“Ptaris why are you not letting me into my castle? Myhome?”
His hands rub my arms smoothly as he implores me with his gaze.
“Because you must leave now, Ivy. Time is of the essence. We can not afford the luxury of waiting. Not with how much is at stake.” I pull away from him as the truth hits, and I look at the carriage with a sinking feeling in my stomach.
“So that is how it is,” I say. Ptaris frowns deeply.
“For the record, I wish it did not have to come to this, but I vowed to your father I would always take care of you and this kingdom if something happened to him, and that is what I am doing. Please understand, Ivy.”
I do understand and I hate that I do. I know he is right, but I don’t have to like it. I don’t have to like any of this.
My fate is not my own. It never has been, and this, more than ever, proves that.
He takes my hand with his left, reaching into his back pocket with his free hand and procures an envelope.Carefully he places it in my hand, closing my fist around it.
“I have already arranged for your dormitory to be prepared with everything you may need during your stay. And I have chosen the classes I believe will best suit your interests as well as your search to find a suitable mate.”
He gives me a tearful smile as I pull away from him. I do not wish to look at him. I can’t.
I feel as if my heart is going to crumble, as if I can’t breathe. This can’t be happening, it just can’t.
Ptaris does not reach for me, and instead, whistles. It is then I note the guard standing in front of the gate moving towards me—to escort me into my carriage. The very one that delivered me to my botched fate, the very one that carried me away as my father’s body turned to ash.
I move of my own accord, if only because I feel like I need to disappear. From Ptaris, from Wyatt, from this bloody curse that has been placed on me all of a sudden.
I sigh as I step up to the carriage, looking back at Ptaris and his tear-stained cheeks, his guilty frown.
I don’t say thank you. I don’t say anything. Instead, I clutch the envelope to my chest and enter the carriage and slam the door shut. The last thing I hear is the thunderclap, and when the rain hits, I close my eyes and let it lull me into darkness, hoping when I awaken this will all have been a nightmare.
Three
Wesley
“Harder,” I moan as Adrien thrusts himself inside of me, breaching my resistance.
Adrien grunts as his hands grip my hips harshly, his fingers digging into my skin. The motion rattles the metal rack holding all the cleaning supplies. A broom falls over with a clatter, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, thrusting into me harder, just like I ask.
“You like it when I fuck you hard, don’t you, you little slut?” His voice is dark and hazy, and I know the bloodlust is hitting him just as hard as it is hitting me.
Well, my bloodlust is tied to my bloodheat, which itself is quite an anomaly even among our kind. Most vampires like Adrien and my brother, Wyatt—the heir to my father’s throne—experience bloodlust during the act of feeding or fucking and vampiress’s experience bloodlust through feeding and their monthly bloodheat cycles.
It’s rare as fuck for a male vampire like myself to have a bloodheat cycle. So rare in fact, that my father, the Kingof Castor, rejected me as his son when I went into my first bloodheat, and cast me off to this fucking academy. I didn’t understand what was happening—after all, I was nineteen. All I knew was my hunger was the worst I’d ever felt it, and I was so fucking hard I could have knocked a baseball out the damn park with my cock.
I’m still convinced if he’d found me with my cock buried in some human or vampiress’s ass, he wouldn’t have pitched a fit at all. But instead, he found me bent over his throne, getting railed by one of his bloody knights just as I was coming all over the damn thing.
And that is how I ended up rejected by my own father and sent away to R.I.S.E. Academy to be hidden like the abomination I clearly am. But I guess being stuck here isn’t so bad because Adrien is here, and he quiets my bloodheat better than anyone else.
“Yes,” I mewl as he grabs for my hair. He yanks it hard, forcing my head back so I can gaze up at his chocolate brown eyes, at his perfect face.
Gods, is he fucking hot.
His dark hair falls in his eyes and he bares his fangs at me, a sure sign that he’s feeling the effects of my bloodheat, too.
I know it’s wrong. What we’re doing. It goes against our laws, specifically the doctrines of vampirical breeding. Male vampires can’t procreate with one another, and with the low birthrates among our kind, our entanglement alone is seen as an act of defiance against our entire realm. It’s like saying “fuck you” to our species, pretty much, especially on my end. Not only because Adrien isa male vampire, but because I’m a prince, technically—even if I am disowned, it doesn't change the fact I have royal blood—and as far as the law is concerned, royal blood is preserved for breeding blood born high-ranking vampiresses. Adrien isn’t low-born or anything, but he has been rejected by a blood born vampiress with noble blood, so he’s already tarnished. That’s why he’s here. Because he refuses to mate with a vampiress and his family’s at their wits end, needing an heir if they want to continue their bloodline.
His thrusts come harder, faster, and I can’t help but moan as the shelves rattle. One hand snakes up around my neck while the other glides over my stomach, trailing down to my cock.
I wince, because just the touch of his hand is enough to set me off. The bloodheat makes me so fucking sensitive. Every touch of his hand, every kiss from his hot mouth, every moan that escapes his throat is like a nail in my bloody coffin.
