The Exchange of Essence

Reader’s Note: This is a first-draft deleted scene from the Emberveil Festival.

It’s raw and unpolished — some moments shine, others I would have revised.

Still, it felt worth sharing. There’s something alive here.

The Emberveil Festival —
a sacred gathering.
A celebration of life, connection, and raw magic.

For the nymphs, whose essence is woven with nature, sensuality, and survival, the festival is more than tradition. It’s a ritual of bonding. Of pleasure. Of return.

The Exchange of Essence has been part of the festival since its earliest beginnings — a ceremony both ancient and intimate. 

The Exchange of Essence

Hessa’s 1st POV

The clearing where the festival began is alive with flickering firelight. The massive bonfire—burning since the first night—roars with renewed strength, its flames licking toward the sky. Symbolic. Eternal, unyielding, unbreakable. A reflection of love itself.

Mates last forever. A commitment stronger than death.

I stand beside Layne, but I don’t dare look at him yet.

King Corszen stands on a raised platform, his expression unreadable. Regal. Commanding. That bastard.

King Corszen: “Ladies and gentlemen, we arrive at the most sacred part of our festival—the Exchange of Essence.”

A hush falls over the gathered nymphs and vampires alike.

King Corszen: "The Exchange of Essence is an ancient Nymph ritual, designed to strengthen a couple’s bond by intertwining their magic. A moment of true understanding between partners. A moment of raw, unguarded vulnerability.”

My throat tightens. Raw, unguarded vulnerability.

King Corszen: “Through this exchange, partners will share a piece of their very being. For a few hours, they will feel each other’s emotions as if they were their own. They will trade senses. They will trade instincts. A vampire will understand the energy of a nymph’s magic. A nymph will experience the hunger of a vampire’s thirst.”

Layne shifts beside me. I finally glance up at him.

He’s listening intently, his chiseled features calm, but his eyes burn with anticipation.

Gods, he’s beautiful.

And he has no idea what’s coming.

Corszen’s voice booms over the crowd. “Let the ceremony begin!”

Couples begin stepping forward.

There are five high priests, each standing in a separate gazebo, adorned in ceremonial robes woven with golden thread. The air shimmers around them with barely contained power.

Layne and I step into our gazebo.

At the center, a golden pot sits atop a pedestal.

Inside—a thick, bubbling liquid mixed with herbs and crushed leaves. The scent is sharp, almost bitter. And beside it—a ceremonial dagger.

The High Priest lifts the blade and turns to Layne. "Vampire King, you will cut into Hessa’s palm. Her blood must be offered first."

Layne takes the knife, his grip steady, his gaze flickering to me in question. I give him a small nod.

His fingers brush over mine as he lifts my hand. Gentle. Careful. He presses the tip of the blade to my palm and slices—not deep, but enough.

A crimson drop falls into the golden pot.

The High Priest turns to me next. "Now, Hessa, do the same."

I take the knife from Layne. His skin is cool under my touch. His pulse, steady.

I press the blade to his palm. A small cut. Blood drips into the pot.

The High Priest clasps his hands together. "Join hands."

We do.

The moment our blood mingles in the pot, smoke rises in thick silver tendrils. The priest chants in a language I don’t understand, and suddenly—

I feel it.

A shift. A pull deep inside my core.

My magic—gone.

Replaced with hunger. A raw, gnawing craving.

Layne gasps, his fingers tightening around mine. His eyes dilate—he’s feeling it too.

The world tilts as my senses heighten. The air feels different, sharper. I can hear his heartbeat as if it’s my own. Feel his emotions twisting with mine.

And the strongest of them all—

His love for me.

It slams into me like a tidal wave.

His fear of losing me.
His longing.
His desperate hope that I will one day choose him.

Gods.

He’s been hiding it. But now I know.

The ceremony is done. We move out of the way to be replaced by another couple excited for the process. Casting a stark difference between our tense *iono fill it in*. 

Every couple retreats back to their respective tents. To reflect, connect. We retreat back to get our footing. Collect our thoughts. 

A few moments after stepping into our tent, Layne watches me closely. He knows I feel it now. Sees it in me.

His voice is soft. "It’s okay."

He tilts his head, baring his throat. An invitation.

My pulse races. No… I don’t—

But the craving is overwhelming. This isn’t me.

Layne murmurs as if reading my thoughts. "It will come naturally. You will know instinctively."

I don’t want to do this.

But I can’t stop.

My fangs—fangs?—elongate. I feel his pulse thrumming beneath his skin, calling me.

I press my lips to his neck.

Then—I bite.

Layne groans, his hands tightening around my waist.

His blood is warm. Thick. A dark elixir sliding over my tongue, hitting my stomach like liquid fire. Powerful. Consuming.

And with it—an arousal unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Different. Primal. 

I moan against his throat. My hips press against his, my body burning.

Layne grips my hair, pulling me back just enough to look me in the eyes. His lips part. His voice—raw, husky, filled with want.

"Hessa."

I shudder.

I am starving.

And I need more.

I feel his pleasure before I hear it.

A deep, guttural moan rumbles from his chest, vibrating against me as his grip tightens.

Layne: "Gods…" his voice is a whisper, raw and needy. "I’ve never been bitten before. It feels so good."

Before I can process his words, he shifts me onto his lap, and suddenly—I feel everything.

Not just the hardness of his body against mine, not just the way his fingers press into my waist like he never wants to let go.

The Exchange of Essence binds us in ways I never anticipated.

I look at him, searching, needing to understand. “You’ve never been bitten? Not even when you… make love?”

Layne meets my gaze, unwavering, unguarded. There is so much emotion there.

And because of the bond, I feel it, understand it—

The trust he has in me.
The devotion he has for me.
The desperate hope that I will one day choose him fully.

He swallows, his voice low, honest. "No. Never."

And he doesn’t have to say more. I feel the truth of it.

He only wants this with me.

Only me.

A lump forms in my throat, something too heavy, too real to process.

I lean forward, my tongue flicking out, licking the wound closed. His breath hitches, his hands twitching against my waist, like he’s struggling for control.

Then he murmurs, “Did you have enough?”

I meet his gaze. My lips part. "Yes."

His smirk is slow, knowing. "Lie."

I suck in a sharp breath.

Of course, he feels it. The bond won’t let us lie to each other.

And right now—right now, I don’t think I want to hide.

His lips find the back of my hand, pressing a slow, lingering kiss before trailing up my arm. Each press of his lips is deliberate, reverent—like he’s committing my body to memory.

Layne's voice drops, low, velvety, dangerous—and I feel it everywhere. "Is this what it’s like for you? Always?"

A shiver crawls down my spine. My breath catches.

I swallow, trying to focus. "What do you mean?"

Layne pulls back just enough, his mouth curling into something wickedly amused. “Aroused.”

Heat floods my cheeks.

I tilt my head, letting my fingers drag slowly down his chest, down the firm muscles of his abdomen.

“Is that how you feel right now?” I ask, voice teasing, curious—watching the way his breath hitches as my nails graze his skin.

My nails.

I look down, realizing—they’ve sharpened.

Like his. Like a vampire.

Layne notices too. His eyes darken, a slow smirk playing at his lips.

"You look beautiful as a vampire," he murmurs, his fingers brushing my cheek, tilting my chin up. His gaze softens. "But you always look beautiful."

And then—his lips trail down my neck. My jaw. My ear.

My fingers curl against his chest.

I want more.

The thought barely forms before he answers it.

Layne exhales against my skin, his lips curving into a smirk.

"As you wish."

Layne rips my dress apart, fabric shredding beneath his hands like it’s nothing. Even without his sharp nails, his nymph-driven strength, his need, his raw hunger—he’s relentless. Unstoppable.

I love seeing him like this—completely undone by the magic coursing through him. He’s connected to nature, to sensation, to his body in a way I don’t think he ever has been before. Normally, he’s so controlled, so calculated. But not now. 

Now, he’s fire and desperation and need.

I rake my nails across his chest, and he groans, muscles rippling beneath my touch. His shirt doesn’t stand a chance—I tear it open, exposing his lean, powerful body, and he glows. It’s stunning.

He’s always soul-stirring, but like this? Like this, he’s devastating.

His skin is illuminating from his arousal, glowing faintly in the dim light, a shimmer of power and desire rolling off him like a storm barely contained. His body is rigid, muscles taut beneath my touch, every inch of him thrumming with the tension of restraint. He looks almost otherworldly—dangerous and divine all at once, his azul eyes darkened with lust, his breath coming faster, heavier.

Gods, he’s breathtaking like this. Undone. Helpless beneath the weight of what he feels. Beneath the weight of us.

I undo his belt, pushing his trousers down, and suddenly, we are bare. Skin to skin. No more barriers. No more lies.

His length is thick, heavy, straining, but still, he caters to me first. He lays me down, the bed warm beneath my back, but his body? Blazing.

Then—he pins me, his weight pressing into me, possessive, claiming, and his lips are everywhere. My neck, my collarbone, my breasts. His mouth devours, and his hands—Gods, his hands.

His fingers slide between my thighs, searching, teasing—then plunging in.

I cry out from the pleasure.

"You're so wet for me." His voice is husky, ruined. His lips part, eyes glinting as he watches his fingers sink into me, over and over. "So tight."

His tongue flicks over my nipple as his fingers curl inside me. I arch, grinding against him, desperate for more. The way he moves, the way he worships me—it sends my mind spiraling.

Then suddenly—he stills.

Layne looks up at me, eyes dark with something unreadable.

"What’s wrong?" I pant.

He shudders. "I feel your pleasure."

My breath catches. Oh.

The essence exchange.

His fingers begin to move again, slow, torturous circles, and a moan rips from both of us. The pleasure isn’t just mine anymore—it’s his, too. He feels everything.

Gods.

I reach between us, wrapping my hand around his cock, stroking him, slow, firm. He hisses through his teeth, head falling forward.

And I feel it.

The heat, the pulse, the aching need.

My own body clenches, as if I’m feeling my own touch. This is exquisite. Nothing I’ve ever experienced before.

I don’t want it to stop.

"This reminds me of the tree hollow," I whisper.

Layne’s gaze locks onto mine. Dark. Intense. Dangerous.

Then, he smirks, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that sends heat pooling between my legs. His voice is a rough whisper, thick with hunger.

"Yes," he murmurs, tracing a fingertip down my arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "At the time, I wasn’t honest with my feelings. But I always wanted you. From the moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you."

His words coil around me like a spell, intoxicating, undeniable. My pulse quickens, my body betraying me as a shiver runs down my spine. I swallow, feeling his desire like a second heartbeat inside me.

I know.

Because I feel it too.

His lips brush mine.

"You are my obsession."

I look at him, tender, breathless, heart pounding in my chest.

"Layne… I—"

But before I can finish, he brushes his thumb over my cheek, interrupting me with a soft, knowing smile.

"It’s okay," he murmurs. "I know you’ll get there when you’re ready. I just want you to know—I’m always ready. I’m not going to deny it any longer."

Gods.

The way he looks at me, the certainty, the devotion in his eyes—I can’t help it. I kiss him. Tender, deep, slow. Then urgent, consuming, desperate.

And just like that, we fall into each other again.

His hands are relentless, knowing—working me over with a precision that has my body trembling beneath him. Every stroke, every movement, every sensation builds and builds until I can’t take it.

"Yes…" he murmurs, watching me come undone for him.

Until finally—I shatter.

The pleasure consumes me, waves of ecstasy rolling through me, spasming around his hand. I grip his arm so tightly, my nails rake against his skin. His muscles tense. His body stills.

Then—he groans, deep and guttural.

He feels it. My release triggers his.

His head falls back, his body shudders, and he spills his hot, thick release across my stomach, my thighs. I feel everything—his pleasure floods through me, overtaking my own. Intoxicating. Overwhelming.

We’re both left panting, spent, glowing from the exchange.

I smile lazily, whispering, "Otherworldly."

Layne smirks, chest heaving. 

But I’m not done with him yet.

I push him onto his back, rolling over him, trailing kisses across his face, his jaw, his neck. Slow. Sensual. Devouring.

He groans, but he doesn’t stop me.

His breath catches as my lips travel lower—his chest, his stomach— until I reach between his legs.

He’s hard again—aching, heavy, leaking, ready for me.

I glance up at him.

His eyes are wide, confused, aroused. "What’s going on?"

I smirk, wrapping my hand around his length, stroking slowly.

"You don’t know?" I tease.

Layne sucks in a sharp breath, his hands fisting the sheets.

I lean in, lips brushing his ear. Soft. Dangerous.

"Male nymphs can have multiple orgasms."

His blue eyes flicker with realization.

"I… did not know that." He exhales sharply, his body already reacting to my touch.

A wicked grin spreads across his lips.

"This," he breathes, pulling me closer, his voice thick with want, "is going to be a fun couple of hours."

I look up at him, my lips parted, my breath warm against his skin. A knowing smile plays on my lips before I take him into my mouth.

His sharp inhale is followed by a groan, deep and guttural. I savor the sound, letting it coil through me as I stroke him, slow, deliberate. My tongue traces along his length, teasing, testing his patience.

His fingers tangle in my hair, tightening when I flick my tongue over the head of his cock. His hips twitch, his control slipping. Good. I want him to lose control. I want him undone, raw, desperate.

“Hessa…” he breathes, voice thick with lust. “Fuck… yes… more…”

I hum against him, letting him feel the vibration as I take him deeper. The way he reacts—the way his body trembles under my touch—sends a wave of heat between my legs. But I want more. I want him to feel everything.

He’s lost in it, overwhelmed, drowning in the intensity.

I smile against him before taking him fully again, dragging my tongue along his shaft, savoring his reaction. He shudders, his hips twitching up involuntarily.

His entire body jolts. A broken moan rips from his throat, his fingers gripping my hair tighter as I move, slow, then faster.

"Gods… Hessa… " His voice is raw, wrecked.

His voice is ragged, raw. His body is no longer his own—it’s mine to command, mine to ruin. I feel his desire sharpen, the coil in his gut tightening as he fights to hold on. But I don’t want him to hold on.

I want him to unravel for me.

His need crashes into me like a tidal wave, overwhelming, intoxicating. I feel it all—his hunger, his pleasure, his love. It consumes me.

I take him deeper, my tongue pressing firmly along his underside, and that’s all it takes. His restraint snaps.

And I know the moment he loses himself completely. 

His hips start thrusting into my face, raw and unrestrained, his control slipping away with each desperate movement. I love it. Gods, I love it. I love seeing him like this—wild, undone, lost in me. His breath is ragged, his grip in my hair tightening as he chases his release.

I wonder if he feels my satisfaction, the way it consumes me, the way his pleasure feeds my own. But he’s too far gone, too caught in the storm of lust and need and hunger.

Layne shudders violently, his release spilling hot into my mouth, his grip on me almost bruising. I take every drop, savoring it, my lips glistening as I pull away.

His chest rises and falls rapidly, his body still trembling in the aftermath. He looks at me like I’ve just shattered his entire world.

Layne looks down at me, his chest heaving, his pupils blown wide with awe and something dangerously close to worship.

“You are my addiction, my need, my undoing.” His voice is rough, reverent.

I smirk, wiping the corner of my mouth with my thumb before sucking it between my lips.

"I know."

But the truth is, I feel it. I feel everything.

And for the first time… I wonder if I might be just as obsessed with him too.

Layne’s voice is breathless, reverent. "Hessa…"

So confident in his love for me. Unwavering, absolute. I wish I could be as certain of my feelings for him. I want to be. Gods, I want to be.

But doubt lingers like a shadow, whispering that maybe this isn’t real. Maybe it’s just the prophecy weaving its web around us, binding us in something neither of us can fight.

I think he feels it—the conflict storming inside me—because he reaches out, cupping my face with a gentleness that undoes me. His thumb brushes over my cheek, tracing the curve of my jaw as if he’s memorizing me.

His eyes hold mine, deep pools of something raw, something achingly patient.

Layne’s voice is quiet, but sure. “I hope you can too someday.”

Layne kisses me, slow and deep, a moment of sweetness amid the hunger. For a breath of time, it’s just us. Nothing else exists. No prophecy. No war. No duty. Just him. Just me.

Then, with a knowing smirk, he pulls me off the bed. My body barely has time to register the absence of his heat before he leads me to the dresser..

He bends me over, my palms splayed against the smooth wood, my chest pressing against the cool surface. His body looms over mine, his warmth spilling over my back, his breath hot against my ear.

The hard length of him, silk-covered and steel-strong, presses against the curve of my ass, teasing, tormenting.

Layne leans in. "I wonder what it will feel like if we both experience pleasure at the same time."

A shiver runs down my spine at the rough timbre of his voice. My pulse quickens. My body answers before my mind can catch up.

I smirk, challenging him. "Are you going to wonder, or are you going to do it?"

His chuckle is dark, rich, vibrating against my skin. "Tsk, tsk. So impatient."

Then he angles himself at my entrance, the thick head of him pressing insistently against my slick heat. The longing is unbearable, too much to resist.

I push down as he thrusts up, and we both moan, the sound breaking into the night, lost to the fire, to the wilderness, to the raw, untamed magic of this connection.

A perfect collision of need and ecstasy.

A cry leaves me. A growl leaves him. The pleasure is blinding.

This is nothing I’ve ever felt before. The overwhelming sensation of being filled, of my walls stretching around him, while at the same time, I feel what it’s like to be inside me. To be him. To be both of us at once.

The duality shatters me.

Every movement is doubled, every thrust, every squeeze, every pulse of pleasure echoing through both of us. We don’t just move together—we become something more, something primal, something boundless.

A growl rumbles from deep within his chest, and I answer with a moan, meeting his thrusts with desperation, with hunger, with need. His fingers dig into my hips, dragging me down as he drives up, each stroke sending electric pleasure through my veins.

We’re losing control.

Losing everything but this.

But him.

But us.

We move faster, rougher, rawer—nothing careful, nothing restrained. Just pleasure. Just heat. Lost in the wild, in the hunger, in the madness of wanting.

His hands grip my waist, guiding me into his rhythm, our bodies moving together in a perfect storm of lust and connection. I’m climbing, higher, higher—but I want more.

I move off him abruptly, both of us gasping from the loss of contact. His eyes snap open, wild and confused, until I grab his hand and pull him back to the bed.

"Hessa—" His voice is rough, needy, but I silence him with a wicked smile before pushing him down.

My fingers pressing into his chest, my breath mingling with his. His pupils are blown wide, his need unmistakable. But he lets me take control.

He sits there, his broad shoulders against the headboard, his body taut with restraint. His length, hard and waiting, is perfection.

I straddle him, my legs framing his hips, teasing, torturing him with the unbearable slowness of my descent.

Layne hisses, his hands gripping my thighs. "Hessa… please. I need you."

I sink down onto him, inch by agonizing inch. He groans, his head tilting back, his hands sliding up my waist.

I feel his pleasure as if it’s my own. I feel how much he needs me. How much he loves me.

And I know—I know—that I love him too.

I sink down onto him, taking him fully, until there is no space left between us. The sensation is overwhelming—his body inside mine, his emotions inside my soul. We groan in unison, our voices tangling in the air between us.

Instinct takes over. I scrape my teeth over his shoulder, marking him as he grips my waist, anchoring me to him.

We move together, lost in the rhythm of need, of desire that swells between us like an unrelenting tide. It consumes us—this connection, this unbearable pleasure.

Then Layne does something that makes my heart stop.

He tilts his head to the side, baring his throat to me. An offering. A trust so absolute, it makes my chest ache.

His voice is dark, rough, dripping with pleasure. “Do it.”

I don’t hesitate.

My fangs elongate, a natural instinct, and I sink them into his skin.

The moment my lips touch his pulse, something explodes inside me.

Pleasure—raw, electric, all-consuming—shoots through my veins. His blood, his life, his very essence floods my senses.

Layne gasps, a deep, shuddering sound that turns into a moan, his fingers digging into my hips as he holds me tighter, pulling me impossibly closer.

I feel everything.

His need. His longing. His love.

The way my body feels wrapped around him, the way my bite drives him into a mindless bliss.

I am inside him as much as he is inside me.

The pleasure is almost painful. Too much. Too good.

And I’m close, gods, I’m so close.

Layne’s voice is rough, desperate. “Lost control for me, little warrior. I want to feel you unravel around me. I want to feel all of you.”

The command shatters me.

I break, releasing his neck as my body tightens, convulses, my climax tearing through me with an intensity that leaves me breathless.

Layne follows, a groan of pleasure spilling from his lips, his body giving in at the exact moment mine does. His pleasure becomes mine, mine becomes his.

We fall apart together, bound by ecstasy, lost in each other.

For long moments, we stay like that—panting, trembling, bodies still locked, connected in every way.

Slowly, reality drifts back in.

We collapse onto the bed, exhausted but sated. His arms wrap around me, holding me close, grounding me. I trace lazy patterns along his chest, playing with his fingers, letting the warmth between us settle.

And as my heartbeat slows, all I can think is that I wouldn’t have wanted to share this with anyone else.

Layne’s voice is low, almost a whisper, but I feel its weight settle deep inside me.
“You know how I feel about you. You feel it, don’t you?”

I look up at him, my fingers tracing the sharp angles of his face, the tension in his jaw. He’s holding something back.

“I do…” I whisper.

And I do. His emotions—his longing, his hunger, his unwavering devotion—all flood through me from the lingering effects of the essence exchange. There’s no running from them, no pretending they don’t exist. I can’t hide from the depth of what he feels for me.

Layne exhales slowly, like he’s searching for the right words. “I feel your conflict. The pain you felt losing your parents. The fear of losing control. I don’t want you to ever feel like you don’t have a choice.”

His conviction sends a shiver through me. He means every word. He always does.

I swallow hard, my fingers still absently gliding over his skin. "I know."

And in that moment, The prophecy that felt like a noose around my neck—suddenly doesn’t seem so bad. At least… not with him.