Page 135 of Blood of the Fairest

"In other words, I put the lust in bloodlust," Verena laments.

She tries again to leave my lap, fixing her skirt in the process. But I pull her back into my lap again, turning her to face me.

Now that her fangs are not in me, I am returning to my senses, but the feverish heat radiating from her skin makes it clear she needs to feed.

She shakes her head. "Wulf, I'm so fucking sorry, I⁠—"

"It is fine," I rasp. Trying to ignore my own need for release, I kiss her cheek and lift my hand to her face once again. "You need blood to quell the fever. Take it."

I expect her to resist, but Verena's gaze remains on mine as her tongue slides sensually over the dripping bite. I barely withhold my groan at the erotic image.

"Fuck, I love minty blackberries," my vantaði breathes.

Is that what I taste like to her?

"Bite him for more," Eris urges from the reflective carriage wall behind me.

She does, grasping my hand to her face.

I gasp at the overwhelming spike of sensation, my other hand gripping her hip tightly. My vision blurs once more as Verena begins feeding from me in earnest.

Her soft sounds of pleasure, the warm buzz from her feeding, the apple blossom scent of her soul sweetening the air of this carriage—it all makes my eyes roll shut.

It feels so natural to sate her this way. There is a rightness to it that I have no words for.

Does Verena feel what she does to me? If I pleasure and fulfill and protect her well enough, will it be enough to convince her to stay in this land forever?

For long moments, I am lost to these hopes as she feeds.

Though my neglected cock is still painful from the pleasure washing over me, my mind begins to darken strangely—until Eris's quiet voice prompts, "Verena?"

I open my eyes and see blood beginning to drip down her neck. I catch the droplet on a finger of my free hand and raise it to her lips. This time there is no hesitation. She sucks my finger clean as if she cannot get enough.

I cannot help but imagine these soft lips wrapped around my cock instead. Despite the darkness pulling at me and the now biting chill in the air, I begin to pant again with need.

Verena nearly goes to bite my hand again, but Eris's voice is much firmer.

"Fairest. You need to stop."

At first, when she releases my hand, her gaze is sultry as it traces my face. I wish for her to look at me this way forever.

But something shifts in her expression as she studies me, and Verena swallows hard.

"Fuck. You're right. Oh my god, what am I doing?"

"You were only feeding," he soothes her. "You did nothing wrong."

"But I took way too much."

"Take more," I argue through the strange fog in my head. Tightening my grip on her hip, I press my hips forward against her. "Take me to the hilt."

She half-laughs, half-groans. "Wulf. Beowulf. Mr. Well-Endowed Huntsman of the North Himself. For the last fucking time, I'm metaphorically ovulating—so you are not allowed to say any more sexy things. Especially when you're…shit, you're really pale. You're practically shaking from blood loss, for crying out loud."

"I am not—" I begin.

But I am.

Because when Verena slides off my lap once more and I try to stop her, weakness slams into me like a charging ram. The edges of my vision darken much more rapidly until I must brace myself against the back wall of the coach. Though the touch of my vantaði no longer invigorates me, my pulse remains bizarrely rapid.