Garvan speaks again, and I translate verbatim. “The Blood of Lucifer will unite these two in sin and darkness. May it heighten every emotion and sensation of the body, mind, and soul. May it cast away doubt, sickness, and weakness. The Blood of Lucifer shall not be takenunwillingly. Do you accept this fate?” Garvan addresses me first.
“I accept this fate.” My words echo around us, sounding both far away and near. My blood burns my body, preparing for the surge of power the bonding ceremony will provide us.
“And Miss Sinclair?—”
“Isabelle, Garvan. Call me Isabelle,” she chastises, and Garvan glances over at me for permission. Unfortunately for her, Isabelle isn’t going to like my answer. I find myself eagerly awaiting her scorn.
“She is your queen, Garvan. You will honor her title.”
Garvan bows in submission before offering Isabelle an apologetic smile. “My queen, do you accept the Blood of Lucifer willingly?”
“There’s not much choice in the matter, is there?”
Normally I would enjoy her quick-witted tongue. May even push her for more, but for a ceremony of this importance, I don’t take kindly to nonanswers. “You must answer him, Isabelle.”
She scowls at me but otherwise doesn’t argue. “Fine, yeah, whatever. I willingly accept…that.” Her face scrunches up in disgust, and she gestures to the chalice.
“The betrothed will take a sip from the chalice. The ceremony will be complete once both parties have taken the Blood.”
“This isn’t literally blood, right?” Isabelle interrupts. “I’m not sure if you know this, but humans don’t drink blood. At least not the sane ones.”
“And what do you know of sanity, Kitten?” I ask despite myself.
I earn another reproachful glance from my bride. If she keeps looking at me like that, I may have to drag her to the bed and punish her. Or…better yet, she could punish me. That would be divine.
“Clearly nothing at all if I’m willing to marry the likes of you, even if this is only temporary.” She attempts to keep the bitterness in her tone, but a sliver of lust shines through.
Perhaps I should tell her what the drink will do. Ultimately, I decide against it because it will be much more fun this way.
Garvan offers me the chalice first. I take it from his hands, pausing a second to look at the liquid. I steel my body, knowing the effects it will have on me. Without further hesitation, I bring the chalice to my lips and drink. The moment the Blood—which isn’t actual blood, but rather a combination of magically enhanced herbs and alcohol—hits my lips, my body burns.
Garvan takes the chalice back just as heat erupts from my throat, expanding to the rest of my body. Every muscle and nerve are on high alert. The smallest of touches will produce a fire within, threatening an inferno.
Isabelle stands there, eyes wide and lips parted. Passion and lust ignite inside me, begging to be set free. It would be so easy to pull her in my arms and taste her. My cock hardens at the thought of the sounds she’d make. Would she moan? Whimper? Better yet, would she yell at me, voice laced with venom? I would devour her protest.
Oblivious to my internal struggle, Isabelle turns herattention to Garvan. She studies the chalice as if it were some wild animal but then takes it from his hand. “Just one sip?”
“Just the one.” Garvan’s eyes dart to me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my courtier is nervous. For what, I can’t say. My brain isn’t exactly working logically at the moment. It has one track, solely focused on the beautiful nightmare before me.
Isabelle takes her time grabbing the chalice and bringing it to her lips. Her eyelids droop as she takes a tentative sip, testing out the drink before committing. I know the moment the Blood takes effect. It’s an instant change.
Isabelle’s eyes snap open; her body stiffens. The chalice drops from her grasp, falling to the floor in a crimson mess. The metal echoes off the stone tile, and she draws near. Her pupils are blown wide with what can only be described as lust. Our bodies gravitate toward each other.
Her hand touches my cheek.
Fire blazes.
I burn.
And then we are one.
Isabelle's lips are on mine, and I completely lose the fight. I kiss her with raw need. Hard. Forceful. She matches me, not easily letting herself be dominated by my touch. When she parts for me, it’s because she willed it.
My tongue finds hers in a forbidden dance. I taste her, drinking her in. She’s not sweet. I doubt there’s anything sweet about Isabelle. She doesn’t taste likesugar or flowers. No, this woman tastes of spice. Cinnamon and cloves. She burns my tongue, and I enjoy every second of it.
Her curvy body presses hard against mine. In my pants, my cock strains firmly against her stomach. I feel her hard nipples through our layers, and I yearn to unlace her corset and take a bud into my mouth. I’m half tempted to do just that, but then two hands press against my chest and push me away.
Hard.
