My heart races inside my chest, not only from the adrenaline of the position but from the unwavering amount of blind trust she puts in me right at this moment. One wrong movement, one thrust too hard, or a slip of the hand, and she would fall to her death. Yet there’s not one ounce of fear in her gaze, only scorching lust and exhilaration.
Heavens and hell, I love her.
The thought slams into me with vengeful clarity, and the words beg to spill out of me, but I clench my teeth in refusal, swallowing my feelingsand drowning them with the slapping sounds of our fevered fucking. She’s not ready for such a declaration of devotion, and a tiny part of me fears she never will be.
What will it take to break her walls, for her to take me seriously? Not just as the good boy that can fuck her brains out so thoroughly, but as the male that wishes to give her the moon that sparkles in her baby blues, the vampire that will canonize her for all eternity, who’ll devote every second of his rest of time to be worthy of her love.
My next thrust hits that spot of carnality deep inside her, and she shudders violently, her wails of rapture swallowed by the darkness surrounding us. Her cunt squeezes me so hard I almost see stars, and I bring her back to me, sinking my fangs into her pulse point. The taste of blood and chocolate explodes in my mouth.
“Blaise,” she screams with utter abandon, and it will be a small act of mercy if the entire castle doesn’t hear her pleasure-coated chants.
Good. Let them hear. Especially her brother.
Her violent trembling ignites my orgasm, and I paint her insides in hot streams of cum. If fate weren’t so cruel, this would be the moment when a new life would take place in her womb. I shake that recurrent thought away with a heavy exhale, licking the wound on her throat and gathering her slack body into my arms.
She’s quiet for a beat too long, and I chuckle, burying my nose in her tousled strands of hair.
“Dragon got your tongue, moonlight?” I parrot her earlier mock, but mine holds no bite, only an overwhelming sense of adoration.
“No,” she answers hushedly, “Only you.” She frowns as if she didn’t mean to say that out loud and straightens, looking over her shoulder to the depths below where her dress lies in tattered ruins.
“Good thing Soren’s mind is too preoccupied these days with thoughts of a certain lady-in-waiting, otherwise imagine his chagrin if he’d find me traipsing naked at this hour.”
She jumps from the ledge, landing gracefully back on the battlement and heads for the stairwell with a sort of delicate dignity completely at odds with her stark nudity.
“You owe me a dress, pretty boy,” she throws over her shoulder before vanishing from my sight.
It takes me a full minute to collect my thoughts. I owe her all the dresses in the world, all the treasures and comforts one can lay at his beloved’s feet. One day soon she’ll stop running from the potential of what we could be, and I won’t stop chasing her until she comes to the same conclusion as me.
We are endgame.
Chapter 32
Aimee
“Imissthedesert,”Celinehuffs from under layers upon layers of thick wool and heavy furs, her reddish nose the only part of her peeking through. “This place is a frozen nightmare.”
“Oh, but it’s wonderful,” Kahlya interjects, gathering snow in her palms and throwing it in the air. It sprinkles back down like fractured moonbeams, and the redhead squeals in delight. “I never dared to hope to see snow. I heard the old stories that the first humans of Reweroth brought with them from the continent. Of air so cold it burns your body with a frigid bite, of frozen rain falling to the ground like white sands. Those were my favorite bedtime stories.”
“Overrated if you ask me,” Celine grunts in disapproval. “How you can stand it here, Aimee, is beyond me.”
“There are perks to Wrahta,” I answer truthfully, my gaze raising to the Vampire King watching us in silence from the balcony above.
“I’m sure there are,” Kahlya says with a knowing smile, before gathering a ball of snow and throwing it directly at Celine’s chest. “Stop being so dramatic, my heart.”
A commotion from inside the castle stops their bickering short, and I throw Killian a quizzical look, but he’s already vanished from the spot he was before. We follow the sounds to the stairwell leading to the tunnels, where Mattya and Axel support a bloodied Mael. He’s worse for wear than the last time I saw him. Dried blood coats his auburn hair from a nasty gash on his temple. His clothing is muddied and ripped to shreds, and his uneven breaths come out pained.
“Dear sands, what happened to you?” Kahlya screams, grabbing his head with delicate movements and inspecting his wounds.
“Those wretched creatures attacked us. Descended on our camp in the dead of night. So much death,” the human responds, each word dragging like steel over stone.
“Get the healers now,” Killian commands, and the vampires scurry down the hallway.
“Our army?” Celine asks, deep lines etching her forehead, her brows drawn in a frown.
Kahlya struggles to keep her cousin upright, and Killian swoops in, placing the male’s arm around his neck and helping him move to the nearest chamber.
“Decimated,” Mael answers mournfully. “We lost half our men. Dead. Or worst.”
