Morris’s eyes snapped open. Night had fallen. A clear beam of moonlight streamed through the square window, spilling silently across the room—from the bed straight to the door.
He exhaled a shaky breath, drenched in cold sweat. His clothes clung damply to his skin, making it hard to breathe. Blood? Something else? He couldn’t tell. A thin blanket covered him. Vision blurred, he tried to sit up—but a hand pressed firmly against his chest, pushing him back down.
“Rest,” Lenna’s face appeared above him. She leaned close, her gaze meeting his over the gentle swell of her chest. “Be at ease.”
“How can I be at ease…” Morris gave a bitter chuckle. The familiar scent of her slowly soothed his restless heart. He sighed, turned his head toward the ceiling, resting on her soft thigh. “What happened after I passed out?”
“It’s not as bad as you think. At least we’re in your family’s guest room—not a cell.” Lenna gently brushed the damp hair from his forehead, revealing the bandaged wound. Faint crimson stains dotted the pale gauze. Her voice trembled as she hugged him, tears falling. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”
The pressure of her chest wasn’t suffocating—just a little stifling. Helplessly, Morris patted her back like comforting a child. Her sobs grew louder. He simply held her, letting her cry against him.
“Not your fault. Mine. I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Did it bring back memories of three years ago?”
“That’s not the point,” Lenna whispered, tightening her arms around him. “I thought… I really thought I’d lose you this time.”
Morris almost snapped back—*You never had me to lose*—but swallowed the words. He sighed silently.
They stayed like that until the memory surged: the Arcanum’s violent outbreak. Space fracturing into block-like shards. Power he’d never truly wielded. And the final flash—Lenna standing at the storm’s heart, silver hair whipping in the wind, space crumbling around her as she reached for him without hesitation.
He touched his forehead, wiggled his legs. Relief washed over him—limbs intact. No major injuries. Just a headache like ants marching in formation, gnawing relentlessly.
*Saints. What a disaster.*
“Miss Lenna, please… let me sit up,” Morris pleaded. “Your legs must be numb. Think of those beautiful long legs of yours.”
Hesitating between compliment and jab, Lenna finally relented. He leaned against the wall, waiting until the throbbing eased. “So… what really happened?”
“Your Arcanum went berserk. One full eruption would’ve destroyed the whole restaurant—and everyone inside. Maybe even all of Zheer District… Luckily, I was there.” She stuck out her light-pink tongue, showing fresh bite wounds. Morris froze, disbelief flashing across his face—
*You took advantage of me again?!*
(He only thought it—a lame joke even to himself. Nonsense.) He stared at her, voice rough. “You… saved me again?”
“I barely suppressed it.” Lenna lowered her gaze. Moonlight caught the fine curve of her lashes. “Only the top-floor private room was damaged—shattered windows, collapsed walls. Repairs will cost plenty… but no casualties. Miss Yieta and Lord Croft arranged our return.”
“Thank goodness.” Morris sighed, patting his head—then froze. He grabbed Lenna’s hand, voice dropping to a whisper. “…How are Uncle and Aunt?”
“They’re fine.” Her expression cooled. “But *that woman* looked at you like you were a monster. I hated it.”
“Aunt’s always been like that,” Morris said with a quiet smile. “And Uncle?”
“He said ‘come home first.’ Lord Croft saw us to the carriage. As I carried you away, he patted my shoulder quietly—said he couldn’t accept Yieta as a second wife… hoped I’d step aside.” She met his eyes. “What do you think?”
“Like hell! I won’t marry anyone! I want to choose my own love!” Morris nearly exploded. After a frustrated slump, he looked up at her, voice softening. “Are *you* okay?”
“My tongue stings, but it’s fine.” She glanced away. “Who knew you’d bite after sucking? Lord Alex was right—you ran from the Order because they neglected your OO, Morris. Pervert. Big wolf. Tongue-obsessed idiot.”
Heat flooded Morris’s face. He opened his mouth to protest—but Lenna leaned in. White filled his vision. A sweet-metallic tang spread across his tongue as she sucked gently. Wincing at the wound, she closed her eyes… then a new coppery taste bloomed between them.
She pulled back, blinking at him. Morris wiped his lips, head bowed. “A Saint’s blood heals wounds… It’s not that I dislike you. I just need air.”
He swallowed the blood-tinged saliva, pushed back the blanket, and walked out—bandage circling his head.
Only then did Lenna notice: the ache in her tongue was gone. Bite marks vanished. As if they’d never been.
“…Huh.” She whispered to the empty room. “Saints… can be this gentle too?”
Outside, Morris found Sif curled against the wall, fast asleep. He shook her shoulder—no response. *Must’ve been waiting ages. Lucky it’s spring-summer… else she’d catch a cold and face fourteen-day quarantine…* Muttering, he carried her to the spare room. Bed tidy. Floor clean. Quilt folded. Cabinet untouched. He tucked her in gently. *Poor kid.* As he turned to leave, her small hand caught his sleeve in sleep.
“Daddy…” Tears glistened at her closed eyes. “Mommy… don’t send me away… I’ll do anything… let me stay with you…”
Morris stood frozen beside the bed. *She’s truly alone now.*
He gently freed his sleeve.
*After this… send her to the Church. Alex will welcome a witch of her talent to Lunhai. As for me… run far. Far from Macedon City. Even if just to escape the Holy Maiden’s advances.*
A sound. He turned. At the door—Lenna, silver hair glowing in the moonlight.
Back in the room, she whispered, “Not so afraid of your own blood anymore?”
“It was never just about the blood,” Morris grinned weakly. He knew the smile was hollow before her. He sat on the bed. “It’s the shadows someone stirs up inside you.”
“Like three years ago,” he murmured.
Three years ago, in the Demon Realm—when he’d nearly slaughtered everything before her. She’d done the same thing then.
Head throbbing, he lay back. “Talk tomorrow. Check the family’s stance. Go sleep on the other bed.”
Then—a weight beside him. He turned. Crimson eyes held tender, unspoken emotion.
“…Sleep well.”
“Sure. Morris the pervert—who ‘needed fresh air’ but really went to take advantage of a sleeping little girl.”
“DON’T SPREAD THAT!!!”
