He pouts. “You’re like a guy who fails to get it up when you have a beautiful lady on her knees. Come on. Can I at least try to pump you up—I mean, talk you up?” He waggles his eyebrows.
My gulp sounds like a hammer.
“Fine.” He rolls his eyes with a huff.
I shouldn’t drink blood, not here; it could fuel Everett’s magic, but I need to feelmymagic calm me. One small sip can’t hurt. I lift the glass with a grunt. Warm blood hits my tongue. Ah, yes. Fire magic kneads through my muscles, slow and steady.
We’re so used to strict blood rationing when on duty. Blood wine is a rare delight. It makes our magic purr, along with other senses.But it can be addicting which, by the looks of it, our entire noble court is addicted.
Tristen presses into me like a bookend and whispers, “Please make sure I never fall in love; I will never willingly drink fae blood. Love makes you do crazy things. Then again, if a woman like that told me to drink from her, I would. I’m an idiot, but I have a huge cock, so there’s the silver lining.”
“You touch a woman like the queen, and you’ll have no cock to brag about.” I swat him.
“Don’t be bashful; we’re brothers. I know you’re working with the same thickness and girth.”
A doe-eyed female next to us blushes more cranberry than the wine. She giggles and bashfully scurries away.I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You did not just say thickness and girth,” I groan.
“Ladies love words like that. Trust me.” He puffs his chest out. “I happened to take a peek inside one of Ember’s books. You can’t imagine the shit she reads. Thick, aching, throbbing, pulsing heat. It’s like a dictionary of what ladies want to hear. You want a language lesson 101? How about we start with the words that get them wet and aching,” he jokes.
I turn away and cringe. “I don’t want to hear this.”
“Because you’re the older brother to us all. But as the younger sibling, I must support all sexual exploration.”
“You and Nero have spent too much time in the brothels.”
“They’re not brothels. Gods, you sound centuries old. Sex clubs are the hottest thing nowadays.”
“It amazes me you find the time to visit them between battles.”
“What’s life worth living for if not to spend my last days between a willing lady’s legs? They praise my tongue. Most call me a god.” He winks.
I can’t help but shake my head. “You’re drunk.”
“Absolutely. It’s the only way to survive this. But some drunks spill only truths. I am one when it comes to my bedroom skills.” Tristen leans closer. “What do you think fae blood tastes like? I mean, I don’t mind trying new things, but I don’t wanna risk poisoning my amazing body.” He glances at his biceps and flexes.
He always does this, pretends to be self-centered and makes jokes; he’s just trying to snap me out of my mood.
Don’t get me wrong, Tris loves to fuck around, but he’s not the hit-it-and-skip-out the next morning guy. He is a cuddler, but he’d never admit it.
“Taste is irrelevant. Galen can’t let the queen bleed.” I argue. What a queen she is, dripping in red, tempting us all, toying with the reminder that her blood is toxic to vampires, only to force the king to drink it.
Her actions remind me of Everett’s. Both of them play games where they know the rules and you don’t.
Queen Selene embodies the role perfectly. Tall and regal, her beauty is unparalleled. She has smooth golden skin, like most fae in Solaria, but Selene has an inner glow of confidence others lack.
She’s only worthy of being touched by a king’s hands.
Get down!I inwardly shout at my cock, an action I’m sure every male is also doing after witnessing Selene bow to the king. Her tight red dress makes her ass look so fucking…Stop!
My ribs press into my lungs when I look at Selene’s face.
Tristen was right. I need Selene’s help. Everett’s magic has become a burdensome beast, and his words—mentions of runes—are a sweeping tide that threatens to wash away my sanity.
I hold the empty glass to my chest. The pressure of Tristen’s eyes digs into my face.“It’s going to be okay. They will help you.” He places his hand on my shoulder.
Why does that hand feel more like a child begging me to listen rather than an adult trying to convince me to weigh all the costs?
“What if their help comes in the form of a knife?” That knot of dread Everett placed in my belly never died; it grew. Tristen tried to help me, but I was the older brother. I solved the problems, not him.
