20
AERIN
With the limited instruction she’d received, Aerin was never told what a blood bond would feel like. But, sitting on the floor of her closet, staring at an unconscious Malice, she supposes she didn’t need to be told. She knows it worked.
As soon as she swallowed his blood, Aerin’s world narrowed to only Malice. His smokey scent invaded her senses. The fire that burns inside of him caressed her, his scales firm and smooth under her fingertips. It’s all she could feel, see, smell. His deep voice saying ‘Princess’ so close he could have been talking in her ear.
When Aerin came to, Malice was unconscious on the carpet. Almost as soon as she opened her eyes she felt it—somewhere between her sixth and seventh rib, tucked into her left side, a piece of him sits, as sure as she can feel the beat of her own heart. Malice is bound to her with a blood oath. He will be bound to her for the rest of her life. Her first bonded-mate.
Aerin feels sick. This was not how her life was supposed to go. Malice, a Dragon-Fae from who-knows-where North should not be the first one she can feel in her heart, her mind, hermagic. He wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for Father. For the blood contract. For the life she built eight years ago being ripped out from under her.
Pulling her knees to her chest, Aerin steadies her breathing. Steadies the anger and anguish that pulse inside of her in turns. She will get them back. She will fix everything. Now that she has this bond, now that she can leave Valtara, she’s going to fix it.
It feels like hours that Aerin sits, watching Malice’s chest steadily rise and fall, before he finally stirs. He blinks twice then abruptly sits up. Inhaling sharply, he lifts a hand to rub his left ribs. There is a responding tug on the little seed inside of Aerin.
“It worked,” Malice says on an exhale. He shudders, from his wings to his toes. Aerin finds herself wondering how he’s feeling, if he’s hungry. He likely needs a shower. Aerin herself could use one after the night they had. Then she wonders if the fussing is the blood-bond.
Aerin stands, brushing non-existent lint off her shorts.
“I’m going to shower, you probably should too,” Aerin tells him, trying to tamper down her own responses to him.
Something snaps inside of her, unhappy and angry.
“Don’t go,” Malice sounds like he is choking on the words.
When Aerin turns to look at him, he’s on his feet, quickly advancing. Aerin can’t read his eyes. Heading towards the door, Aerin thinks it’ll be him who leaves, despite his words. Instead, he cuts off her path, advancing until Aerin is retreating, until her back hits the wall behind her.
Malice’s breath catches in his throat. He throws his arms up on either side of her head, caging her in. Aerin stands perfectly still, not sure what, exactly, is happening. Malice’s forehead meets her shoulder before his face rolls towards the crook of her neck. His long hair tickles her bare skin. Aerin’s heartbeat takes off. She can’t decide what she is feeling more: apprehension ordesire. She desperately wants a repeat of that night in the club. Wants more.
He inhales deeply. “Fuck, you smell good. You always smell so fucking good,” he mumbles into her skin.
Aerin doesn’t know what to say, caught somewhere between elation and uncertainty. She’s wanted Malice from the moment she saw him in Tower 77 months ago. But she can’t be certain whether this is reallyhim, or an effect of the fresh bond.
Malice pulls back. His icy blue eyes leveling their gaze at her doesn’t help her indecision.
Aerin takes him in. His dark hair hangs haphazardly around his shoulders. His strong, dark brows, blue eyes that shine like ice, tense jaw, and his chin with its slight dimple. The broad and flat bridge of his nose that leads down to his full, parted lips. Aerin spends too long looking at them. Imagining them: on her lips, on her skin, between her thighs.
Dropping his right hand, Malice crowds her further. His knee shifting between her legs. If Aerin inhales deeply, her chest would be flush with his.
He starts his next sentence soft, but foreboding. “It worked. We are bonded-mates now. Which means I am loyal to you, and you are loyal to me, too. You owe me a lot of explanations, Princess.”
His voice is like the tide washing over her. Aerin’s head swims.
Aerin meets his gaze as she lifts her hands to the collar of his shirt. In one swift movement, she tears it down the middle. His chest is massive. His broad upper body tapers to a waist that dwarfs her own. He is thick with muscle. Aerin can read power in every inch as her nails drag from his collarbones, over his chest, and down his abdomen. Malice hisses, closing the space between them, and crashing into her. His hard cock presses against Aerin’s lower stomach. She writhes with the need to see it, feelit, have it inside of her. Aerin rolls her hips, still parted over his thigh. They both let out a wounded sound.
Malice uses his free hand to cup her jaw. His hand is huge, gripping the entirety of her face. He holds her harshly, his fingers digging into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. Aerin opens for him eagerly, craving his roughness. Malice is unyielding, in almost everything. She wonders how unyielding he will be with her now. She delights in the prospect.
“You are in over your head, Princess. You have no idea what you’ve done.” His words hang bated between them. Aerin swears he is going to kiss her. That he’s seconds from slamming his lips to hers and claiming her in a frenzy. She wants, she wants, she wants?—
Malice is gone.
Aerin almost drops to her knees with the loss. An echo of the way he left her in the bathroom two weeks ago. He stands feet away from her, deep in the closet, shaking his head, breathing heavily. A tortured expression crosses his features before he locks everything away. Aerin watches as the small glimpse of him fades. He shuts every door, every window, through which she can peer.
Malice clears his throat.
“I’ll go get cleaned up. We have much to discuss.”
Then he is gone, breezing past her. Aerin hears his door across the hall slam behind him.
