It doesn't go as smoothly as she hoped

Chloe forced Liam’s mouth to move, the words feeling thick and clumsy on a tongue that wasn’t hers. “Ch-Chloe? What... what are you wearing?” It was all she could manage, Liam’s vocal cords feeling stiff and uncooperative under her novice control. Valerius laughed, a rich, throaty, decadent sound that was pure, weaponized seduction, a sound that promised nameless delights and eternal damnation in equal measure. He ran one of her own perfectly manicured fingers down the glowing sigil on her sternum, the touch leaving a faint trail of crimson light that quickly faded, like a dying ember. “Just something I... acquired. A little something to properly express the vessel’s... potential. Do you like it? I thought it might help set the mood.” He glided closer, his presence filling the small room. The faint, sweet scent of her usual vanilla body spray was still there, a ghost of her true self, but it was now underpinned by something else, the sharp, electric scent of ozone, a faint hint of brimstone, and a heady, intoxicating musk that was purely him, purely demonic. “You look tense, Liam. So tightly wound. Like a guitar string waiting to be plucked. Let me help you relax.”

Chloe’s mind screamed. The drink. The potion. She had to get him to take the drink. She made a clumsy gesture with Liam’s large hand towards the coffee table. “I, uh... I was just having an energy drink. It’s your favorite brand. You... you want one?” Valerius’s eyes, her eyes, followed the gesture. A predatory smile played on her beautiful lips. “How thoughtful of you, darling. But I have a much better idea.” He didn’t move towards the coffee table. Instead, he took Liam’s hand, his touch sending a jolt of alien sensation through the borrowed limb. It was the familiar softness of her own skin, but the energy beneath it was electric, dangerous, humming with a power that made the fine hairs on Liam’s arm stand on end. He guided Liam’s body to the worn couch, pushing him down into the cushions with a gentle but firm pressure that brooked no argument. “You just sit there and look handsome. Let me take care of everything.”