Orgasmic bliss is approaching at a galloping speed, and if I could just hold on to this dream with my teeth and nails, I couldreach the rhapsodic finish line that has been evading me for so long.
I grind myself harder on him, chasing my release, and the Gods must have finally taken mercy on me, because I combust in a million shattering tingles, wave after wave of ecstasy leaving me criss-crossed and starry-eyed all at once.
This is the best goddamn climax of my entire twenty-three years of existence. I can’t believe I was worried real-world Killian would be my ruination. Dream Shadow Killian just obliterated my fucking standards when it comes to sex.
There’s no chance in hell that anyone else could measure up to this height of carnal insanity. Anyone else except for the King himself. But that’s a shrine I will never get to worship.
Shadow Killian smirks—yes, fuckingsmirks—changing the angle yet again, bringing me on top of him, lazily pushing his hips upwards, pistoning from beneath. His mouth encircles my painfully erect nipple, and he bites down like a ravenous beast, consuming its prey.
The orgasmic haze doesn’t even clear out before another wave of pleasure hits my unraveling senses.
This is going to be a long night!
Turns out the dreamland shadow version of the vampire I conjured in my mind’s eye doesn’t need to come or take any breaks.
The early hours of dawn arrive before I fall back into the messy, sweat-riddled, pheromones-imbued silk sheets—my body spent, my craving utterly sated, and my eyes hooded with elated languor.
Smoky coils of energy wrap around my body like a lover draped in silk, pressing a purring kiss to my forehead. I sigh happily, falling into a dreamless sleep within the dream.
CHAPTER 20
Killian
ThecityofDithrauis sleeping wearily under a sanguine moon, the shade quite similar to that of my swirling shadows. Baroque spires and metal-laced towers are gleaming crimson under the moonlight, and the entire city waits with bated breath for the impending doom.
I’m perched on the river stone outer city walls, my body coiled in trepidation, ready to strike at the first glance of the enemy.
Next to me, Blaise sits leisurely, sharpening a wicked-looking scimitar, with several daggers spread between us on the cobbled, frostbitten wall. They glisten in the moonshine, a kaleidoscope of unforgiving steel and precise, lethal beauty. They’ve been honed so carefully, so meticulously, that they appear to be brand new, thirsty for their first kill. But I know how many throats they’ve already slit, how many organs they’ve desecrated, howmany onpyr scum have been sent back straight to hell at the end of these blades.
Hundreds.
Even thousands.
Innumerous.
While I am wound tight, drumming my fingers apprehensively on my leather fighting trousers, he is all unbothered ease and vexing swagger. If I didn’t know better, I would say he looks as if he’s preparing for one of the best nights of his life.
I’ve always begrudgingly admired his unfazed demeanor in the face of danger. But after you witness your whole human family slaughtered and raped in front of your very eyes, anything the mocking fates throw your way seems simply trifling.
“A missive arrived with intel from Ryawarath,” my second-in-command says, finishing sharpening his blade. “The Royal Faes have announced Prince Noahlin’s upcoming marriage to a noble Fae, a certain Loelle Brimms. Rumor has it that King Orgon will step down after the wedding, allowing his son to ascend to the throne.” His tone is laced with boredom and contempt. He hates the Fae Royals even more than I do. Understandable, after what their ancestor put him through, slaughtering his entire human family in the name of a sham of a war.
“Noahlin is a little pampered bitch. He poses no threat to us. What else?” I ask, surveying the white plains before us for any movement.
“A few leads on Aurora from her last known lovers. They are following them, but they seem to be years old, so I wouldn’t get my hopes up. And news about the father. He’s dead.”
“How?” I ask, nonplussed.
“A freak hunting accident, it seems, several years ago. Torn apart by a wild animal in the forests of Amnesnoll. Only half of his face and two limbs were recovered. A gruesome ordeal, fromwhat I gathered.” Blaise answers, focusing his gaze on the snow-capped meadows as well.
From what Aimee told me, he wasn’t particularly a loving father figure. But I can’t help wondering whether she will mourn him.
My little umbra.
My thoughts immediately sway her way, to the last time I saw her, our last conversation.
It’s been ten long—fucking torturous—days since I held her in my arms. Since she laid her warning, telling me in no uncertain terms, that there would be no us.
Ten days of unadulterated yearning.
