His phone buzzed against the mattress, a harsh snap of vibration cutting through the dusty amber dark. Liez blinked awake, his hand already moving on instinct, closing around the cold rectangle of glass. The screen lit his face, a pale ghost in the gloom, and he squinted at the unknown number. No name. Just a string of digits he didn't recognize.
The message was short. Four words.
'Is my appointment today?'
He stared at it for a long moment, the sleep still thick in his head, the taste of Dahlia still phantom on his lips. The apartment was silent around him, the way it always was when he was alone—a heavy, watchful quiet, like the walls themselves were waiting for something. He'd gotten good at reading that quiet, at feeling the shape of what lurked just beyond the edge of his vision. But right now, there was nothing. Just the empty room and the glowing screen and this stranger asking him a question that felt strangely intimate.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He could feel the shape of her through the words, somehow—a coldness, a hunger, a patience that had worn grooves into the years. He didn't know how he knew. He just did.
A grin crept across his face, slow and easy, the kind of grin he couldn't help when the supernatural world came knocking with its particular brand of desperation.
He typed back: Yes.
The reply came almost instantly. 'I'll be there soon.'
He set the phone down on the mattress beside him and lay back, staring at the water-stained ceiling. The night settled into waiting, that particular breed of anticipation that always made his skin feel too tight, his blood a little too warm. He'd learned to live in that space, between the promise and the arrival. It was its own kind of ritual.
The smell of spilled liquor and dried sweat hung in the air, the ghost of a dozen nights and a dozen bodies imprinted into the worn floorboards. He'd stripped the sheets at some point—he couldn't remember when—and the mattress lay bare, stained and familiar. The streetlight outside cast a long amber slash across the room, dust motes drifting through it like slow-motion snow.
He ran a hand through his hair, the messy waves tangling around his fingers. His body was still humming from Dahlia's visit, the phantom pressure of her throat around him, the wet heat of her mouth. He could still taste her, faint and coppery, a residue that clung to the back of his tongue. It had been a particular kind of devastation, the way she'd pinned him to the wall and taken him apart with nothing but her lips and her hands and that furnace-warm mouth.
But there was something about this one, this unknown number, that had his cock stirring against his thigh. Something cold and patient and hungry in the way she'd asked. Not a demand. Not a plea. Just a question, as if she'd been waiting so long that she'd forgotten how to do anything but wait.
He swung his legs off the mattress and stood, padding naked across the creaking floorboards to the kitchen. The water was cold when he drank it, but it did nothing to cool the heat coiling low in his gut. He leaned against the counter, staring at his reflection in the dark window—pale and drawn, lips still slightly swollen, the marks of Dahlia's hands fading on his skin.
He was a wreck. He knew it. And he couldn't wait for whatever was coming next.
The minutes crawled. He paced the length of the apartment, his bare feet slapping against the worn wood, the floorboards groaning under his weight. He checked his phone—nothing. He ran his hands through his hair again, the nervous energy building in his chest like a pressure cooker. He was used to being the one in control, the one who set the pace, the one who decided when and how and how much.
But this one felt different. This one felt like she'd been waiting for something, and he was the answer to a question she'd been asking for decades.
The doorbell rang.
The sound cut through the quiet like a blade, sharp and sudden, and Liez froze mid-stride, his heart kicking against his ribs. He stood there for a moment, listening to the echo of it fade, feeling the shape of what waited beyond the door. It was cold. It was patient. It was hungry.
He crossed the room and pulled the door open.
Selene stood on his threshold, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.
She was more solid than he'd ever seen her. The white sundress hung from her shoulders like it was made of moonlight, the fabric clinging to the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts. Her silver-blonde hair fell in long waves past her waist, catching the dim light of the hallway and glowing like spun glass. Her skin was pale, almost luminous, and her eyes—those moonlit grey eyes—were fixed on him with a hunger that made his blood run hot and cold at the same time.
She looked at him like she'd been waiting forever, and she'd finally found the thing she'd been waiting for.
"Hi," she said, her voice soft and echoing, like wind through dead leaves. "I'm Selene. I have an appointment."
Liez opened his mouth to say something—a greeting, a joke, anything to break the electric tension crackling between them—but the words died in his throat. She stepped across the threshold, and the air around her shifted, growing colder, the temperature dropping by several degrees as she moved past him. The door swung shut behind her, the latch clicking into place with a sound that felt final.
And then she was pressed against him, her cool body molding to his, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him down to her level.
"I've been waiting eighty years for this," she breathed, her lips brushing his ear, her voice a low, desperate whisper. "Don't make me wait any longer."
Liez didn't need to be told twice. He had her against the wall before the latch had finished clicking, her legs wrapping around his waist, her dress riding up around her hips. She was cool everywhere—her skin, her breath, the soft press of her mouth against his—but there was a heat beneath it, a desperate, aching hunger that burned through the cold like a fire through ice.
He kissed her hard, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading her wider, pressing her into the wall. She moaned against his mouth, a sound that vibrated through him, and her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, like she couldn't get enough of him.
"Fuck," she gasped, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. Her pupils were blown wide, the grey of her irises swallowed by black. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this. How long I've wanted you."
"You don't even know me," he said, his voice rough, his cock pressing hard against the hollow of her thigh.
"I know enough," she said, and her hand slid down between them, her cool fingers wrapping around his length, stroking him slowly, deliberately. "I know you can see me. I know you don't flinch. I know you're exactly what I've been waiting for."
He groaned, his head falling back against the wall, his hands tightening on her hips. She was cold, but her grip was sure, her strokes firm, and he could feel the hunger in her touch, the decades of loneliness pouring into every caress.
"You want me to fuck you?" he asked, his voice a low, rough growl. "Right here, against this wall?"
"Yes," she breathed, her eyes dark with need. "Yes, fuck, please—"
He didn't give her time to finish. He carried her across the room, her legs still wrapped around his waist, her mouth finding his again, greedy and desperate. He laid her out on the stripped mattress, the dusty amber light painting her pale skin in shades of gold and shadow, and he loomed over her, drinking in the sight of her.
She was beautiful. Translucent only at the edges, where her focus slipped, but solid beneath his hands, real and warm despite the cold that clung to her skin. The white sundress had ridden up to her waist, revealing the pale expanse of her thighs, the slick, glistening heat between them. She was already wet, her cunt glistening in the dim light, and the sight of it made his cock throb, aching and desperate.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice low and rough, his hands sliding up her thighs, spreading her wider. "So fucking wet for me already. You've been saving this up for eighty years, haven't you?"
"Yes," she whimpered, her hips arching against his hands. "Yes, please, don't make me wait—"
"I'm not going to make you wait," he said, and he lowered his mouth to her cunt, his tongue sliding through her slick folds, tasting her. She was cold, but she tasted like honey and frost, a sweetness that made his head spin. She cried out, her fingers fisting in his hair, her thighs clamping around his head as he ate her out, lapping at her clit, fucking her with his tongue.
"Oh, fuck," she gasped, her voice breaking. "Oh, fuck, that's—yes, right there, don't stop—"
He didn't stop. He dragged his tongue through her wet heat, slow and deliberate, savoring every taste of her. Her hips bucked against his mouth, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps, and he could feel her getting closer, her body trembling on the edge of a climax she'd been holding back for decades.
"I want to come inside you," he said, pulling back just enough to look at her, his lips slick with her. "I want to feel that tight little ghost cunt wrapped around my cock."
"Then do it," she begged, her eyes wild, her chest heaving. "Fuck me, Liez. Please—"
He didn't need to be asked twice. He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock pressing against her slick, cool heat, and he drove into her in one hard, brutal thrust.
She screamed.
Her cunt was tight, impossibly tight, a cold, clenching grip that squeezed him like a fist. He groaned, his head falling back, his hands gripping her hips as he buried himself to the hilt inside her. She was so fucking tight, so fucking cold, and the contrast of her cool flesh around his hot cock was enough to drive him insane.
"Fuck," he gritted out, his voice a raw, ragged growl. "You're so fucking tight, Selene. Like you were made for my cock."
"Yes," she sobbed, her nails raking down his back, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Yes, fuck, yes—I've been waiting so long—don't stop, please don't stop—"
He didn't stop. He pulled out almost all the way, then slammed back into her, hard and fast, the way she begged for it. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, wet and obscene, the slap of skin against skin echoing off the walls. She was so tight, so cold, and every thrust sent a shock of pleasure through him, the heat of his cock sinking into her cool, clenching depths.
"You like that?" he growled, his pace brutal, relentless. "You like my cock stretching that tight little pussy?"
"Yes," she moaned, her head thrown back, her eyes screwed shut. "Yes, fuck, yes—harder—please—"
He gave her harder. He fucked her like he was trying to claim her, to brand her, to leave a mark on her that would last another eighty years. Her cunt clenched around him, cold and tight and perfect, and he could feel her climax building, the tremor in her thighs, the desperate pitch of her moans.
"I'm gonna come," she gasped, her voice breaking. "Fuck, I'm gonna come—"
"Come for me," he commanded, his voice low and rough, his hips slamming into hers. "Come all over my cock, Selene. Let me feel it."
She screamed his name as she came, her cunt clenching around him in a tight, rhythmic pulse, her body arching off the mattress. The cold of her flesh seemed to intensify, a shiver that ran through her from head to toe, and he felt his own climax building, the heat coiling low in his gut, demanding release.
"I'm gonna fill you up," he growled, his thrusts becoming frantic, desperate. "I'm gonna pump my hot cum into that cold little pussy—"
"Yes," she sobbed, her legs tightening around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Yes, do it, fill me up—make me feel it—"
He came with a roar, his cock pulsing inside her, emptying his hot seed deep into her cold, clenching depths. She gasped, her body shuddering around him, and for a long moment, they lay there, tangled together, breathing hard, the aftershocks still rippling through them.
Her cunt was still clenching around him, milking him dry, and he could feel the heat of his cum inside her, a warmth that seemed to spread through her cold flesh. She was more solid now, more real, her focus sharp and clear, and when she opened her eyes, they were soft and dazed, filled with a wonder he hadn't seen in a long time.
"That was..." she started, her voice trailing off, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "That was worth eighty years of waiting."