The Blood Crown (The Blood Folk #2)

49. Chapter 49

Chapter 49

S hadows shattered against the black stone floors as Ven released Aurelia.

He turned abruptly toward the flickering light of the hearth, elbows propped against the carved mantle. His fingers threaded behind his neck, the muscles of his back rippling as he dropped his head to the stone.

“The opinion of one male does not determine your worth,” she softly offered.

“No—” he rasped. “But I’ve just proven myself the monster he claims me to be.”

He easily could have killed the male for his insubordination alone, but he let him live.

“You would not have changed his mind even if you’d offered up your crown. Males like him will take their words to the grave rather than admit their fault.”

He whirled to face her. “I do not regret it, Aurelia. The insults to myself—” He gave a humorless laugh. “I’ve ignored those my entire life. But a word against you . . .”

His gaze dropped to his hands as he flexed them, clenching them into fists, knuckles cracking like warning thunder. “I contemplated doing far worse to him.” His eyes lifted, the flames behind him flaring higher in answer as he searched her face.

Whatever he was looking for there . . . Fear, disgust—he would not find it. Maybe that made her a monster, too.

Shadows poured from him, wreathing his feet and eddying across the floor as she crossed the room. But the black tendrils dispelled as she drew closer, until only a hands-breadth remained between them, his chest nearly touching her chin with every ragged breath he took.

“You were far kinder than he deserved,” she replied coldly.

The flames in the hearth behind him banked, dropping into the soft crackle of embers again.

He lifted a hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as a smirk tugged at his lips. “I’m not sure I should take counsel on restraint from the female who ripped out a throat for me.”

“And I would have ripped out a dozen more if given the chance,” she murmured, placing a hand against his chest and pushing him to his knees on the piled rug before the fire.

“I would have liked to see that,” his voice rumbled. His hands wrapped around the backs of her thighs to cup the curve of her ass, but she knew the deflection for what it was.

Sadness lingered in his eyes though he tried to mask it. He was questioning what he’d done.

But if he’d been any other male—if his father had been Hathos instead of the monster that ruled over the Court of Flame—no one would have thought twice about his actions.

She knelt to face him. The sharp blade of a nose, the proud brow. He was so damned beautiful. “If you choose to bear the burden of every evil deed in this world," she murmured, "you will eventually crumble under the weight of it.”

A small smile lifted the corner of his sensuous mouth as his hands roamed the curve of her waist. “Throwing my words back at me?”

“Only when they are deserved,” she answered.

This fearsome, terrifying warrior—her king—needed to let down his weapons for a moment. So her lips were gentle as they found his, tender as she pushed him back onto the piled rug.

His hands gripped her hips, pulling her on top of him. Her hair fell in a dark curtain around them as he rocked the hard length of himself against her, making a breathless gasp catch in her throat.

“You are good , and loyal—and you are worthy.” she whispered against his mouth. “Worthy of everything that has come to you.”

He’d been unrelenting in helping her find her place here. In letting her become one of them—long before the love between them had blossomed. Before he’d seen a future for them. He’d done it simply because he’d known the cold, empty loneliness of not belonging anywhere and he hadn’t wanted her to suffer the same.

Ven's shadows swirled around them and she murmured to her own, watching them slither across the floor. The pale, dove gray intertwining with his impenetrable black. They caressed her skin as Ven tugged off her jacket, rucking up the shirt beneath and pulling it over her head. Moments later the rest of their clothing was gone.

The fire roared beside them, chasing away the chill, but her skin pebbled at the contact of the cold air—or maybe it was the way Ven looked up at her now, eyes hooded beneath black lashes, dark with desire.

The way he looked at her— Fate . . . would she ever get used to it?

“I’ll never be worthy of you,” he murmured, his breath hot and demanding against her throat, pressing himself against her.

But he’d been the first person who had seen what she was capable of and pushed her to see it in herself—who saw the beauty in who she was, exactly as she was. Who fought for her, who defended her. This male who had brought her into his life without hesitation—without conditions. He’d seen every dark shadow in her, every ugly truth and every gritty victory. He’d witnessed her power and he did not call her a monster. He knew what she was capable of to protect the people she loved, and he understood it. Down to his very being.

They were two sides of the same coin. Opposites, and yet inextricable from each other.

“You always were,” she breathed. And it was only then that the guarded expression on his face came crashing down.

His callused palms traveled the curve of her bare waist, cupping her breasts and making her whimper with aching, wanton need. A flood of heat pooled low in her belly as her fingers tangled in the silken strands of his onyx hair. It was longer now, but she loved that she could fist her hands in it—forcing this fearsome male into submission if only for a few moments.

Her fangs grazed his bottom lip, the small taste of blood sending her pulse hammering through her veins, the scent of him flooding her nose and removing all other thoughts. And she slid down on him in a single movement, his hips lifting to meet hers. A rasp escaping her as the exquisite pain gave way to pleasure.

And she nearly shattered at the look he gave her now, beneath her, hands circling her hips and mouth parted as if she were a goddess and he were worshiping at her altar.

She moved her hips, watching his eyes glaze over in ecstasy. He was at her command tonight, a blade to be wielded as she desired.

Guiding his hand between the soft swells of her breasts, she brought his wrist to her lips, letting the points of her fangs scrape against his golden skin. She sank her teeth into his vein, watching as the crimson of his irises flooded black. Rocking her hips in time with every pull—she drank down his pleasure along with his blood and it wasn’t long before both of them tumbled into oblivion together.