[Pov: Aziz]
After we returned to the palace, that sa night, we took Sofia’s carriage — the very sa one we used when we walked through the city — and went back to the house where I was born.
The journey was silent. Almost ritualistic, as if the world outside had quieted to watch us cross the ti I was leaving behind.
At that mont, sothing inside closed, like a door that would never be opened again.
And, before , five years rose like a road with no return.
Five long years of intense, exhausting... and transformative training.
Honestly, I almost regretted having asked my mother and Isis to train seriously that ti.
Just rembering how my beloved mother — and my beautiful servant — beca so obstinate and relentless... gives chills.
Especially Isis.
Actually, I think she was overly enthusiastic about the role of trainer.
I got hit more than I trained.
And, over ti, I realized: there was a certain gleam in her eyes when she saw gasping on the floor. A subtle pleasure.
Isis was... sadistic.
And now, after so many years together, she didn’t even bother hiding it anymore.
My mother, on the other hand, expressed her cruelty with loving zeal.
She loved — in a deep, devouring, possessive way.
But that didn’t stop her from pushing . She spent hours by my side, teaching magic, perfecting every gesture, every arcane theory, every breath.
And if I fell... she only expected to get back up.
But, to tell the truth... I have nothing to complain about.
In the end, the hard work was worth it.
---
During those years, both Sofia and Zia ca to our house countless tis.
Right after I returned, Sofia insisted that we install a magical teleportation circle, connecting our residence to the palace.
My mother, after talking with Stella, ended up agreeing.
It was more practical. Safer.
And so, every week, Sofia and Zia ca here together.
The constant coexistence strengthened our bond.
And also intensified the rivalry between the two.
It’s almost comical to see them competing over everything — who greets first, who sits closer, who holds my hand longer.
Seriously, sotis I’m sure that if I don’t intervene, they will end up fighting for real.
But now... now all that seems distant.
The most important thing at this very mont is what’s happening here, in this room.
I’m sitting on the bed, and Isis is on my lap.
Her body fits into mine with the naturalness of sothing that was made to be there.
She has her face buried in my neck. Her lips glide over the skin before softly parting.
"Haaah... my young master... let have my breakfast... with this delicious blood."
She bites my neck. Her vampire fangs sink in with a voracious sweetness — as if kissing, but hungry.
*Shlurp. Shlurp. Shlurp.*
The sounds of suction fill the room like a forbidden spell.
"Mmgh... haa..."
I moan, with a confused mixture of pain and pleasure.
It’s strange. Intense.
But no longer new.
It started two years ago.
She showed up with a typically hers excuse: that she needed to replenish her energy after training. That sucking my blood would be her paynt for the effort.
At the ti, I thought it was a joke.
A passing provocation.
I was wrong.
Since the first sip, Isis never stopped.
Every day. Without fail.
Like an insatiable clock.
Honestly, I think... no — I’m sure — she beca completely addicted to my blood.
Good thing we’re in a magical world.
If we were on Earth, I’d be dead by now. Drained.
Turned into a statistic of a bizarre and inexplicable case.
"Haaah... how delicious..."
She whispers between hot breaths held on my neck.
"What is my young master thinking about now, so distracted like this...?"
"No... it’s nothing. Just thinking about how addicted you are to my blood. Nothing else."
She slides her tongue softly over the freshly made mark.
A shiver runs up my spine.
"Are you sure you weren’t thinking about anything else?"
"I am."
She raises her face. Now she’s facing , looking straight into my eyes.
Still on my lap.
Light. Warm.
Addictive.
Her arms wrap around my neck like velvet chains.
Her eyes, red and feverish, don’t blink.
She watches with sothing between tenderness and hunger.
But not hunger for blood.
Hunger for .
---
The tallic taste still hung in the air — a remnant of the blood she had just sucked from .
And yet, everything in asked for more.
It was no longer just the blood.
It was her.
My eyes slowly descend.
Fixing on her moist lips, half-open, stained red.
My whole body reacts.
A silent and urgent impulse, hard to explain. Impossible to contain.
We draw closer.
Slowly.
As if ti stretched to allow that mont.
Milliters dissolve.
The air becos dense.
Too warm.
She doesn’t back away.
Neither do I.
Sm...
"That’s already crossed the line."
The voice cuts through the air.
Cold. Precise.
And absurdly intimate.
A cold shiver runs down my spine.
It’s not fear. Nor surprise.
It’s the unmistakable feeling of being watched — and knowing I was watched all along.
I slowly turn my face.
My mother stands in the doorway.
Arms crossed. Upright posture.
But the look... the look burns.
She doesn’t seem angry.
She seems like an owner.
Outraged that soone touched what belongs to her.
Her eyes don’t co to .
They go straight to Isis.
Like a naked blade, ready to be plunged.
Only then does she look at .
And what I see makes swallow hard.
There is no sweetness.
No anger.
There is possessiveness.
Pure. Raw. Pulsing.
"I hope I’m not interrupting sothing... important."
Her voice is soft.
Too soft to be innocent.
Isis doesn’t back down.
But says nothing.
Her eyes don’t blink.
Her lips are now pressed tight — in a silent provocation.
And I, caught between the two, can only breathe deeply.
Trying to understand when exactly the kiss stopped being just a kiss...
...and beca territory.
---
My mother takes a few steps forward.
The sound of her heels against the wooden floor seems louder than it should.
Or maybe it’s just my heart caught in my throat.
"Isis," she says with a cutting softness, like soone hiding a blade beneath silk.
"You’ve taken enough, haven’t you?"
Isis looks at . Then at my mother.
And then, finally... releases my neck.
"Yes, my lady. For today, it’s enough."
She rises slowly.
Deliberately.
Every movent seems calculated to provoke — and provoke only one person.
Her hips sway with feline grace.
She smooths the skirt of her dress with her fingers.
Runs her hand through her hair.
Throws one last glance over her shoulder.
*"I know what I’m doing."*
Astrid knows it too.
And jealousy sparkles in her eyes like a spark ready to ignite sothing the world isn’t ready to see.
---
My body reacted before my mind.
I stand up quickly.
I go to her.
I hug her tightly.
Truly.
With all that I am.
I bury my face in her neck, letting my heart speak louder than any logic.
"Hey..." I whisper, just for her. "You’re the most important woman in my life, you know? Always have been. Always will be."
She hesitated.
The hand that was clenched relaxes.
Slides down to my back.
She closes her eyes.
Allows herself to breathe inside my embrace.
When she opens them, a discreet blush colors her cheeks.
So subtle only soone like would notice.
"I love you, mother."
I add without hesitation.
"Don’t let anyone take that away from you. Not for a second."
The silence that follows is sacred.
But... as always...
Isis doesn’t know how to respect silences.
"Awn... what a beautiful mont. Too bad soone is missing here."
Before I can react, I feel her arms wrap around from behind.
And then — chomp — her teeth are in my ear.
"Haaah... that taste..."
She whispers, nibbling.
"You’re mine too, young one."
My body reacts to the touch.
I turn my face.
My eyes et the mirror on the wall.
There we are.
Three reflected figures.
in the center.
My mother hugging from the front.
Isis wrapping from behind.
The reflection is clear.
Symbolic.
Powerful.
I gently push the two apart.
One hand on each waist.
It’s not rejection.
It’s contemplation.
I walk to the mirror.
Stop in front of it.
I’m no longer the boy I once was.
Now, I asure exactly 1.80 ters tall.
My long white hair falls down my back like threads of light.
My body is strong. Defined.
The result of countless hours of training, falls, sweat, and blood.
And my eyes...
Silver eyes, with bluish tones.
With so traces of hers.
My mother’s eyes.
They’ve seen too much.
But they remain beautiful.
And now, they carry sothing new.
Focus.
Determination.
Maybe even a premonition.
I look at myself for a mont longer.
And, for the first ti since the conflict between Isis and my mother began...
I smile.
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