Chapter Text
The bar was velvet and shadow, all smoke and sin, with jazz curling through the air like a lover’s breath. The kind of place that wanted to be a secret—and charged enough to make sure you kept it.
Delilah sat on a low velvet stool, long legs crossed, sipping something crimson in a crystal coupe—stronger than wine, sweeter than whiskey, and nothing she could name. She didn’t care. The man across the bar had been watching her for ten minutes, maybe longer, with a smile like a knife and eyes that flickered just slightly when the light caught them right.
He pushed off the bar, drink in hand, and moved toward her with the confidence of someone who’d never been told no.
“Now what’s a woman like you doing in a place like this,” he asked, voice silken with charm, “without a name or a warning label?”
Delilah smiled, lazy and sharp. “Who says I don’t have both?”
Kol laughed, low and amused. “Tell me you’re not as dangerous as you look.”
“I’m just here for the drinks.”
“Mmm.” He twirled the rim of his glass. “Pity. I was hoping for a bit more excitement.”
Her eyes drifted toward a green-felt table in the corner, lit by candles suspended midair like little enchanted suns. “Poker?” she asked, arching a brow.
“Poker,” he agreed. “But not the dull kind. Think… stakes.”
She tilted her head. “And what are yours?”
Kol leaned in close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath, to smell smoke and something older, darker. “If I win,” he said, “you’re mine for the night.”
Delilah didn’t flinch. “And if I win?”
“Then I’m yours.”
A beat passed.
She downed the rest of her drink in a slow, deliberate pull and set the glass on the bar with a soft clink.
“Deal.”
He dealt with flair, cards flicking sharp against the felt. “No folding,” he said. “Best hand wins. Loser surrenders.”
“Surrenders,” she repeated, smirking. “That sounds ominous.”
“Only if you lose.”
“Oh, darling,” she said, fanning her cards without looking. “I don’t lose.”
The first two rounds blurred between flirtation and calculation. Kol leaned in with every hand, his eyes tracking her lips more than the game. Delilah played slowly, not because she needed to, but because she liked watching him squirm.
By the third hand, they were so close their knees brushed beneath the table.
“You always flirt when you’re losing?” she asked, throwing down a winning straight.
“Only when I’m interested,” Kol replied, his voice roughening around the edges.
“Must not happen often.”
“Once every few centuries.”
She laughed—full and rich and wicked—and it shouldn’t have made something twist low in Kol’s gut. But it did.
He won the next hand, knuckles brushing hers as he collected the cards.
“Deadlock,” she said, cocking her head. “One more.”
“Your deal.”
Delilah leaned forward, casually close, her perfume warm and spiced. “Tell me,” she said, slowly shuffling the deck, “is this the part where I’m supposed to be scared of you?”
Kol tilted his head. “Are you?”
She handed him his cards. “Should I be?”
Whatever answer he was about to give was cut off.
The lounge doors burst open with a crash loud enough to silence the jazz.
A man stumbled in—broad, bleeding from the shoulder, face pale with panic. He looked around wildly, eyes glassy from booze or compulsion or both. He didn’t even see Kol or Delilah. Just kept yelling a name—not theirs—and then tried to push further into the club.
Two bouncers appeared out of nowhere, moved like shadows, and grabbed him by the collar. One muttered something that Delilah didn't hear. The man went limp. They dragged him out without fanfare, through a velvet curtain at the back.
Kol stood, eyes narrowed, but otherwise still.
Delilah watched him instead of the chaos. He hadn’t moved like a man startled. He’d moved like a predator interrupted.
“You know him?” she asked, casual, but sharp.
Kol’s expression reset with frightening ease. The smile came back too fast.
“No,” he said, voice light. “But I don’t like being interrupted.”
She glanced down at the cards in her hands. “So… what now? Finish the hand?”
Kol looked at her lips instead.
“No,” he said. “Fuck the game.”
And then he was kissing her.
They stumbled out of the lounge, mouths locked, hands greedy. Her back hit the corridor wall, again and again, dress hiked up by the force of his grip. He kissed like he had centuries of experience and nothing left to prove.
“Always fuck your way out of card games?” she gasped between kisses.
“Only when I’m about to lose,” he growled.
They stumbled into the stock room like a single storm wearing two skins.
The door slammed behind them, drowning out the jazz. It didn’t matter. Her blood was music now—drumming in her ears, singing through her veins. Her body was a live wire. Kol had lit the match.
He shoved her against the door, not unkind but unrelenting, mouth crashing against hers, tongue hot and slick and tasting like sin. Delilah moaned into him, her hands already tugging at his shirt, his belt, anything she could grab.
“Can’t wait,” she muttered, voice fraying at the edges. “Fuck—can’t think.”
“Then don’t,” he whispered.
Her dress was hiked up to her hips before she could breathe. His fingers curled around her thigh, dragging her leg up around his waist. The shelf behind her shook as he pressed her against it, hips grinding hard against her core through the thin silk of her panties.
She was soaked. God. She could feel how wet she was even through the barrier of his trousers. It made her dizzy.
Then his hand was inside them—two fingers sliding through her folds, slick and sure. She cried out, head thudding back against the door.
“Fuck, you’re already dripping,” he groaned. “You want this.”
“You have no idea,” she hissed, dragging his belt free with a triumphant yank.
Kol cursed as she shoved his pants down just enough to free him. He was hard—thick and heavy and twitching in her palm. She didn’t have time to appreciate it properly, because a second later, he had her up, panties shoved to the side, and was pushing into her in one long, brutal thrust.
She screamed.
Not from pain.
From shock. From stretch. From how fucking full she was.
He didn’t wait.
Kol fucked her like a man possessed—thrust after thrust slamming her back into the shelves. Bottles rattled. One crashed to the floor and shattered. The scent of spilled gin and woodsmoke filled the air, sharp and intoxicating.
Her nails clawed at his back. Her head lolled forward, teeth scraping his neck. “God—Kol—fuck, don’t stop—”
He growled something guttural into her ear and bit her shoulder—not enough to break skin, but enough to make her clench around him. He felt it, groaned, drove deeper.
Then the sting.
Just the kiss of glass.
Somewhere in the chaos, a shard had caught the top of her thigh—just under his grip.
She gasped as blood bloomed warm against her skin.
Kol froze.
His eyes locked on the cut like it was calling him.
He dropped to his knees.
And licked it.
Delilah moaned—high and unfiltered—watching his tongue lap slowly over her skin. His eyes rolled back slightly, lips red and wet.
“You—Jesus,” she breathed, trembling. “That’s what gets you off?”
He looked up at her, pupils blown wide, drunk on lust and iron.
“You have no idea how much I love blood.”
The way he said it—like he was unraveling. Like she was the fire unmaking him.
Delilah pulled her dress off completely, leaving her bare before him, before she reached down to find a glittering shard among the broken glass. It stung her palm. She didn’t flinch.
She dragged it across her collarbone—just enough to let blood bead, then slowly well over until it ran a warm trail down her bare chest.
Kol shuddered.
“Do you want me?” she asked, voice low, raw. “Or do you want to devour me?”
He was on her in an instant.
The glass clattered to the floor. His mouth sealed over the cut on her chest, sucking, licking, his tongue lapping like a man dying of thirst. Her head dropped back. Every nerve lit up.
Then—his fingers found the shard again.
“If you don’t say no now,” he whispered, breathless with need, “I won’t stop until I'm finished with you.”
Delilah, panting, nodded once.
“Yes.”
He dragged the glass slowly—carefully—along the inside of her arm. Not deep. Just enough.
She felt her blood rise before she saw it. Kol kissed the line as he made it, worshipful and slow.
Her cunt pulsed. She was going to lose it.
He lifted her again, carried her to the shelf, sat her on it like she was weightless. Her thighs spread for him instinctively. He dragged his blood-slick mouth down her stomach and licked between her legs without warning.
Delilah screamed.
His tongue was everywhere—devouring her, wild and precise, lips sucking her clit between slow strokes that made her legs shake.
And still—he drew on her.
Blood tracing hearts over her ribs.
His name across her hip.
Fingertips painting sin with glass and spit and reverence.
She was so wet she was dripping. Her thighs trembled with the effort not to crush his head.
“K-Kol,” she choked. “Please. I need—”
He rose like smoke—bloody and shining and starving.
He kissed her, open-mouthed, wet, and lifted her again—pinned her against the wall, hand brutally tight on her neck, and fucked into her hard.
She saw stars.
He slammed into her with the same brutal rhythm as before, but now his mouth was on her shoulder, sucking blood from the still-bleeding cut. His hips never faltered. His cock hit something perfect inside her. She was burning.
They were a mess.
Sweat and blood and spilled gin. Glass crunching under his boots. Her moans echoing. His growls rising with every thrust.
She came with a cry that ripped through her, walls fluttering around him, body spasming. He didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
Kol bit down—not hard, but enough.
He came seconds later, choking her name like a prayer, hips stuttering, cock throbbing inside her.
The cold of the stock room seeped through Delilah’s skin, but the sting of the cuts burned hotter—sharp, angry ribbons etched into her flesh, glowing red where spilled gin had kissed them. Her dress was a ruin, scattered with tiny shards that glittered like cruel stars in the dim light.
Her fingers traced lightly over a fresh line on her arm. It ached—throbbing beneath the surface—but it wasn’t the pain that made her breath hitch. It was the memory of Kol’s mouth there, warm and wet, lapping at her blood like a ritual, like worship.
Kol leaned against the far wall, that lazy smirk tilting his lips, but his eyes were dark and distant—untouchable. He didn’t seem to care that she was a mess, that her skin was torn, that the cold made her shiver. His amusement was a blade sharper than any glass.
“You’re a mess,” she rasped, voice rough and raw, a fragile challenge.
“Good,” he said, voice low and chaotic. “I got my surprise.”
She wanted to ask what he meant, but instead found herself moving toward him again, reckless and wild. The shard of glass gleamed between his fingers like a secret promise.
“New rules,” he growled. “You cut. I drink. Then I cut. You drink. Back and forth. A game.”
Her pulse quickened. The sharp edge pressed lightly against her skin again. She let it bite in, deliberately this time, blood welling slow and steady. Kol’s mouth was there before she could blink—warm and hungry.
When it was her turn, she hesitated—his skin was cold but taut, like a wire stretched to snapping. Then the glass dragged slowly and measured along his wrist. A trickle of dark blood bloomed, and Kol’s breath hitched when she offered her mouth.
She bit back a shiver, the unexpected healing warmth blooming inside her surprising the haze of pain. Her wounds—his blood—closing as she drank. A cycle of giving and taking, pain and pleasure, chaos and calm.
Their gazes locked—his wild, possessive, and beneath that dangerous edge, something softer.
“Keep playing,” he whispered, “and you’ll find out what you really get if you win.”
And somehow, Delilah wanted to lose.
Delilah’s breath hitched as the cold glass scraped her skin again, a razor’s kiss trailing a thin line of fire down her side. Her pulse hammered loud enough to drown out the faint jazz bleeding through the walls, every drop of blood a sharp, thrilling gamble.
Kol’s mouth found her cut like a starving predator, his tongue sliding along the raw flesh with slow, deliberate hunger. The metallic tang of her blood mingled with his heat, intoxicating, addictive. She arched into him, every nerve ignited, craving the rush of pain and pleasure tangled so tightly she couldn’t separate them anymore.
When it was his turn, Kol pressed the glass against his throat, the skin so pale it was almost translucent. A sharp twist, and a slow, dark bead welled, warm and slick as it spilled into Delilah’s waiting mouth. The strange heat bloomed through her, healing where the alcohol and glass had burned.
The game spiralled between them—cut, drink, cut, drink—each exchange a brutal, exquisite dance of domination and surrender. Delilah’s legs trembled, knees weak, vision swimming with the dizzy haze of blood loss and raw desire. Her skin was flushed, cheeks burning, breaths coming fast and shallow.
Kol’s eyes darkened with something almost cruel, the faintest smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He traced a final line across her collarbone, slow enough to savor the sharp intake of breath she couldn’t hide. Her body shuddered beneath him, trembling on the edge.
“You’re fading,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t think I’m done with you yet.”
The heat between them still simmered, sweat-slick skin pressed close in the dim light of the stock room. Kol’s breath was heavy, mingling with hers, his fingers tracing fire trails over bruised ribs and trembling thighs. They moved with a raw hunger, lips and teeth stealing desperate kisses, hands roaming like dark promises.
Delilah’s pulse thundered in her ears, heart wild and erratic, but Kol’s gaze held her steady—possessive, cold, and consuming. He pulled back just enough to lean close, voice a low growl thick with temptation.
“Let me take you deeper,” he murmured, eyes glittering with something fierce and dangerous.
Delilah’s breath caught in her throat, a shiver spiralling down her spine as Kol’s dark eyes locked onto hers, fierce and unyielding. The glass shard gleamed wickedly between his fingers—a cruel, dangerous promise. Her body tensed, heat pooling low and fierce in her core, every nerve alive with a mix of fear and fierce hunger she hadn’t dared to name.
Slowly, deliberately, Kol pressed the sharp edge against the tender skin at the entrance to her cunt. The cold bite of glass sent a flash of fire blooming through her, sharp and searing, and her breath hitched—a startled, trembling sound that was half surrender, half wild need. Her cunt quaked beneath him, every muscle tightening and fluttering in trembling shock.
The shard slid deeper, tracing a slow, exquisite scar that burned through her like a secret rite. Warm blood welled and mingled with the slickness that gathered there, dark and wet and urgent. Delilah’s body shuddered against him, raw and exposed, every inch trembling on the knife-edge between terror and desire.
As he pulled the shard from her folds, Kol’s mouth captured hers fiercely, teeth grazing, tongue demanding, tasting the salt and iron of her blood, the primal scent of her surrender. His hands roamed her body, ruthless and possessive, crushing her to him as he sank inside, slick and slicker still with her blood and his hunger. Every movement was brutal grace—hard thrusts that shattered her defenses and laid her bare, every shudder pushing her closer to the dizzy edge where pain and pleasure collided.
Her skin burned, her breath came ragged and fast, and she lost herself in the electric storm he ignited—raw, wild, devastating. Kol’s dominance was a wave she could neither resist nor escape, dragging her to the brink with every fierce, relentless stroke. Her legs trembled, knees weak, the world narrowing to the feel of him buried deep, the heat and the bite and the cruel, sacred taste of blood.
Just as his body tensed, reaching its fierce, shattering peak, Kol pulled back, biting into his wrist hard. The dark blood spilled, warm and rich, and with trembling lips, Delilah drank, the healing fire blossoming inside her, soothing the scorch and the sting. Her vision blurred at the edges, dizziness creeping in, but Kol’s voice was a dark promise in her ear.
“No dying yet,” he said, voice a harsh whisper, eyes burning bright. “This was far too interesting to kill you.”
Delilah tried to push herself upright, but the world tilted—swirling shadows tugged at her senses, and the rough texture of the shelves blurred beneath her fingertips.
Kol caught her effortlessly, strong and steady despite the chaos coursing between them.
His grip tightened around her waist, cold and possessive, as he lowered her gently to the floor. She didn’t fight the darkness creeping in, didn’t care. The last thing she felt before surrender was his breath, hot and heavy against her ear.
“I’ll find you again,” he promised, voice dripping with promise and threat. “This game’s only just begun.”
And then she slipped away, falling into a chaotic, blood-tinged dreamscape where pain and pleasure merged, and Kol was the dark fire burning at the edge of everything she knew.
Delilah’s eyelids fluttered open to dim light and the distant murmur of voices. The cold stock room was gone; she was lying on a worn leather bench behind the bar, the faint scent of polished wood and stale beer filling the air. Her head throbbed, but it was a gentle pulse now, almost tender.
A man in a faded black vest knelt beside her, his expression unreadable but oddly patient. His eyes didn’t hold surprise, just quiet acceptance—as if finding a bruised woman half-faded into unconsciousness was routine here.
“Hey,” he said softly, voice low and practiced. “You’re safe now. Just rest a moment.”
He moved with careful efficiency—tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, brushing invisible dust from her cheek. His fingers were cool but steady. Delilah blinked, confused. How had she ended up here? What had happened to her?
The man pulled a thick jacket from a nearby coat rack and draped it over her shoulders. It smelled faintly of tobacco and something dark, almost metallic. He reached beneath the counter and produced a small bottle of water, which he pressed into her hand.
“Drink. You’ll feel better,” he said.
Delilah obeyed, the cool liquid soothing the dryness in her throat. Her eyes drifted over her arms, half-expecting the angry red lines to burn and sting—but there was nothing. Her skin was smooth, flawless, untouched. No cuts, no blood.
A slow, creeping disbelief flooded her. Had it all been a dream? The shards of glass, the hunger, the pain—had it only existed in the shadows of her mind?
The man stood and moved to the phone behind the bar, dialling quickly. “Taxi’s on its way. You’ll get home safe.”
She tried to speak, to thank him, but her voice caught in a fragile whisper.
“Rest,” he said again, softer this time, a faint shadow flickering in his eyes. “You’re not the first to find yourself here like this. And you won’t be the last.”
The taxi arrived moments later. As she stepped outside into the cool night air, the city hummed around her, alive and indifferent. The man watched from the doorway, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Delilah wrapped the jacket tighter around her, the warmth spreading through her like a shield. Her mind swirled—was the night before real? Or just a tangled, haunting dream?
Either way, she knew one thing with a sharp, certain edge: the game was far from over.