Flickering crimson light from low braziers danced across the obsidian dais at the center, turning the polished black stone into a mirror of shadowed desire.
Black roses floated in shallow bowls of scented oil, their petals heavy and glistening like forbidden secrets.
Every silver chain, every necklace, every fracture of anti-magic now pulsed with visible life—thick, branching lines of silver that glowed across wrists, throats, hips, and higher. They traced the curves of every woman in the loose ring surrounding the dais, and they licked across Aiden's own skin like molten veins.
Aiden stood at the edge, shirtless, black trousers slung low on his hips. The fractures shimmered along his jaw, down his neck, and across the hard planes of his upper chest. His cock strained visibly against the fabric, thick and heavy, already leaking in anticipation.
