had been carved out for kings, or something still more godlike.
At the heart of it all, the bath itself stood waiting—an vast oval pool carved from pure obsidian, veins of golden runes throbbing weakly along its curves like living text. The water within glimmered with a rich scarlet color, heavy and silky, discharging soft tendrils of steam that stroked the air. Blood-rose petals drifted languidly upon its surface, turning lazily on top of crimson waves, as if each flower had been awakened by passion.
Alex remained frozen, air trapped in his throat. His feet, however, moved of their own accord, attracted by an unseen something he couldn't define. It wasn't a bath. It was an altar. A holy sanctuary hidden in heat, fragrance, and something older than the ages. Something forbidden. He was a trespasser entering the secret core of a goddess's temple—uninvited, unworthy, but completely enchanted.
But before Alex could stand immobile, his gaze drawn away by the immense, steamy loveliness of the bath to come, she stirred.
Rose.
She moved forward like a whispered word in human form, each step as light as breath across the warm obsidian floor. Her feet bare and silent, but around her the air rippled, curving to accommodate her presence. She said nothing. Looked back once, but once was enough. The silence that followed her was oppressive—so heavy with meaning it felt as though it pushed against his skin in invisible hands.
There was weight in her silence, poise in every step, and an implied authority that pulled at him from inside. He couldn't tear his eyes away.
Then, with an instantaneous ease that stole the moment, her fingers rose—not to her throat, but to the edge of her gown.
"W-Wait—" Alex's voice broke, shaking with wonder and helpless amazement. And yet even as the word escaped his lips, he was frozen. The room itself seemed alive, holding him fast, as though he had passed a boundary from which there was no return.
He heard it before he realized.
The gentle, silken breath of cloth releasing.
She stood at the side of the bath, her royal robe unwound in one smooth sweep—obsidian and ruby sliding from her shoulders in one fluid sweep, folding at her feet like a defeated veil. The material sighed as it dropped, gentle as breath. It slid across the floor in a silent whisper and coiled about her ankles, unneeded and abandoned.
The Empress of Vampires. the Supreme Progenitor. his mother—towered over him, completely, radiantly naked.
But she did not stumble.
She did not cover her body. She did not even blush.
Instead, she stood firm under the radiance of the candlelight, her form exuding tranquility and holiness of beauty—unrepentant, ageless, and stunning.
Alex could not budge.
His breath caught in his throat, chest constricting as his eyes were drawn to every inch of her. She was… impossible. Like a marble sculpture awakened to life by moonlight.
The gentle curve of her neck merged with her lithe shoulders, elegant and poised. Her breasts—beautiful, full, perfect—rose peacefully with each serene breath, their crests a soft rose-blush. Her waist was tiny, narrowing to hips that flared broad, feminine, strong. Her long legs were sleek and carved, her stance relaxed, as if she did not bear the burden of boundless centuries but floated slightly above time itself.
Her pink hair fell in silky waves down the curve of her spine, wet at the ends, sticking lightly to her radiant skin. Locks of it teased against the gentle rises of her breasts and the rounding of her lower back. She was faintly scented with roses and something darker—something that was her own.
And lower still—his eye dropped before he could catch himself—between her legs, she was bare. Smooth-shaven. Smooth. Unblemished. Innocent and inviting in a way that had his heart racing in protest and hunger. Alex's lungs wouldn't function. His pulse pounded within his ears.
He attempted to glance away… but his eyes continued to return, mapping the lines of her hips, the elusive glow along her thighs, the regal stillness that made her feel both goddess-like and perilously close. Each inch of her length appeared to invite him and warn him at the same time.
He moved his head, hoping a change in perspective would improve things—but it didn't.
From this side, the candlelight grazed the curve of her back, highlighting each graceful bend in a golden glow. Her skin shone softly in the steam rising around her, radiant as burnished ivory. When she shifted slightly, he again saw the sway of her body—the lift of her breasts, full and rounded; the sweep of her hips; the holy stillness of an unshamed, unaged form.
His mind melted into heat. He couldn't create words—only sensation. Everything was burning and confusing and too much at once.
Something deep inside him changed.
Not arousal alone. Not mere want. It was something older… darker… more primal. A low, quiet craving called from his blood—claim—and left him unsettled.
And yet she merely regarded him. Cool, unflinching. Not a flicker of judgment or shame. Her eyes were still. Knowing.
She waited there in the silent dignity of one who had waited so much longer for this moment than he had ever known her.
She was eternal—unweathered by time. A goddess sculpted out of worship itself.
His manhood stirred.
And then he saw what condition he was in—the manner in which his eyes had shamelessly lingered on every part of her wet skin, how he had not blinked at all while his manhood stirred beneath the surface, full and swollen. Panic coursed through his veins.
In a furtive hurry, he turned away, hands flying up to cover himself in a frantic gesture of concealment for the self-evident. His face went hot—cheeks, ears, even the area under his eyes grew red-hot, as if the steam emanating about him now had a source within.
It didn't matter.
He already knew.
She'd already seen all. Rose's eyes had already fallen there.
Behind him, her voice floated gently—like velvet brushing against bare skin. Calm. Amused. Unashamed.
"You've grown well," she murmured, her tone laced with gentle pride. "Your shoulders, your arms… and down there as well. Nine inches, hmm? The blood cocoon has been very generous to you, my sweet boy."
The words hit him like a lightning strike. His spine straightened, the flush on his skin deepening until it reached his chest.
"D-Don't say it like that!" he panted, voice shuddering with shame, struggling to get the words out. He balled his fingers tighter about him, his heart thudding against his ribs.
But she just laughed—gentle, musical, like raindrops dancing on silk. There wasn't any cruelty in it, only affectionate teasing… and something else beneath. Something sinister.
She glided alongside of him, slow and calculated, her pace as smooth as running water. Each inch of her movement was calculated, like a dancer coming to meet her partner, her body in close proximity to awaken the fire already burning in him.
Without hesitation, she slipped into the bath. Water swirled around her thighs as she sank gradually into its warmth, releasing a breathy sigh that seemed to melt the tension hanging in the air between them.
She cocked her head and gazed over her shoulder, outstretched a long hand toward the boy who stood stock-still behind her.
"Fine? Come, let me. It's been too long since I bathed you."
"M-Mother, I can do it myself…" he spoke, voice trembling barely above a whisper. Flames of warmth burst beneath his skin, spreading through his chest—and further. Each nerve felt alive, acutely sensitive to the gentle curves in front of him, the water beading on her skin, the way her naked body shone in the steamy veil. His dragon core stirred with a slow, rhythmic throb just beneath the surface. He couldn't bear to look at her… and yet, he couldn't stop imagining her. The way the water hugged her waist, the gentle rise and fall of her chest—it was burned into his senses. But beneath the flicker of shame, something deeper smoldered. Something that didn't resist.
"You're trembling," Rose murmured, her voice as soft as silk.
"Ah-I didn't…" Alex attempted to answer, but his words died away, entwined in embarrassment and desire. He reflexively covered himself with his hands, even though his body was already exposed. "You're… you're really okay with this?"
Rose leaned her head to one side, lids half-closed.
"Are you ashamed… of your own Mother?"