Page 57

Sinking my fangs in roughly, I suckle slowly at first, but the taste of her—gods, the taste—slams into me like a freight train. Her blood is not just blood anymore. It’s shot through with power, ancient and raw like the lands we’re staying on. Every swallow is tinged with lightning, every drop a memory of pain and triumph that brought her to this point. It’s intoxicating, addictive, and better than anything I’ve ever tasted.

My witchling arches under me, her body convulsing in time with my feeding. Each time her hips buck up eagerly, I tighten my hold, and her magic pulses back at me, wrapping around my mind and dragging me into her orbit. As I drink, she doesn’t just surrender; she takes me with her. I have to stop before she’s too weak and I know it, so I give the demon a mighty shove inside to get him to come out of his haze.

After all, he doesn’t want her to die and leave us, either, and I know it.

When I finally pull away, blood runs down her neck and over her breasts, a line of red so vivid it might as well be paint. Fiadh is grinning deliriously, her cheeks flushed and eyes burning with desire as she looks at me. She grabs my hair and yanks my head back, exposing my throat this time.

“My turn,” she demands.

La Magra, help me because I definitely am not going to deny this, either, and I hope she has enough willpower to stop when it’s time.

Her bite is lower than mine, at the shoulder juncture. As with the mark I made, the blue glyphs on her skin burst into a light show, and I have to close my eyes to keep from being blinded. Holding her head gently as she drinks, I murmur low, “You have to be… ah, careful… my darling witchling. You cannot take too much or the rest of them will… fuck. Will, uh… have to replenish me…”

Chuckling, she bites harder with a kind of savage joy. Using her new strength to flip us again, she suckles deeply as her body drapes over mine. When she lifts her lips, flicking her tongue over the marks, her voice is husky against my skin. “Who knew I’d find a part of me this dark and powerful?”

I snort, grabbing her hair to tug her up so I can look into her eyes. “We did, witchling. Your mates knew—ask the prince or the basilisk or even the leopard. We’ve all seen the potential in you dying to be freed and wanted to help you liberate it. Perhaps Midnight has unleashed darker than some believed would be there, but that will not change our dedication or our love.”

Her reaction to my words is perfect, as she leans down and just rips the pants of my legs without a reply.

Yes, this bed is about to become a battlefield—I was right the first time.

Twenty-Eight

FIADH

There’s a crack as the mattress frame buckles under the first onslaught of our feral grappling, and every pillow detonates outward in a spray of down and velvet. Dezi’s weight is not just in a muscle-bro sense but in the way he throws off physics—he slams me into the sheets and the air whooshes out of my lungs, replaced by a wildfire of pain and magic that’s better than any drug.

His hands are everywhere, tracing the ridges and dips of my Fae flesh like he’s cataloguing it for a museum. I barely have time to catch my breath before his fangs are on my throat again, puncturing the fresh scab he left earlier and making it fountain all over both of us. It should be alarming, but the pain is background noise compared to the pleasure. I discover that I trust him to ensure we aren’t harmed in this bloody bonanza, and that’s actually even hotter than being manhandled.

I have issues; sue me.

The glyphs on my body light up in a rave-like sequence. First my hand, then my arms, and then my entire left side as the glowing fire ripples across the new tattoos. I hear the hiss as some marks burn my vamp’s skin, and the result of that is reflected in the mirrors over the headboard, each new brand on him glowing in time with my heartbeat. No human ink could do this, and I didn’t think magical ones could either. It’s literally marking his pale skin with claims from the Fae within without asking, yet Dezi remains unconcerned.

Did he know this might happen? I can’t ask right now; I’m too scattered.

Besides, I’m much more eager to experience his relentless bites and nips as he works his way down my body. The vampire’s always been so reserved, commanding people more often than not. This is a different Dezi than I’ve fucked before: he bites, he claws, and he drags my body down the bed until I’m hanging off the side. Every time I try to move, he grips me tighter, one hand circling both wrists above my head and the other digging into my hip hard enough to bruise.

I feel the occasional sizzling on his body where it touches mine—on his chest, his neck, even on some of his scars. They echo my marks, and together the whole room flickers with enough light to make me think the moon is rising inside the suite.

Rev already said I was a disco ball—I’m never gonna hear the end of this shit.

The pleasure is so sharp it carves out everything else, so when he lets go of my hands to drop to the floor, I’m panting. His sharp nails dig into the skin of my hips as he yanks me forward to breathe over my hips and pussy. His aura is so dark and hungry, that I sense it as he stares at me for a moment, muttering in another language. It’s probably the vampire one, but fuck if I’m going to distract him now. I’d prefer to come rather than him giving a dissertation, and I refuse to take the chance.

“Deziiiiii…” I grumble as I wiggle in his grasp. The cuts widen a bit from his vamp nails, but it only adds a bit of delightful pain to the anticipation of what I need. “Quit fucking around and do it.”

My demand earns me a supremely male chuckle before he yanks my legs apart and dives in without preamble. His tongue is wicked and lightning fast—you could fucking patent this, I swear—and my entire body arches off the bed within mere moments. I can hardly catch my breath as I dig my fingers into the mattress, holding on for dear life as an orgasm rockets into me so quickly that I can’t even stop it. Shivering from head to toe, I stare with blank eyes at the ceiling while I pray he didn’t just ruin me for everyone else on the fucking planet.

No wonder so many chicks lust after fang-faced losers, even when they’re obvious douchebags.

I don’t mean Dezi, of course, but I always scoffed and now I get it—oh yes, I most certainly get it. Gulping in large breaths as he continues leisurely licks to clean up the mess he made, I try to form coherent thoughts that my mouth will actually speak. My head is hazy, but still able to think, but I just don’t think I can move or say shit yet.

~Witchling, I am pleased to find a new way to leave you speechless. ~

Coughing, I finally manage to say, “Don’t you dare tell anyone or I’ll beat your ass.”

He tsks, a wicked grin touching my thigh before he nips the inside of it. There’s going to be a lot of bruises after tonight, and I’ll have to make certain people don’t think the worst rather than just envy my rockin’ sex life. I lift up a tiny bit, squinting down my body at him as he creates what will be visible hickeys on both of my inner thighs.

“I’m pretty sure my magic… left enough… marks…”