When I feel his sharp fangs break through my skin, the moan that escapes me is unavoidable.
I close my eyes as he moans contentedly, and I let the bliss overcome me.
I’ve never offered my blood to anyone before. Only him.
Somewhere deep inside, I know that is damning. My love for Wesley Castor is a poison that runs deep within me and it’ll never leave my blood, even if he leaves me.
And make no mistake, Wesley will leave me. Maybe not tonight, or tomorrow, but one day I know he will.
Because our time is limited and one day, he will realize I can’t give him what he wants, and he will find a mate who will. The thought makes my heart ache. I don’t want to lose him, don’t want to think of him withsomeone else. So, for the moment, I push the thought aside.
I reach for his cock, my muscles like liquid. I find his cock and stroke it, committing the feel of him like this to memory. I file it away under perfection, where all my memories of Wesley Castor live rent-free in my brain. Where they will always stay, when he is long gone from my arms.
My own cock throbs as he drinks me, moaning and sucking in delight from his obvious dehydration.
Flashes of images in my brain push forth, once again; disjointed pieces of a puzzle I don’t understand.
The scent of sugar and blood, of cinnamon and cayenne mixed with vanilla, the bright cerulean gaze of my Wesley pinning me morphing into fiery red pupils that hold me still. The sound of wet skin and a symphony of moans echo around me like ghosts in a haunted house.
Wesley licks at my flesh and grinds his hips against me, the motion driving his cock against my own. I grab our cocks together and stroke us both with my free hand.
“Oh, fuck,” I curse as I feel his cock pulsate against mine, and a moment later, his warmth spreads over my cock, slipping through my fingers. I come in tandem, my entire body tensing as my fangs ache to bite him.
He drops my hand, and for a moment, I think he must be sated and full. But before I can gather my bearings, I feel his lips on mine. Wesley groans into my mouth, probing my tongue with his, and I can taste my blood on his lips, on his tongue. I kiss him harder, deeper as I let my tongue stroke his sharp fangs.
Time stops as I hold our erupting cocks, as I stare up at his perfect eyes.
“Are you full?” The words are loaded, and we both know it.
Wesley licks my blood off his lips. “Mhmm. All better now.”
I give him a soft smile. The one I reserve for him.
“Good boy.” I roll him off me, and he lets me, his body loose and spent from his feeding and his orgasm.
His eyes flutter and it won’t be long until he passes out. The orgasms he sustains during his seven day bloodheat always drain him ostensibly.
I stay by his side until my cock is soft and he’s snoring, and when I am certain I won’t wake him, I slip away to shower.
But not even the hot water could cleanse me of Wesley Castor, the rejected prince.
When I reach my bed, I get in and pull him as close as I can, breathing his cinnamon-y scent until the darkness pulls me under, and when I dream, it is of rubies and sapphires and treasures I will never be able to keep.
Six
Ivy
Ilook around my dormitory, taking in the sight of this room that is smaller than my room back home.
Home.
I can’t go home, not until I find a mate to claim and bond, and the sands of the hourglass it seems have already started to fall.
I think about Ptaris’s words. His admission. Wyatt’s bloody rejection. I can’t help but think if the Castorian prince had accepted my father’s offer, perhaps he’d still be alive. I’d be moved in with the Castors and the ink on the alliance treaties would be drying as we speak.
Though, I have to give Ptaris credit for one thing. He was prepared. I hadn’t even thought of what could happen in the event of Wyatt’s rejection. I was so sure of myself that he would accept me. But Ptaris planned just for this, and I have to think there was a chance my father knew—he was far too calm, in my opinion, once he’dheard Wyatt’s rejection. Perhaps, he knew Ptaris’s plan. But I guess we will never know, now will we?
I run my finger over the thick, crimson comforter, relishing in the feel of it. I crawl onto bed, and all at once, exhaustion hits me.
