After Afina, things seem to go back to ‘normal’ for Nikola - as normal as things ever are with him. But there’s a little nagging voice at the back of Helen’s mind that just cannot believe it. Injecting him with pure, unfiltered Vampire blood - it really had been a crazy Hail Mary attempt at not los- at saving his life. It shouldn’t have worked. She’s still not quite sure why it did work.
But she tells herself it’s fine. Nikola, at least, seems completely unconcerned, and quite smug at having his ‘true nature’ back once more.
And so what if maybe he is a bit more forward than before, a bit more... daring. That doesn’t have to mean anything, right? At first she writes it off as his exuberance, then attributes it to the fact that she had kind of tipped her hand as far as her feelings for him are concerned when she... acted like that.
When he’s waiting for her in her bedroom one night, though, with a bottle of wine and a smirk a mile wide, and continues to smoothly seduce her with the most annoyingly clever way of twisting her words and using her body against her - that’s when she can’t deny any longer that something has changed.
And quite exhilaratingly so.
“This is new,” she gasps as he has her against the post of her bed, arms held above her head, blouse torn open to reveal her chest - and neck.
“This is right,” he growls back, that metallic edge to his voice cutting into her last defences, letting helpless need bleed through and wear away her ability to think.
“Nikola,” she tries as his teeth catch on the edge of her collarbone, and grunts a protest when he slices through her underwear and sinks his fingers deep into her, her pussy clenching in protest and a wave of arousal clouding her mind.
“I’m claiming you,” he announces, worrying her neck with lips and teeth and tongue, and breathing her in deeply. He’s about to bite her, her brain supplies, there’s no doubt about that. He’s prepping her to nourish him in the most delicious way possible, and to enjoy it thoroughly. And though there’s that little voice still at the back of her mind, worrying, doubting, questioning whether they shouldn’t research vampires and mating rituals a bit more thoroughly first, the way he’s taking her, playing her, mind and body, is rapidly overpowering it to the point of not thinking anymore at all. Just reacting. Just being. Being made his. Being his.
She screams, loudly, when his teeth finally sink into her neck, and the pain and the pleasure and his unrelenting hand between her legs push her right over the edge in a wave of mind numbing bliss that makes it impossible to feel anything else but her body and his, her pleasure and his feeding, her submission and his claiming.
And no matter how many rational questions and thoughts and researched facts she thinks and discusses with him in the days following That Night - deep down, she knows it’s as simple as his words:
It is right.