CHAPTER THIRTY
BALE
For three blissful, sex-filled days, Idallia barely leaves my lair. We’re rarely dressed in more than robes and can’t stop touching each other. We do everything together—eat, bathe, talk, plan, make love, sleep—and then start all over. It’s idyllic in a way I didn’t know existed.
Sometimes we fuck, and I love that too. It’s harder, faster, more urgent. My cock stirs just thinking about it. About her. About us, because there’s such a solid us now that I don’t know how we circled each other for so long without one of us cracking. I used to smell her arousal and think it couldn’t be for me. It was just a physical response to the action or the danger or the fury—or stars forbid, Kellan—but now I know. She wants me.
Primal desires grip me in their iron fist. Keep. Protect. Mate. Heat thumps in my abdomen, but ice slides through my veins, raising a chill on the back of my neck. I can’t do any of that unless Idallia knows the whole truth. And then, will she still want me?
Idallia left our mountaintop lair only once to speak to Sybil about protection against pregnancy. I could barely stand to be without her, pacing like a caged animal. The second she returned, I tossed her onto the bed and devoured her. She devours me too. Sometimes I feel fangs scrape my skin, and we both tense. I call her Sunshine in a soothing voice, and she controls her nascent urges. I make sure her food is more satisfying than it used to be, resembling blood in ways, and fill her plates with figs and blueberries.
We’ve been outside together, flying with Fyrestar, Rimblaze, and Embersol. She chooses to ride Fyrestar instead of me, and I can accept that. No part of me wants to come between them.
But now, everything is about to change. It’s the opening meeting of the Ellonrift Council, and I have to spend my entire night with people I only see once a year if I’m lucky, one of whom I hate with the intensity of a thousand erupting volcanoes.
Rannigan Bloodthief. I keep my growl low, not wanting to wake Idallia. I gaze down at her as she sleeps, sated from our lovemaking. I have mere minutes before I have to leave for the first of the week’s meetings, and my gut instinct tells me to grab her, her birds, and get out of here.
But I can’t do that. I’m the fucking Dragon King.
Every ruler of Ellonrift—legitimate and illegitimate—is currently inside my mountain, and their proximity to Idallia makes my skin itch. The Vampire King’s presence grates on me from levels away. The treacherous bastard is always the one to worry about. I’ve individually welcomed the kings and queens of Ellonrift and settled them into their guest chambers, but I haven’t dined with any of them or singled anyone out for conversation. I should’ve been making nice with the new Fae Queen in the hopes of an alliance, but I couldn’t bring myself to give up any of this precious time with Idallia before Council duties rip me away from her.
I used to simply find Rexton Hale irritating, but now his requests make my stomach pitch. He’s been sending me letters from inside my own fortress. I gave him a room at Idallia’s insistence but refused to meet with him personally or accept his endless petitions to join the Council. The more he wants in on the voting, the more I want to shove the truth in his face.
But I can’t do that without my own walls crumbling.
Every breath I take as I back away from a stunning, sleeping Idallia feels like my last to bask in this extraordinary happiness. And maybe I deserve to lose it, since everything is built on a lie.
I go to the Ellonrift Council each night and return to Idallia during the day. The meetings have always taken place at night so Cealastra can guide us with her light or appear in her starlit form—though the daunting yet dazzling latter hasn’t happened since we drew the kingdom borders near the start of my reign. Now the Vampire King is the only one benefiting from night meetings, infinitely safer for him, and we haven’t seen evidence of the Star of Ellonrift since Rannigan brutally killed the Fanghaven rulers.
The Torridaig, Ruthinock, Fanghaven block ceased to exist, and so did tied votes.
Idallia talked about there not being consequences after Rannigan’s brutal murders. Maybe not directly for him, but what about Cealastra fading from our lives? The Council going from useful to a farce? Magic waning more than ever? Rannigan might’ve gotten exactly what he wanted, but all of Ellonrift lost.
I think about killing him now, like Idallia suggested. I dream about it while he drones on about sanctions and aggression, seeing myself bite right through him like I’d meant to all those years ago.
But something in me hesitates. I still need him to attack first so I can justifiably kill him in my own Council room, and so far, he’s all talk.
Rannigan wants the other rulers to believe—or at least profess to believe—that Torridaig is constantly attacking Bloodwold. I want them to do the opposite. And since penalties can only be imposed by a vote, we’ll eventually vote on it, and there’s a good chance Rannigan will win.
That’s the moment I’ll be done with the Ellonrift Council after more than five hundred years. That’s the moment I won’t just kill blood raiders on my soil anymore. I’ll kill them on Rannigan’s and keep going until Blackrock Keep is mine and Rannigan is dead.
And that’s the moment Idallia will finally be safe and free. I can confess everything, and then hopefully, this life we’ve already started can soar just like we do over Torridaig.
For Idallia and me, bright, mid-autumn sunshine defines our time together during this week full of arguing, posturing, and threats. She’s my light in the dark. She’s my reason to keep listening and debating when I’m so starsdamned sick of everything and everyone and already know how this will end.
Every day, I go over what happened during the previous night’s meeting with her, and we strategize. She helps me see more clearly and maintain patience, but we both agree it’s time to pull out my Bloodwold prisoners and see if the bald-faced evidence of Rannigan’s lies can help sway his usual allies away from him.
But even if that works, I doubt Rannigan will respect a vote against him or accept sanctions. He’ll keep sending raiders, and blood prisoners already in Bloodwold will continue to suffer. Starborn or not, it’s time to eliminate him. Unfortunately, his population is used to doing things a certain way, and getting rid of Rannigan won’t stop the majority of his people from thirsting for blood violence. The undertaking to control the entirety of Bloodwold and its vampires will be enormous.
It’s late in the day but not yet dark, and I shut my mind off to the Council. Another night of the same useless arguing is coming up, but right now, I’m going to make love to Idallia and savor every moan and touch she offers.
We move into the bedroom with just a look, no words needed between us. She welcomes me into her body, and all the bad tension drains away to leave only the good. Fading afternoon light filters through the colored-glass window as I rock inside her, her head in my hands and my mouth on hers. She draws shudders of pleasure from me. I’m already so addicted to her taste and touch and feel that I have wild thoughts about keeping her in my lair and never letting her out.
I drive into her more powerfully, asserting the only control I have. Her excitement builds, her fingertips pressing into my back, her thighs hugging my hips, and her passion burning us both. She gasps my name, and I catch the sound right out of her throat. I want to be the air she breathes. I want to give her every fucking thing she’ll ever need.
“Mine.” The gruff word is out of my mouth and against hers before I even think. “Be mine.”
She lifts into me and squeezes her inner muscles so tightly that I nearly lose myself. “I am yours,” she breathes out, writhing against me as she reaches for her climax. Her nails score my shoulders, leaving me a mark to carry into battle tonight.
