Lustborn

The candlelight painted trembling shadows across the temple walls as she paced, barefoot on cold stone. Her breath had weight now. Ever since the night her lips found his—Tavian's, or the demon's—she hadn't been able to breathe without feeling scorched from within.

It had started with a glance. A look too long to be innocent, too sharp to be ignored. Tavian, the acolyte with a quiet voice and eyes that always lingered. He hadn't spoken to her after the Ember Rite. But tonight, something in the air pulled at her nerves like an invisible thread tugged from behind her navel.

She wasn't alone. Not in her room. Not even in her body.

She looked down at her palm and flexed her fingers. They trembled with a need she didn't recognize as her own. Lust had always been a background hum—until now. Now, it was a scream beneath her skin. Her body yearned like it remembered something her mind tried to forget.

A knock.

She froze. The door creaked open.

Tavian stood there. His breathing was heavy. Damp hair clung to his forehead. And his eyes—those quiet, amber eyes—were not his own.

The demon had found another way in.

"Tavian…?" she whispered, voice catching like a tear.

"I tried to resist," he said. His voice sounded like him, but something darker coiled in the tone. "But you called me."

"I didn't—" she backed up, but he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

"You did," he said, eyes glowing faintly. "With every breath you took after tasting me. You think I left you after the dream? I only changed vessels."

She clenched her fists. "You're using him."

"No," Tavian said—or the thing inside him did. "He wanted to touch you. I only made him brave enough."

His fingers brushed her cheek, and her knees threatened to buckle. Not from fear. From something far more dangerous.

The touch felt like fire and honey. Every place he touched sparked heat that soaked into her spine.

"I won't give in," she whispered.

"But you already have," he said. "You gave in the moment you let yourself burn. You've tasted power. Lust isn't your curse—it's your element."

She tried to step back, but her body moved forward instead. Her skin betrayed her. Her heart pounded like war drums. Her thighs clenched. Her mind screamed—but her lips parted.

"I'm not yours," she hissed.

"Then why," he growled, pinning her against the stone wall, "do you ache every night for me?"

She didn't answer. Couldn't. Her breath was too ragged. Her throat, too tight. His mouth was inches from hers.

The demon knew. Every pulse in her body called out to him.

"I'll leave this vessel," he whispered into her ear, "but only after you admit it. Say it, and he's free."

She shook her head. "I can't…"

"Say it."

His hand slipped down her side, not to touch—but to tempt. He hovered over the line of her waist, his lips barely grazing hers.

And then he stilled.

Tavian's eyes flickered—just for a moment. The demon lost focus. Her chance.

She grabbed his wrist and twisted, forcing him back. Not because she was stronger—but because he hesitated. Because somewhere inside, Tavian was still fighting.

"Then fight harder!" she shouted. "This isn't you. Don't let it win!"

His face twisted. Pain. Desire. Fury. And then, a scream ripped through his throat—not his, but the demon's.

He collapsed to his knees, gasping. His hands clawed at his own chest.

"I won't let you—" he groaned. "I won't—touch her—"

And then he collapsed.

Silence. She dropped to her knees beside him, heart racing.

"Tavian?" she whispered.

His eyes fluttered open. Empty. Soft. His own again.

"I'm sorry…" he said weakly.

"I know," she said, cupping his face. "It wasn't you."

But deep inside her, something stirred. The demon may have left his body, but it hadn't gone far. She could feel him, coiled in the corners of her soul, laughing softly.

He'd only been playing. Testing her.

And worse—he'd learned something tonight.

She didn't want to resist him forever.

Not really.