My Blood Is Yours (The Summoning #1)

4. Sariel

SARIEL

A s instructed, I have prepared my home for my soulbound, each otherwise mundane task performed with a fervor unlike anything I’ve experienced before. I even stopped by our former palace’s seamstress on the way home to add to the already immense collection of women’s clothing I’ve had her create for my soulbound . The last place I stop is the silversmith’s to pick up the ring I commissioned the day after my Summoning began. The ruby and gold-yellow diamonds inside it are infused with my own daemon magic. As I hold it in my hand, I can feel the warmth radiating from it.

If it weren’t for the profound, crushing pain in my chest from an ignored Summoning, I’d be roaring with delight at the prospect of uniting with my soulbound for the first time. Instead, my euphoria is stifled by a pain that I can only compare to that of an anvil crushing my chest.

Even so, by the time I arrive home, my cock and knot are heavy with the need to fill my mate. Scalding hot water rains down upon me as I brace myself against the mosaic-tiled wall of my shower and take myself in hand. Fleeting images from my dreams of her fill my mind as I imagine sweeping my cock through the glistening pink petals of her cunt—what I’ve dreamed of every night since my Summoning began—before pressing into her tight warmth, thrusting steadily in and out of her with increasing depth until I’m finally buried in her welcoming body to the hilt.

My need for her is so great that my fantasy can’t keep up with my body. In my mind, I’ve only just begun, but my hand and cock are leagues ahead. My groan ends on a growl tearing from my throat as my seed spills, splattering the wall in front of me.

My chest heaves, and even though I’ve just cum, my cock is still hard and demanding. My hand continues to stroke, albeit a little more gently.

Twice more, I stroke myself to completion, and still, it has done nothing to soothe the ache in my chest. It won’t do to introduce myself to my mate with a full-blown erection, like some untried, adolescent hellion.

Despite my now swaying vision and the thundering pull in my body to retrieve my mate, I manage to give my horns a polish before replacing their gold adornments—caps, rings, and delicate chains with jewels. Daemon males pride themselves on four things: horns, wings, fangs, and cocks. I’m not too modest to admit that I am well endowed in all of the above, praise Akash. Outside of protecting their family, a dominant’s greatest honor is being able to please and provide for their mate in every way.

Nervous butterflies thump around clumsily in my stomach as I rush out the door to my stables to retrieve Pearl. My sweet girl is a pretty thing whilst also being just about the largest horse I’ve ever seen. Her mane is inky-black, like my own, except it’s curled and wavy at the ends, just like the heavy feathering of her hooves, adding an extra touch of femininity.

My skin is crawling with heat, sweat trickles down my nape. I can scarcely breathe; the weight of the Summoning’s demand is so great. Before we’ve even left the barn, I urge her into a gallop. In spite of the pain I’m in, my only thought as we leave my humble cottage in the forest behind us is, ‘Will she like our home?’

The answer matters not. If she wishes for a bigger home, I will build her a bigger home. Even if it has to be with my bare hands—considering my family and I lost the majority of our wealth when Vassileo split apart and we fell into this world.

Thankfully, the King and Queen of Atratus have proven benevolent and helped my family and our people settle comfortably here under the condition we maintain our rule over daemonkind and prevent any further violence or havoc that was wreaked when more than half of Vassileo’s population landed here. Though we no longer have a palatial home, I’m more than happy to have my own land, live in my own home—one that I built with many a helping, educated hand. This place has been kind to us. And despite the turmoil it wrought when we’d first arrived, it’s a far better place than Vassileo—which is an actual hell realm.

Dizziness has overtaken me by the time we arrive back at my parents’ home on the outskirts of the city. I practically tumble off Pearl, barely managing to give her a pat and some oats before I say goodbye. For now.

On silent feet, I tiptoe through their house so as not to wake or startle their staff?—

“Hello, darling.”

The light flicks on to reveal my mother in her long nightgown, my father stands behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. Her silvery hair hangs in a long sheet at her back. My father brushes it for her every night, without fail, as she reads—something he has done since long before I was even born nearly a hundred years ago. The thought causes the Summoning’s ache in my chest to turn white-hot.

At the sight of my pain, they both rush towards me as my mother yanks the ring carrying the Mundrapedra stone off to shove it onto mine. “Akash almighty, you superstitious old fool. We should have given it to him sooner.”

The guilt on my father’s face is transparent as she jams the ring on my pinky finger, and the magic of it instantly molds the metal to expand and fit my finger. “Just promise us that you’ll come back?”

I nod, feeling the ache alleviate slightly. “Always.”

“Do you remember the words, my love?”

Leaning against the bannister of the stair landing, a tremor works through me, my body feverish even as my skin grows cold. My mother’s hand caresses my jaw, her bright eyes darting back and forth between each of mine as she reaches into her pocket and procures a small, glowing blue vial.

Water from The Well of Tongues. She removes the cork and tips it gently into my mouth. I feel nothing aside from a faint tickling sensation in my brain.

My mother pats my cheek. “Don’t worry. The closer you are to her, the more the pain will ease.”

My heart begins to thump an excited beat as I begin to recite the words that will unite me with my soulbound . Merely saying the Vassileon incantation that activates the mundrapedra provides slight relief. A sharp light bursts from the ring, and before I have a chance to orient myself, the world around me shifts, and I land with a thunderous thump on a hardwood floor.

I roll over, head spinning, to find myself in what appears to be a study. My blood throbs in my ears, and I can barely hear above it. Despite the darkness consuming the room, my keen eyesight—just as comfortable in the dark as I am in the light—I can see the books lining every wall and a mountain of paperwork covering a desk. Not a feminine touch to be found except for…

My nostrils flare as I take in her scent. Slightly floral and soft, like powder. Smothering it is the scent of another male. And his seed . Jealousy roars through me, however illogical, closely followed by fear. It’s entirely possible she knows nothing of me and has found another mate.

My thoughts take a dark turn as I manage to crawl to standing with the help of a cabinet sitting beneath a large, inlaid bookshelf. Sucking in deep breaths as I brace myself on the edge of the cupboard, my eyes catch on several illustrations of majori. Thanks to my English studies—after I’d researched the Terrenean language I’d heard my soulbound speak in my dreams—I’m able to recognize a few words: fae, powers, blood, etc. but nothing to garner the jist of what I’m reading, aside from the fact it appears to be research.

To my dismay, it seems drinking water from The Well of Tongues only gives you the ability to speak the language, not read it.

My attention shifts to the magic pouring off a few of the artefacts decorating one shelf—particularly because this realm is supposed to be filled with humans who possess little magic. The most significant of which appears to be a small wooden chest covered in a fine layer of dust. Before I can think better of it, I find my hand drifting towards it and lifting its lid. A velvet cushion boasts a petite spinning top of polished wood and intricately engraved metal, with a twinkling crystal at the tip of its handle.

I’ve never been much for thieving, but whatever male’s home this is that my mate is living in… I don’t feel any remorse about pocketing something that clearly isn’t his. I will the top away for safekeeping and close the lid as I try to quell the jealousy and anger roaring through me at the cursed stench of another male’s seed—a lykos, based on the faint musk of fur permeating the air—mingling with that of my soulbound.

Will she hate me if I murder this imposter mate from whom she has sought pleasure?

My vision sways, even as it bleeds red rage, as I drag myself towards a large desk and hover, squeezing my eyes shut to still my spinning equilibrium.

Fuck me, this is no state in which my soulbound should see me.

After a few steadying deep breaths, I turn to search for the door.

Only to find a gun pointed at the center of my forehead. I barely have time to register the moustached and goateed male before me before there’s a bright flash and darkness consumes me.