He looks up, still so low beneath me, but I catch a flash of red, pure and wild, rupturing the heavy darkness of his gaze.
“Please. I cannot—”His jaw clenches, chains rattling as his fingers grip them tighter. “I don’t deserve you, but I want you. My beast and I agree on both… But you’re here and I—” He winces, cutting himself off with a low growl before rumbling out, “I cannot resist you.”
Heal him. Help him. Take him. He’s ours.
“Then don’t.”
The air shifts, hunger swelling thick and sharp between us. But another emotion clings heavier than all the rest—
Fear. His fear. Thick, cloying, tangible.
He’s terrified, terrified of hurting me. And I remember Kane’s words, the misery of Julien’s affliction, how it would haunt him for eternity if he acted upon it and caused me pain.
I raise my hand to him, wisps of black curling around it in thin, hungry veins.
Julien’s gaze locks onto it, his body tense, trembling, but still so damnably low beneath me.
“Feed from me.”
There’s a fracture in time, the flames freeze mid-dance. Nothing but silence.
Julien’s eyes close, then he rises slightly, still on his knees, shaking his head, chains clinking loudly with every strained movement.
“I am notworthy,”he whispers.
I step closer, eliminating the space, holding my hand steady. “I am not asking.”
His eyes snap open.
He stares at me, fractured gaze darting between my hand and face, maroon cracking through, staining more of the black.
“This is my choice. This is what I want.”
He tries to refuse me, not with words, but with stillness.
But I don’t waver.
“Feed,” I command. The word isn’t just a sound, it echoes around the cavern, inside our minds—everywhere.
And when my coils reach out, surrounding him, pulling him to me, I feel when he finally submits.
His chains clink against the ground as he reaches for my hand. I expect him to be rough, after all, he’s a starving beast, held captive for days, injured, in pain, desperate for release. I tense, readying myself for the sharp pain.
What I don’t expect is how tenderly his large hand cups mine, how his gentle touch eases my aching muscles as he holds the weight of my arm.
Then he lowers himself once more, resting on the back of his heels, lowering even further until I can look down upon him.
The apprehension, the tension, has my breaths quickening—the thudding of my heart, the tightening of my chest, it all increases as I await the pain that’s soon to come.
When I feel his hot breath against the heel of my palm, I wince, awaiting the inevitable.
But there’s no slice of pain.
Just soft, tender touches of warm lips as they trail over my skin. His eyes stare at the offering—my hand—with utter reverence, before he looks up at me again, his mouth never leaving my skin.
Even now, he’s proving himself to me, proving that his hunger meant nothing, that he would starve himself forever if that was my wish—stay like this for eternity if I desire it.
Proving that he will always submit to me.
