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She took his wrist in both hands. Her lips sealed over the wound. She drank.

The effect was immediate. Power surged through her, it was hot and electric. Her veins lit from within. Her fangs lengthened further. Her pupils dilated until her eyes were almost black.

She pulled back after several long pulls, her lips stained. She passed his wrist to Vela.

Vela drank too. The same transformation rippled through her. When she released him, both women glowed with borrowed strength, their bond to him deepened beyond words.

Sekhmet watched them, his blood still welling slowly. "Now, are you full?"

Vera touched his face. "Yes, Master. I feel great."

Vela pressed her mouth to the wound, licking it with a possessive stroke of her tongue.

The night stretched on around them, it was endless and sacred. Outside, the world waited, threats and duties and war games. But inside this chamber, there was only breath, only warmth, only the three of them tangled together in the dark.

And it was enough.

Vera did not sleep immediately after that.

Neither did Vela.

For a while, both of them remained pressed against him, quiet in a way that did not feel tired. Their bodies had already settled, but the blood had awakened something deeper. Not hunger. Not the restless sharpness that came before feeding. This was different.

A warm current moved through the bond.

It was slow. Heavy. And Alive.

Sekhmet could feel them more clearly now. Their emotions did not come as words, but as pressure and color inside the blood connection. Vera’s calm was not calm at all. It was an ocean held under ice. Vela’s satisfaction was brighter, more open, flickering with possessive warmth each time her fingers moved against his skin.

His blood had strengthened them.

But it had also made them softer in places they usually guarded.

Vera lifted her hand and looked at her fingers. Faint crimson lines still glowed under her skin, fading slowly with each breath.

"It feels different this time," she said.

Sekhmet looked at her. "Because you were not feeding only for strength."

Vera’s eyes moved to him. "Then what was it?"

"Claiming," Vela answered before he could.

Her voice was quiet, but certain.

Vera looked at her sister.

Vela’s gaze stayed on Sekhmet’s wrist, where the wound was already closing. "Not like when he changed us. Not like when hunger burns. This felt like being brought closer."

Sekhmet watched her.

She understood more than she usually admitted.

"Yes," he said.

Vera’s expression shifted slightly. Not surprising. Not fear. Something more delicate. Something almost painful.

"Then we asked for more than blood."

"You did."

"Did you know that before giving it?"

"Yes."

The answer settled over them.

Vela’s fingers stopped moving for a second. Then she laughed softly, almost under her breath.

"Of course you did."

Sekhmet looked at her. "You sound offended."

"I am." She raised her face enough to meet his eyes. "You know everything and still make us say it."

"No," he said. "I know enough to ask."

Vera lowered her head again, pressing her forehead lightly against his chest. "That is worse."

"It is useful."

"It is cruel."

"No," Vela muttered. "Cruel would be if he asked and then did not give."

Vera went still.

Then, very slowly, she turned her head toward her sister.

Vela blinked once, then looked away.

Sekhmet almost smiled.

Vera’s mouth curved faintly against his skin. "You are becoming honest too."

Vela closed her eyes. "I regret speaking."

"No, you do not."

"I might later."

Sekhmet’s hand moved through Vela’s hair, and that ended whatever answer she had been preparing. Her whole body eased at the touch, as if his fingers had found some hidden thread and pulled the tension out of her. Vera noticed it. She did not tease. Instead, she reached across Sekhmet’s chest and placed her hand over Vela’s wrist.

The twins’ fingers met again.

This time the contact was not blind.

It was chosen.

Sekhmet looked down at them both. "You came here together."

Vera nodded.

"You stayed together."

Another nod.

His voice lowered. "Do not let this create distance between you."

Vela opened her eyes. "It will not."

Vera answered more carefully. "We were afraid it might."

That was honest enough to matter.

Sekhmet waited.

Vera continued, "Not because of jealousy exactly. We have shared everything since before we understood what sharing meant. Hunger. Fear. Punishment. Survival. Then blood. Then you." Her hand tightened around Vela’s. "But tonight was different."

Vela looked at the ceiling for a moment, breathing slowly. "Tonight we were not only surviving the same thing."

Vera finished softly, "We were wanting the same thing."

The room grew quiet again.

Outside, the night remained heavy around Dawn House. Nothing entered the chamber. Not footsteps. Not duty. Not the name Mihos. Not Iron House. For once, the walls held.

Sekhmet said, "And did that break you?"

Vera raised her head.

Vela looked at him too.

"No," Vera said.

"No," Vela echoed.

Sekhmet’s gaze moved between them. "Then remember that."

They did not answer at once.

Then Vera nodded.

Vela’s fingers tightened around both of them. "We will."

The bond pulsed again, gentler now.

For the first time since entering his room, both twins looked truly tired. Not weak. Not spent in the shallow sense. Their tiredness was deeper than the body. The kind that came after laying down a weapon one had carried too long and realizing the hand still remembered the weight.

Sekhmet shifted, pulling the blanket higher around them.

Vela made a quiet sound of complaint when cold air touched her shoulder, then immediately settled again when he covered her. Vera smiled with her eyes closed, too tired to hide it.

"You both need sleep," he said.

Vela murmured, "So do you."

"Yes."

Vera opened one eye. "That was not an agreement. That was avoidance."

Sekhmet looked at her.

She closed her eyes again. "I am too tired to fear consequences."

Vela laughed faintly against him. "Brave."

"Sleep," Sekhmet said.

"Command?" Vela asked.

"Yes."

That pleased them more than it should have.

Or perhaps it pleased them because tonight the command did not feel like duty. It felt like care given in the only language Sekhmet trusted enough to use without ornament.

Vera settled first.

Her breathing slowed gradually, her hand still resting over Vela’s. Vela lasted longer, stubborn even against exhaustion. Her eyes remained half open, fixed on the fading wound at Sekhmet’s wrist.