Chapter 7: Venom Withdrawal: The First Relapse
The return was a blur of wrong-colored leaves and a pain in her knees that felt like ground glass. One moment she was face-down on the cold, jagged stones of the shrine, the next she was stumbling through the familiar, grimy mouth of her own alley, the grey dress dissolving into mist on her skin. She’d retched, bringing up nothing but golden-tinged saliva that burned the pavement. Then she’d crawled up the stairs to her apartment, every muscle protesting, the mark on her neck a brand.
That was three days ago.
Now, Liana awoke screaming.
It wasn’t a sound of terror, but of release, a raw, tearing noise that scraped her throat as she arched off the mattress. Her sheets were soaked, a damp tangle around her legs. The dream clung to her, viscous and detailed: Niamh’s mouth, not on her neck, but lower, the sharp points of her teeth grazing the inside of Liana’s thigh before sinking in, not to feed, but to pour something in. A liquid heat that rushed through her veins, coalescing between her legs into a throbbing, relentless ache.
The ache was real.
She gasped, throwing the covers back. The room was dark, her old clock reading 3:17 AM. But she could see too clearly. The peeling wallpaper seemed to pulse. The stacks of books breathed in the shadows. And the vines—the ones she’d thought were just invasive ivy—crept from a crack near the ceiling, thicker now, their leaves a darker green. They seemed to turn, as if observing her.
Her body was a traitor. Despite the chill in the air, her skin was fever-hot. A flush spread from her chest down her stomach. Between her legs, she was throbbing, wet, utterly empty in a way that felt more painful than any physical wound. The memory of being filled, stretched, owned on that stone altar wasn’t a memory. It was a physical demand. She pressed her thighs together, a weak attempt at friction, and a broken sob escaped her. It provided nothing but a taunting echo of relief.
She slid a hand down her stomach, her fingers trembling. She touched herself, a tentative brush over her clit. A shockwave of sensation, far too intense, made her jerk her hand away. It wasn’t right. Her own touch was a pathetic, mortal imitation. It was like trying to quench a forest fire with a thimble of water. The emptiness yawned wider, an abyss lined with phantom sensation.
“Fuck,” she whispered to the dark, humid air. The word felt foreign in her mouth, a vulgar truth.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to summon the orderly lines of a cataloguing system, the dry smell of aged paper, the quiet solace of her shop. Instead, she saw the cracked mirror, reflecting her want. She tasted crushed roses and iron. She felt the cool, unyielding embrace of the silver vines.
Her hips gave a small, involuntary roll against the mattress. Shame burned hotter than the desire. She was doing it again, coming back to it, playing the scene over and over like a filthy film. She bit her lip, drawing a coppery tang, trying to anchor herself in pain. It didn’t work. The phantom pressure built, a climax hovering just out of reach, maddening. She was a bowstring drawn too tight, vibrating with a note only Niamh could hear.
“Come crawling back already, pet?”
The voice was inside her skull and woven through the rustling leaves of the vines. It was a low, melodic taunt. “I knew you’d break fast.”
Liana’s eyes flew open. Niamh wasn’t there. And yet, she was everywhere. The air thickened, tasting of petal-struck rain. The shadows in the corner of the room deepened, swirled, and then she stepped from them as simply as one might step from behind a curtain.
She wore nothing but a shift of clinging, dark silk this time. Her moonlight hair was loose, framing a face of cruel, exquisite beauty. Her eyes glowed with a soft amber light, like a predator’s in the dark.
“I didn’t call you,” Liana stammered, pulling the damp sheet up to her chin, a futile gesture.
Niamh smiled, a flash of sharp white. “Your cunt did.” She took a step forward, and the room seemed to shrink, the walls pressing in, the bookshelves leaning closer to listen. “It’s been singing to me for hours. A desperate, wet little song. I could hear it from the between-places.”
“Stop it,” Liana whispered, but her body screamed otherwise. Her nipples were hard peaks against the cotton sheet. Heat pooled in her belly.
“Stop?” Niamh laughed softly. She was at the bedside now, looking down. With a lazy finger, she hooked the sheet and pulled it down, exposing Liana’s trembling body. “Look at you. Soaked for me. And you haven’t even been touched.” She leaned in, inhaling deeply near Liana’s throat. “You reek of need. It’s pathetic. It’s delicious.”
Liana tried to turn away, but Niamh’s hand snapped out, fingers tangling in her auburn hair, holding her fast. The grip was demanding, perfect.
“Say it,” Niamh murmured, her lips a breath from Liana’s. “Say you want me to fuck it out of you.”
Liana shook her head, a tiny, frantic motion. Tears of frustration and humiliation welled in her eyes.
Niamh’s other hand slipped between Liana’s legs. Her touch wasn’t gentle. It was a claiming. Two fingers slid through her wetness, gathering it, then pushed inside without ceremony. Liana cried out, her back bowing off the bed. It was too much, it was not enough.
“So tight,” Niamh groaned, her own breath hitching. “Tighter than before. Your body is remembering the shape of me.” She crooked her fingers, finding a spot that made Liana see white sparks. “Now say it. Or I walk back into the shadows and leave you like this. Forever.”
The threat was worse than the violation. The idea of this aching, unfinished torture stretching into eternity shattered the last of Liana’s resistance. “Please,” she choked out.
“Please what?”
“Fuck me.” The words were a gravelly scrape of surrender. “Please, just… fuck me. Do it. I can’t… I can’t stand it.”
Niamh’s smile was triumphant and vicious. She withdrew her fingers, slick and glistening, and wiped them slowly across Liana’s parted lips. Liana tasted herself, salty and sweet. “Good pet.”
In a movement too swift to follow, Niamh was on the bed, her body covering Liana’s. The silk shift was gone, melted into shadow. Her skin was cool, a shocking contrast to Liana’s fevered heat. She kissed her, not with passion, but with ownership, her tongue plunging into Liana’s mouth, claiming that space too.
Then she shifted, moving down Liana’s body. She didn’t use her hands. She used her mouth, her teeth, her tongue. She nipped at the inside of Liana’s thighs, making her jump, then soothed the spot with a flat, hot lick. She took her time, an agonizing, exquisite torture, until Liana was whimpering, her hands fisted in the sheets.
When Niamh’s mouth finally found her clit, it wasn’t gentle. It was devouring. She sucked, hard, her tongue lapping at the sensitive bundle of nerves with a ruthless, focused rhythm. Liana shattered almost immediately, a sharp, breathless climax tearing through her. But before the waves had even receded, Niamh was moving again.
She flipped Liana onto her stomach with effortless strength. A hand between her shoulder blades pressed her down into the mattress. Liana felt the cool, hard line of Niamh’s body against her back, felt her knee nudging her legs apart.
“You’re mine,” Niamh whispered, not a question, a fact etched in stone and sealed in blood.
Liana only had time to nod, her face buried in her own pillow, before Niamh entered her from behind.
It was deeper this way. A brutal, complete possession. Niamh didn’t start slow. She drove into her with a single, powerful stroke that forced the air from Liana’s lungs in a whoosh. She set a relentless, pounding pace, each thrust jolting Liana forward, the headboard knocking a dull rhythm against the wall. The pain was there, a bright edge, but it was utterly consumed by a pleasure so vast it felt like annihilation.
“Take it,” Niamh grunted, her voice strained with her own effort. “Take all of me. That’s what you begged for.”
Liana could only moan, a continuous, ragged sound muffled by the pillow. Her world narrowed to the slam of Niamh’s hips against her ass, the slap of skin, the unbearable fullness, the filthy, wet sounds of their joining. The coiled tension that had plagued her for days was being ruthlessly hammered into a new, sharper peak.
Niamh’s hands gripped her hips, hard enough to bruise, holding her in place for every punishing thrust. One hand slid around, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Liana’s belly, then lower, finding her clit again. The pressure, the friction, the relentless invasion—it was too much. It was everything.
Liana came again, a violent, silent convulsion that locked her muscles and tore a silent scream from her throat. Her cunt clenched tightly around Niamh, who let out a sharp, guttural cry. Niamh’s rhythm broke, becoming frantic, ragged. She pulsed inside Liana, her own release hot and deep, her body shuddering against Liana’s back.
For a long minute, the only sounds were their harsh breaths and the creak of the bed. Niamh’s weight slumped onto her, cool skin slick with sweat.
Slowly, Niamh pulled out. Liana felt the loss instantly, a cool emptiness where there had been searing fullness. She didn’t move. She couldn’t.
Niamh rolled off her and stood beside the bed. Liana heard her, felt her presence like a chill in the room. She forced her head to turn.
Niamh was already dressed, the dark silk shift back in place, not a hair out of order. She looked down at Liana, a sprawl of spent limbs and sweaty skin. Her expression was unreadable, a mask of perfect, immortal beauty.
“The door will appear when the moon is next new,” she said, her voice flat. “Not before. Don’t bother looking.”
She turned to leave, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder. Her eyes, now a cool emerald, swept over Liana’s marked neck, her bruised hips, the mess on the sheets. “The dreams will get worse,” she said, almost conversationally. “The hunger will too. It’s the oath working. Settling into the hollow spaces of your human soul.” A faint, cruel smile touched her lips. “Try to read your books, little mouse. See how long the words hold your attention.”
She stepped into a patch of deep shadow by the bookshelf and was gone.
Liana lay still, listening to the sound of her own heart. The physical ache was soothed, for now. But the deeper emptiness, the one Niamh had carved out and whispered into, remained. It sat in her chest, a quiet, thirsty void. She looked at her bookshelves, her familiar, comforting towers of knowledge. For the first time in her life, they looked like paper and dust. The vines on the wall rustled softly, as if in agreement.