My SuperVillain System: Building Legion of SSS-Ranked SuperHeroines

"Don't you like it?" Cruxius stared as he blinked, calm enough even with her cold body, which, unlike his, didn't possess a single warmth, though it was soft. But her hand, placed on his neck, with the crimson eyes looking towards him and meeting intentionally, was enough to make him feel a clear, intense sensation within his body. But that wasn't enough to distract him; he kept his focus.

Her breath hitched as he answered, calm as ever, unfazed by the fact that her fangs had been buried in his neck for the better part of an hour.

"Don't you like it?" That single sentence hung between them like a thread—taut, humming, alive.

Evangeline's eyes narrowed. Not in anger, but in scrutiny.

"You… are not afraid of me," she whispered.

Cruxius didn't reply immediately. Instead, his fingers moved slightly—slow, calculated—as if brushing invisible dust off her thigh. He didn't grab her. He didn't push her. He merely touched the line between provocation and reverence.

"I am not afraid," he said, his tone low, "because fear is for the uncertain."

His eyes finally met hers again—unblinking.

"And I am very certain about what you are."

A flash flickered through her expression. Surprise. Then something darker. Her lips parted slightly as if to respond, but no words came.

She looked down.

Her hands slowly moved to press against his chest, not pushing him away but grounding herself. She could still taste his blood on her tongue. It was… addicting.

Not because of how it tasted—but because, however addicting, it seemed to never empty at all.

"I should have drained you dry," she murmured. "Your blood shouldn't keep flowing like this. I drank more than enough to kill an elephant."

"And yet," Cruxius said, voice dry, "here I am. A man, not an elephant, though I might have a trunk in my pants. On whom right now death is seated… and questioning its owner."

A sharp exhale left her lips. She wasn't sure if it was a laugh or a sigh.

"Arrogant."

"Accurate," he corrected.

She looked at him again. "You knew I was awake. You knew I would test you."

"I was hoping you would."

Her weight shifted slightly. Her body pressed down more firmly into his lap, as if she were reasserting control—not with force, but with presence.

"And what if I had killed you?"

Cruxius leaned up slightly, the skin at his neck still marked by her fangs, blood crusted faintly. His face was now just inches from hers. He whispered with the serenity of a man who knew which god was watching but chose to wink anyway.

"Then I would've died in the only woman's arms who made death worth considering."

Her lips twitched.

He could see it.

That precise moment where her mask, carved by centuries of manipulation, seduction, and restraint—cracked.

And from it, a woman peeked through.

Not a Queen. Not a predator. But a woman who hadn't felt this… uncertainty in a long, long time.

She looked away, the moonlight sliding down her bare shoulders like a veil slipping from royalty.

"You came here to provoke me," she said. "To get a reaction. To test something."

"I did."

"And what did you learn?"

Cruxius tilted his head, his fingers now tracing slow circles against the inside of her knee—barely touching, just enough to register his heat against her cold.

"That even Queens tremble when someone refuses to kneel."

That did it.

She moved.

Not violently. Not suddenly.

She leaned in as instantly two canines came out of her teeth. Slowly, his skin was again pierced as her eyes, looking at his unflinching, slowly entered his neck, gripping his back, hugging possessively, her nails digging deeper.

Her lips latched onto his neck again—not playfully, not teasing—but with purpose.

"Nh… hhh—"

The sound slipped from her mouth, wet and trembling, not from pleasure, but from the act of pulling something too rich, too overwhelming, too endless. It wasn't a seductive moan. It was instinctual, the kind of breathless noise a body makes when feeding becomes too deep.

"Hh-nn… hnch…"

She sucked in longer, harder, her tongue pressed flat against his skin as the blood welled and flowed freely into her mouth. The warmth made her groan through clenched teeth. Every pull came with a choked, primal moan—half muffled by his skin, half echoed into his chest.

Schlkk…

The sound was wet, crude. Her lips tight around the puncture, jaw moving subtly with every draw. The silk nightgown she wore brushed against his stomach and groin, soft and useless in hiding the curves of her cold, shifting body. The fabric clung to her from the warmth of his skin, pressing between her thighs and riding up just enough for his palm to grip skin directly—firm, cold, and shamelessly bare.

Cruxius's cock twitched again beneath her.

This time, he didn't fight it.

The heat radiating between them was no longer from arousal—it was from the sheer intimacy of being consumed. He felt her sucking harder, moaning louder, not out of seduction but as if his blood was feeding a need buried too long beneath her queenly restraint.

"Mnnnh—!"

Her grip tightened on his shoulders as her hips unconsciously pressed down. She wasn't grinding, not yet—but the pressure was unmistakable. Her thighs trembled faintly on either side of his lap.

He let one hand roam beneath the nightgown's hem, dragging up the bare flesh of her thigh, then up over her ass again. His fingers sank into her. Cold. Supple. Unflinching. She didn't stop him.

She couldn't.

Her body shuddered in his hold, moans breaking free again as she suckled—

"Nhh… ahh…" Schluck. "Hhhh—chhh…"

Sloppy, hungry, breathless.

Her hair spilled over him like a silver curtain, and all Cruxius could feel was the pull of her mouth, the grip of her thighs, and the way her body seemed to melt but never soften. He was being fed on—not played with—and yet, somehow, it was making his heart race more than any seduction ever could.

"You've been feeding like a starved beast," he murmured into her ear, voice low and rough, "and still you're trembling."

Evangeline didn't respond. Her mouth just tightened again on his neck, another rush of breath and—

"Nhg—ahhhhn…"

The moan was ragged, her back arching as she drank again, and again—her cold body grinding down once, unintentionally, as if drawn by his pulse.

She was a Queen. She was Death.

But right now?

She was a woman lost in the high of his blood.

And he, beneath her, only smiled—one hand palming her ass, the other brushing the base of her spine.

"Drink all you want," he said, voice a whisper just for her. "I'll hold you when you collapse."

"Haah... So, indeed, she hates you," but unexpectedly, breaking his expectations, Evangeline returned, clearly savoring his blood but now turning towards the direction where a red ruby pendant was resting. Clearly, the energy was trembling. The pendant was vibrating so intensely that it made it clear to her that indeed the emotion in that pendant regarding this man was hatred.

'...Ah, so that was your aim.' Seeing how he was slightly taken by surprise by her, pointing towards that pendant revealed how this was her plan to confirm the intentions of her other side, which was suppressed within that pendant and might have showed this woman the path to him. So most probably she wanted to know exactly if it was favoring him or against.

"Now," she said, her voice a whisper laced with warning, "tell me why it hates you?"

Her fingers didn't wait.

They wrapped around his throat.

Not gently. Not violently either. It was the cold threat of power—her nails kissing the skin just enough that one move from her could slice flesh like parchment. Her eyes flared crimson once more, not from hunger, but from the presence of the truth hanging heavy in the air.

Cruxius didn't blink. Didn't flinch.

Instead, he tilted his head—just a fraction—so her thumb dug into his jawline. His lips parted not in resistance, but in question.

"What if it loves me?" he asked.

Her brows furrowed.

"What?"

"I mean… what if it hates you," Cruxius continued, voice steady despite the grip on his neck, "not me… for being this close to me?"

A pause.

The words hung there—weightless and explosive all at once.

Evangeline stared at him. Blank. Unmoving. The kind of stillness that came not from serenity, but from the collapse of logic. The pendant behind her, resting on the silken cushion, trembled harder now—its red light throbbing like a pulse.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came.

That's when Cruxius moved.

His hand—still on her bare thigh—rose slowly, almost lazily, until it met the gentle swell of her right breast beneath the nightgown. The silk was so thin, his fingers barely had to press to feel the soft flesh beneath. He cupped it—not roughly, not lustfully—but with claiming pressure. A reminder.

She gasped.

Not in arousal.

Not in offense.

But in the sheer disjoint between his action and the confusion already storming in her head.

Her eyes flicked down.

Then he gestured.

To the pendant.

She followed his motion.

The ruby was shaking violently now.

Its red glow had darkened, twisted—as if reacting to the closeness between them. As if seeing her cold body pressed against his, Cruxius's hand gripping her breast, her thighs over his lap, her lips still stained with his blood—was provoking it.

Evangeline's mouth parted.

"But that would mean…"

"That it's not just hatred," Cruxius said quietly. "It's jealousy."

She looked at him.

Really looked.

There were no smiles on his lips. No mockery. No glint of smug victory. Only calm—calm amidst her unraveling.

"And if that thing was once you… if it's a fragment of your soul…"

His fingers gave the slightest squeeze—just enough to press warmth into her cold skin.

"…then maybe what it hates… is not me."

He leaned up, voice brushing into her ear like a secret never meant for light.

"Maybe it hates that you've begun to want me."