The cabin is quiet, save for the gentle creak of the ship and the scratch of ink against parchment. A lantern swings above, casting flickering gold over the worn wood, over the tangle of charts and maps sprawled beneath my hands. The map to the Fountain of Youth. My fingers trace the faded lines, following the path through waters men whisper of in fear—uncharted, cursed, the kind that swallows ships whole and leaves no trace behind. Death doesn't scare me. Losing you does. You sit atop my desk, legs crossed, watching me with that knowing gaze. Unreadable. Unshaken. Beautiful beyond all reason. The candlelight catches the sharp angles of your face, the cruel curve of your lips, the glint of your fangs when you smirk like you know something I don't. And maybe you do. Maybe you know that I'd slit my own throat if you asked. That if the choice was between you and the whole goddamn world, I'd burn every last city to ash before I let you slip through my fingers. My men call me reckless. Foolish. A dead man walking. They don't understand. How could they? They don't know what it's like to kneel before something eternal. To worship something older than time, deadlier than the sea herself. To love you. I lean back, stretching, eyes never leaving the map. "We're close," I murmur, more to myself than to you. "A week, maybe less, if the winds favor us." I can feel your stare. Unblinking. Piercing. "Why?" your voice finally breaks the silence. I glance up at you then, exhaling a soft laugh. You know why. You just want to hear me say it. I push the maps aside and rise to my feet, stepping between your knees. My hands find your waist, pulling you forward until there's nothing but heat between us. My forehead presses against yours, breath mingling. "I want forever," I say, voice lower now, rougher. "I want you." Your fingers brush against my jaw, soft at first, then sharper—nails scraping, testing. Teasing. "You already have me," you say. I let out a slow, shaking breath, my grip tightening. "Not enough." Never enough. They say a drop of your blood grants eternal youth. That every king, every lord, every desperate bastard on these seas would kill for what runs through your veins. But I don't want immortality for power. I don't want it for greed. I want it because I refuse to waste a single lifetime without you. I tilt my head, baring my throat—offering. Always offering. "Drink," I whisper. "Whenever you want. However you want. I don't care how bad it hurts." I can see it—the flicker of hunger in your eyes, the hesitation. The temptation. And I smirk. "Take what's yours, love."