“I’m sure I told you — that’s not what it is.”

“I can’t believe you.”

Tilda remembered how kind he had been to the women at the party earlier that day.

“Listen carefully, Tilda Vallinea. I’ve never acted this way with anyone before.”

“…”

“No — I never had the interest is more accurate. I was too busy playing the part of the High Priest.”

Though his voice remained calm, there was a subtle weariness in his tone.

“Why me?”

Tilda looked directly at him as she asked.

“Is it just because I’m a vessel for the goddess?”

She knew that was the reason Calles had saved her and that it was tied to his duty towards the Turin people. But his desire for her, which went far beyond what was necessary, was something she couldn’t comprehend.

“That’s something I wonder myself.”

“…”

“Why is it… that every time I look at you, I feel like I’m dying of thirst?”

Although she didn’t think he was lying, his half-hearted explanation did nothing to resolve the turmoil inside her.

“It seems this stiff body of mine happens to be your type.”

Calles’s gaze sharpened at her cutting remark.

“Since you seem to see me as nothing more than a dog in heat, let me tell you something.”

“…”

“The night I pulled you out of the sea, I had to pay a price to save you.”

‘A price…?’

Calles had never said anything like that before. She’d always known it made no sense to revive a dying person or restore sight, but she hadn’t realised there was a cost.

“A price…?”

Tilda blinked slowly, meeting his gaze. There was something about his round, calm eyes; as if he was laying everything bare yet there was still something deep within them that felt like a vast, unreachable void.

“My lifespan.”

“Your… lifespan?”

“My powers aren’t all-powerful. When I use them beyond a certain limit, my life shortens.”

“…”

“I used some of that lifespan to save you.”

Tilda was struck speechless. He had casually revealed that he had shortened his own life. And he wasn’t even human; he was a Turin, a species that only lived half as long as humans. If his lifespan had been reduced further…

A sense of helplessness swept over her as she finally found her voice.

“How much?”

“If I told you, you’d start feeling guilty about everything you’ve said and done up until now.”

“Calles…”

He always dodged the question at the most crucial moments.

But Tilda wasn’t in the mood to let that slide — not this time.

“About ten years.”

Calles dropped onto the bed with a dull thud, his tone flat as he answered.

The average lifespan of a Turin was forty years.

If ten years were taken from that, he didn’t have much time left.

Tilda did the maths in her head and felt as if the ground beneath her had given way.

It was as if she had been plunged back into darkness.

Whack!

Tilda hit him hard on the chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Caught off guard, Calles doubled over with a groan.

“Ugh…”

A quiet sound of pain escaped his lips.

“Because I knew you’d react like this.”

“Still—”

“I didn’t want to tell you. If only you hadn’t kept looking at me like I was some kind of lunatic obsessed with women.”

Calles gently unfolded Tilda’s clenched fist from where it rested on his chest, lacing his fingers with hers.

“You were important to the Turin, yes, but that’s not the only reason I used my power, even at the cost of my life.”

“…”

“So I was hoping… maybe you could be a little kinder.”

As he pulled their interlocked hands towards him, Tilda toppled forward and landed on top of him. Her mind was still spinning too much to push him away.

With a faint smirk, Calles asked.

“By the way, Tilda – did you know?”

His fingers teased her ear and then slowly cradled her small head. Wet strands of her hair clung to his hand and trailed down his skin.

“You’re soaking wet right now.”

“…”

“I’m soaked, too.”

He had a way of making even the most ordinary words sound indecent.

“You should take a bath.”

“I’m too tired.”

‘Too much had happened today: Dealing with Glenn Godleaux at the party, confronting Aklaire and Windsor. And now discovering Calles secret.’

“Leave it to me.”

“…”

“I’ll make sure you don’t have to lift a single finger.”

She knew exactly what he meant, and yet, for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to reject him as she normally would.

Maybe it was because her body felt like a heavy, sodden lump of cotton. Or maybe she simply didn’t feel the urge to resist him anymore.

Receiving no answer, Calles scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bathroom. He placed her gently in the tub and turned on the tap, filling it with hot water.

Her damp chemise and long hair floated gently as the water rose around her.

Splash!

When Calles removed his top and stepped into the tub, the water immediately surged and spilled over the edge.

Tilda glared at the unwelcome guest. But Calles calmly swept his wet hair back and said simply.

“My soaked body was getting cold, too.”

Liar!

His body was always hot, as if he were metal forged in a molten furnace. Even after they had both fallen into the pond, he radiated heat in waves. That was obvious enough.

And now was no different.

The moment he stepped into the bath, the water felt noticeably warmer.

Overcome with fatigue, Tilda leaned back against the edge of the tub drowsily.

He seized the opportunity immediately, slipping off her fluttering chemise beneath the water within seconds.

The bathroom was almost too brightly lit, but somehow the embarrassment felt duller.

Perhaps it was because her floating hair veiled parts of her body like a curtain.

Calles pulled her languid arm, drawing her into his embrace.

Despite still wearing his trousers, the rigid shape pressing against her was unmistakable.

She could feel it: solid and intent, betraying just how aroused he was.

She knew now — he only reacted like this with her.

This realisation, which might once have made her uncomfortable, no longer felt unpleasant.

In fact, it left her with a strange, unfamiliar feeling.

‘Why? Why would he risk his short life for someone he barely knew?’

Just then, something warm touched her back.

It was Calles tongue. He had gathered up her wet hair and started licking away every drop of water running down her neck.

“Why does your skin always taste so sweet?”

Without looking, she could tell that her damp skin was now slick with his saliva, glistening even more in the light.

Calles movements became bolder.

When he licked the sensitive skin behind her ear, Tilda clenched her fists and arched her back instinctively.

“That’s right. You’re sensitive here.”

His soft chuckle made her cheeks flush a deep red.

“Enough with the teasing.”

Tilda muttered, turning her head away and letting her hair slip from his grasp.

“Does it look like I’m teasing?”

“…”

“Sometimes, I really do feel like devouring you until there’s nothing left.”

A strange gleam flickered in his smouldering gaze.

Tilda could see it: his pupils were dark with tightly restrained desire.

Before she could say anything, Calles crashed his lips against hers.

He sucked, rubbed and pressed against her tender lips as if he wanted to bruise them.

When she gasped for air, his tongue surged in, wild and unrelenting.

Without thinking, Tilda wrapped her arms around his neck.

If she hadn’t, she felt like she might have drowned in the force of his desire.

Something about tonight felt different.

She found herself responding more openly than usual, allowing his tongue to explore every corner of her mouth, reacting with a sincerity that even startled her.

Even amidst the whirlwind of overwhelming sensations, Tilda could tell the difference.

It was affection.

Just as on that breathless night when she first responded to him, she could feel her heart opening to someone who truly desired her — and desired her sincerely.

And that was dangerous. She had vowed to live as a devoted servant of the Goddess, never to be swayed by emotion.

Yet this man had crossed the lines she had drawn for herself, disrupting everything, and now her resolve was beginning to waver.

Nevertheless, despite her thoughts, Tilda couldn’t bring herself to push him away. She couldn’t tell whether it stemmed from her own longing for affection, or his undeniable ability to unravel her.

Then Calles pulled away from her lips and kissed the curve of her neck.

Before burying his face between the soft mounds of her br*ast.

“Ah…!”

His wicked tongue traced between them, and before she knew it, Tilda was gripping his silver hair tightly.

She had been wrong.

There was no way she could withstand this storm of desire.

Staring at Calles’s deceptively beautiful, shimmering silver hair, Tilda could only pray for the goddess’s forgiveness.