10x God-Tier Stealing System: Pumping S-Rank SuperHeroines Daily!-Chapter 179 - Why Does Your Blood Keep Leaking?
The vampire gasped, eyes bulging as he realized Cruxius was after the emblem.
But his words died in his throat. A sudden, suffocating presence descended on the hallway, sharp enough to suppress their very bloodline. Cold sweat beaded on the vampire’s forehead as he submissively lowered his gaze.
The Queen was watching.
They could feel her gaze pinning them down. They clamped their mouths shut, forced to endure the humiliation as Cruxius took what he wanted.
He pulled out two intricately carved emblems. Each was shaped like a blooming rose bathed in moonlight—heavy, ornate tokens of high authority.
’She might be interested now.’
Cruxius noted the rigid tension in their bodies. They knew she was watching, which meant she saw exactly what he was doing. He had her attention. It was the sole reason he had provoked them in the first place.
These emblems were master keys. They granted access to any restricted wing in the mansion.
Including the Queen’s personal chamber.
Was he daring enough to intrude? Without a doubt.
But for now, he simply stepped over the broken vampires and walked away, leaving them untouched to avoid pushing her patience too far. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞
.
.
.
.
The corridor had long since faded into a heavy silence.
Rolling the cold metal emblems in his palm, Cruxius navigated the winding halls until he faced a towering, silver-framed archway. The door before him was unlike any other in the palace.
It didn’t scream power—it purred it.
The dark mahogany finish seemed to swallow the ambient light, bordered by deep, sensual carvings of roses and serpents locked in a tangled embrace. There was no handle to grab.
Just a smooth, circular indent in the center, perfectly shaped to cradle the moonlit crest.
He didn’t hesitate.
Clink.
The first emblem slid home with a satisfying metallic snap.
Clink.
The second followed. A silent hum vibrated through the floorboards, feeling like a held breath, before the heavy wood began to part. It didn’t swing open; it dissolved outward like heavy curtains of smoke pulled back by a ghost.
A faint chill washed over him. Not a drop in temperature, but a deep, predatory stillness.
Cruxius stepped inside.
The chamber was vast and draped in heavy velvet. The dim air was soaked in a silver hue, spilling from a massive arched window directly above the bed. The stone walls shimmered with subtle enchantments, breathing with a quiet, living rhythm.
And in the center of it all, she lay waiting.
Evangeline.
She reclined on an opulent four-poster bed, surrounded by sheer, gossamer curtains that fluttered without a breeze. A mist-like white nightgown draped over her figure.
It was modest in design, yet the scandalously thin fabric clung to the dip of her waist and the swell of her hips, doing nothing to hide the dark, enticing shadow of her cleavage or the supple curve of her thighs.
One pale arm rested lazily behind her head, lifting her chest. Her liquid-silver hair spilled across the silk pillows, framing a face in the deceptive, serene illusion of sleep. Her plush lips were parted slightly.
Cruxius bypassed the bed, walking toward a lone, plush lounging chair set in the corner of the room.
It wasn’t too close to the mattress, but not far enough to be polite. It was a distance that invited temptation. A silent challenge.
He didn’t say a word.
He simply sat.
And let his eyes wander.
The smirk faded from his lips. No calculation, no overt ambition—just a raw, lingering gaze. He watched the gentle, rhythmic rise and fall of her breasts against the sheer silk. He noticed the minute, almost imperceptible flutter of her thick eyelashes as she fought the urge to look at him.
’She’s awake.’
Of course she was.
She wanted to see how the prey behaved in the lion’s den.
Her senses were absolute. She could taste the subtle spikes in heartbeats, the thick aroma of lust, fear, or reverence the moment a soul breached her domain.
But from him, all she would glean was a maddening stillness.
Because he wasn’t acting. He simply existed in her space.
Leaning deep into the cushions, he crossed one long leg over the other, resting his arms with lazy confidence. A faint, relaxed curve touched the corner of his mouth.
He was unbothered by her oppressive silence. Unshaken by her raw, intoxicating allure.
Not because he was immune to the sight of her nearly bare body.
But because his self-control was absolute. He refused to let his pulse betray him.
Seconds bled into minutes. The quiet stretched thick and heavy.
And without a single word, Cruxius let his eyelids droop, and he fell asleep.
Right there. In her inner sanctum. Breathing her scent. It was the ultimate, arrogant dare.
He knew her abilities well. Faking it wouldn’t work; her acute senses would pick up on the deception. He had to genuinely surrender to sleep.
’She might just suck me off.’
With that amusing thought, a genuine smile touched his lips, and he drifted off.
A flutter.
Not a draft in the room.
Just the heavy drag of his own eyelids.
Cruxius stirred. The pull of consciousness was slow, dragging him through a sluggish haze.
His breathing returned first, shallow and incredibly heavy.
Then, the tactile awareness washed over his skin.
Numb.
He felt a strange, intoxicating warmth settled firmly over his lap. A soft, rhythmic pulse pressed intimately against his hips. A delicate weight rested against his chest.
And then—
Pain?
No.
Not quite.
It was sharper, yet profoundly soft. The distinct sensation of skin yielding, breaking without violence.
It felt like a deep, shuddering sigh being drawn straight from his veins.
He blinked through the fog, and the very first thing his half-lidded eyes registered was a cascade of silver.
Her hair.
Evangeline was straddling him.
Her bare knees bracketed the outside of his thighs, her weight settled perfectly over his lap. The thin nightgown had ridden up, pooling loosely around her waist and exposing the smooth, pale expanse of her bare thighs.
She had her back arched, giving him a flawless view of the moonlight kissing her exposed shoulders.
Her face was close.
Dangerously, intimately close.
Her plush lips were sealed tightly against the crook of his neck. They parted slightly as her sharp fangs remained buried deep in his flesh, drinking rhythmically.
She pulled from him without a shred of shame or haste. Her hands, surprisingly cool and firm, were planted flat against his chest, holding him in place with a gentle, possessive dominance.
And she didn’t stop.
Even as his chest hitched and his eyes fluttered open.
Even when a sharp exhale escaped his lips at the dizzying realization of her slick mouth working against his skin.
She just kept swallowing.
It was only when his dark gaze finally locked onto her face—when she felt the subtle, inevitable spike in his heart rate—that she began to pull back.
Slowly. Agonizingly slowly.
Her eyelids were heavy, drooping with a drunken lethargy. Her normally pale lips were stained a vibrant, slick crimson. A single, thick drop of his blood escaped the corner of her mouth, trickling down her chin to trace the elegant curve of her throat.
She didn’t look like a predator.
She didn’t look seductive.
She looked entirely, bafflingly confused.
"...An hour," she breathed.
Her voice was husky and breathless, like a woman torn from a deep, mesmerizing trance. Her crimson eyes roamed over his face, searching for an answer as she remained planted firmly in his lap, the soft heat of her center still resting heavily against him.
"I’ve been sucking for an hour," she muttered, a faint, puzzled furrow appearing between her brows.
"Why... does it keep coming?"
"Don’t you like it?"
