It only took a few more words of gentle prodding to lure the Hunter back to her side. This time, however, she insisted he lay his head on her chest. "As penance," she teased.

He conceded easily, after that.

The position put her at a unique vantage, she was sure, as she now had a full view of the Hunter's head and face. Doris tried to wrap her arm around him, as he had done with her, but found her reach lacking over his expansive frame. Instead, she settled for tangling her hand into his thick ebony locks.

D felt her small, calloused fingers working through his hair to graze his scalp. The motion sent a ripple of something pleasant down his spine. He did his best to ignore it, his mind still far from easy. The steady pulse of Doris' heart beneath his cheek echoed through him, reminding him of the taste of her. A hint still teased his tongue.

He scowled.

She had offered him her body and blood freely; she had made that explicitly clear to him. And yet how could he deny the danger he had knowingly put her in?

He knew he was susceptible to her charm, had known it since she bared her heart and throat to him that sundrenched afternoon on her farm, those years ago. He had almost taken her right then, just out of earshot of her brother, the sweet smell of the grass mixing with the spiced, heated rush of her skin, driving him towards that monstrous lust. He had fled from her then, disturbed by the illicit temptation she presented him, testing his restraint in a way he had never experienced. He knew how much he wanted her and yet he still allowed himself to succumb to her desires tonight.

And at what cost?

Doris' finger stroked over the tip of one tapered ear, fracturing his attention.

She ran her index finger lightly along the outside of his ear, fascinated by their arcane allure. Another hallmark of the Nobility, just as fearful and damning as sprouting fangs, to some. But not her. She found them to be beautiful, just like the rest of him.

She had never seen a naked man before today. Well, at least, not in a carnal sense. She had bathed her brother as a babe, and had seen a shirtless worker around town here or there, but nothing could've prepared her for the Hunter's staggering physique. He was like a marble sculpture, so cool and smooth and refined. Every muscle flowed under his gossamer skin like water.

D twitched against her chest when she flitted over the top of his ear again. She smiled mischievously. "Can I ask you a question, D?"

"Anything," he responded, succinct and ringing with promise.

The tone caught her off guard, impish smirk falling from her face. She had just wanted to tease him again, stone faced as he was, by asking if he was ticklish. But the possibility of being able to ask him anything intrigued her.

She licked her lips. "...Anything?" she whispered, suddenly breathless.

D shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, her hand falling away. He studied her face as if searching for some hint as to what she might ask, or perhaps trying to evaluate the risk of offering any kind of information about himself.

Eventually, he repeated, "Anything."

A dozen questions raced through her mind, cluttering up her thoughts. There was so much she was eager to know about him but an opportunity like this couldn't be squandered on something so banal as where he was from–not that she would really want to ask, given his lineage–or how he became a Hunter. Rather, she wanted it to be something special, and perhaps a little personal, something just for her to know. Something that would be hers to keep in her heart of hearts.

His thumb brushed over her bottom lip. She grabbed his hand and planted a kiss on the palm. Once again, she held it to her chest.

Doris took a deep breath. "Tell me about your mother."

Something hardened in his gaze, a bitterness settling over his lips. But a moment later his expression softened. "I don't remember much about her…" he admitted.

D tried to recall his mother's face as he had seen it so many times, filtered through glass and fluid, her blue eyes full of concern. She had been a tall, fair-skinned woman, lovely and refined. She would visit him often in those few months before her death, when the Sacred Ancestor's success was nearly complete. Her voice had been like spooled honey when it poured over him, sweet and comforting, telling him stories, or detailing a scientific discovery, or imparting a secret.

She was like a phantom, both real and not real. And he had loved her just the same.

"She was beautiful," he settled on after a while. He freed his hand from Doris' grasp to take a tendril of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, saying, "She had dark hair, like yours." He ran the silken strands over his knuckle. "She was wise, and kind." He bent to kiss the strands of her hair before letting them cascade down against her shoulder. "I wish I had known her better."

His quiet words were wreathed with wistfulness. Doris waited until he looked back at her before asking, gently, "What was her name?"

"Mina." A name long forgotten to the annals of history; a name that would live forever in his heart.

Doris slotted her hand into his, twining their fingers together. "I am sorry for your loss." She gave his hand a small squeeze. "Thank you for sharing your memory of her with me."

They regarded each other silently in the firelight, the sound of the rain cushioning the air around them. The way his eyes moved over her body made a rush of warmth pool in her belly. His gaze was measured, devoid of greed or urgency, drinking in her form. He was the picture of a fallen angel, reposed and radiant as he was, his pristine brow dimpled with unspoken sorrow.

She couldn't help but press a kiss onto those perfect lips. Blissfully, he reciprocated, leaning into her touch, lips parting just enough to taste one another. It made her head swim, her hands coming up to his chest of their own volition. The kiss did not deepen but rather spread, her lips trailing up over his cheeks, his temple, his brow, hungry as she was for more of him.

D closed his eyes lightly, her hair teasing his nose. With Doris' breath on his face and her warm hands on his skin, he couldn't help but wonder if this is what it had been like between his parents, once upon a time. Theirs had been a whirlwind affair, from what he gathered, but how it started was a mystery to him. Whether his mother had been seduced or if she had come willingly, whether or not they had truly been in love at all. Or if a monster like his father was even capable of such love.

The thought made him pause.

What about himself? Was he capable?

He knew he could feel love, as he had held some semblance of it for his mother. But was it the same love that Doris had professed? Did he, in turn, love her?

Her teeth nipped at the tendons of his neck, startling him from his reverie. She chuckled at his reaction, her low, throaty laugh rumbling through his chest. And when she looked up to him, dark eyes full of roguish heat, the answer was very clear:

Yes.

Yes he did.