Chapter 17 Bronwen
Bronwen
“What do you mean you haven’t fed in over a week? You almost lost control in front of the entire great room, August!”
I paced across our chambers, the hem of my gown swishing around my ankles, my bare feet silent on the cold stone floor. The moment he overcame the animalistic part that had taken him over, we’d left.
“Do not scold me like you are my…” He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “You know what? Never mind.”
“Your wife?” I snapped, spinning on him. “I am your wife, and you almost bit me in front of everyone. Why haven’t you fed?”
“I have been busy,” he muttered, jaw clenched.
“Too busy to feed? Too busy to do the one thing that keeps you alive? Wait.” I crossed my arms, my anger burning just beneath my skin. “What about the blood in the great room? I’ve seen you drink that.”
“That is animal blood. It is enjoyable in the moment, but it doesn’t help long term.”
“Animal blood?” I scoffed, eyebrows lifting. “What type of animals? Deer? Cows?” I gasped. “Horses?”
“You don’t want me to answer that.”
My eyes widened. “Oh my gods—you didn’t.”
August stared at me. “That bothers you more than me feeding on humans?”
I crossed my arms. “I grew up knowing vampires fed on humans, but animals? Horses? That seems unnatural.” A cold dread bloomed in my chest. I brought a hand to my mouth.
“Shadow’s missing. If he was stolen in the night like you say humans are, I swear to the gods, August, I will burn this castle to the ground tonight. ”
He stepped closer to me and shook his head. “There hasn’t been any deliveries in weeks.”
I exhaled in relief, but only for a second. When I looked up, August’s eyes had shifted—crimson bleeding into the brown, veins darkening beneath his skin like cracks in porcelain. My stomach dropped.
“August. You have to go feed.”
He turned his face away, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle ticking. For a moment, I thought he might argue. But then he closed his eyes. “We are going now,” he said quietly. “I can’t risk losing control around you again.”
August walked ahead of me through the dark streets, his guards trailing a few paces behind us.
We both wore cloaks, hoods drawn low to obscure our faces from any curious eyes peering out through the cracks of shuttered windows.
I had assumed he would take us below the castle, to some dim corridor where a willing servant awaited their turn. But no—he insisted he had to hunt.
Not just feed. Hunt.
There was something primal in the way he said it. Like the idea of anything less repulsed him. It unsettled me, the way his hunger twisted into something almost sacred. I kept glancing at him as we walked, wondering what kind of predator needed a performance just to survive.
His pace was brisk as he turned down another street.
“Seems like you know exactly where to go,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
He didn’t answer. Didn’t even glance back.
I sped up, falling into step beside him. “I could lead us there, considering I’ve gotten to the part of your long life where you enjoyed the company of easy women before you fed.”
That stopped him cold. He turned his head slowly, his gaze cutting sideways with razor precision. “Are you having sex dreams about me now?”
“Unwanted nightmares.”
He smirked, but his eyes shifted to my neck and he turned around.
“Why don’t you stay back with the guards? I don’t know how my hunger is going to react.”
I wanted to argue, to get under his skin a little more because I was still angry with him, but he was right.
I let him get well ahead of me before walking further down the cobbled street, past shuttered shops and dimly lit inns.
Wild music drifted from somewhere ahead.
As we turned a corner, the street opened up into a part of town that felt alive in a very different way.
Drunken laughter spilled into the air. A few bodies lay slumped against the stone walls, passed out or too far gone to care.
A man sang off-key from the steps of a tavern while another danced in the mud with his coat halfway off.
The scent of sweat, ale, and something more acrid clung to the breeze.
But I knew August wouldn’t choose from these.
Still, he didn’t stop. Just kept walking, gaze cutting through the haze like he was searching for something specific.
Until he saw her, a tall brunette smiling like she already knew what he wanted.
He stopped in front of her, and she said something, low and teasing, and I couldn’t hear the words.
But I saw the way he leaned in slightly, the way his head tilted to the side.
He was flirting.
My chest tightened. A slow, hot burn lit behind my ribs—jealousy, sharp and unbidden. It wasn’t fair, and I knew it. He wasn’t mine. Not really. Not in any way that mattered. But that didn’t stop the possessive rage that coiled low in my stomach, the irrational need to tear her away from him.
I hated the way she looked at him like she already knew him, like he was hers. I hated the way he leaned into it, let her touch his arm, let her laugh like it didn’t matter that I was right there—watching. Like I was invisible.
I hated that it hurt.
And I hated myself for caring at all.
He said something else—too low for me to hear—and then they vanished into the alley together like they’d done this a hundred times before.
I should’ve turned away. Should’ve stayed where I was. But I didn’t.
I moved, creeping forward, staying low against the edge of the wall. My heart pounded louder than my footsteps, echoing with every step like betrayal.
“Your Grace,” one of the guards whispered, but I waved a dismissive hand, too angry and too determined to care what I might see.
I found them in the alley. Her back was pressed to the stone, her neck arched and her lips parted in ecstasy. His mouth was at her throat, and she moaned as he fed. His hands gripped her waist with reverence, like she was something sacred.
My breath caught, and heat flushed beneath my skin in waves.
It was sick—awful—and yet my stomach coiled with need so fierce it nearly dropped me to my knees.
My thighs pressed together without meaning to, heart pounding as I stared.
I should’ve looked away. I should’ve turned and left. But I couldn’t.
Because I wanted that.
Not the flirting. Not the alleyway. I would’ve rather caught him kissing her. At least then it would’ve meant less. But this? His mouth at her neck? This was worship.
And gods help me, I needed him to bite me like that again.
The jealousy came like fire and ice all at once. My pulse screamed in my ears. My skin buzzed with resentment, shame, and something darker. Something desperate. I hated him for doing it, hated her for enjoying it, and hated myself most of all for wanting it.
I watched the life drain from her, slow and strangely graceful, until her knees buckled and her body slumped to the ground.
August raised his head. Blood on his mouth. Eyes wild. Then he went still. His nostrils flared—and before I could move, he turned.
In the space of a heartbeat, I was pinned against the wall, his body pressed to mine, his breath hot against my cheek. But he was more monster than August right now.
“It’s me.” I pressed my hands against his chest, ready to stop him if he couldn’t stop himself.
“Winnie,” he whispered.
His lips brushed my neck, and my skin pebbled. He pulled back, just enough to look at me. His eyes were still red, glowing like coals beneath stormclouds. He stared—like he didn’t trust himself to blink. And then, slowly, deliberately, he closed them. When he opened them again, they were brown.
“No,” he said, voice raw. “I can’t.”
And in that moment, I saw it.
The crack in the mask.
He’d lied. Again. He always lied. At first, it was to protect me. To keep me from knowing too much. Now, it was to keep himself from feeling too much.
But I saw through him.
He hated me, maybe. Maybe he couldn’t even look at me without remembering everything I destroyed. But he felt something. Still.
And I was going to make him feel all of it until he shattered.
* * *
Another party. Another show. August had kept his distance since last night, walking a fine line between fury and restraint. I could feel it in every clipped word, every time he looked away too quickly. He was barely holding on to his control. And I wasn’t about to make it easy for him.
The dress Jane brought me this time was nearly translucent, a whisper of silver silk that shimmered like starlight and sin.
It clung to every curve, sleeveless and scandalously low across my chest, dipping even lower at my back.
The fabric pooled at my feet in a way that made each step deliberate, regal. I never would’ve chosen it for myself.
But I wore it.
And I loved it.
I caught my reflection as we descended the staircase. For a moment, I didn’t recognize the woman staring back. She looked like she belonged here. Not a prisoner. Not a pawn. A queen carved from defiance.
When I looked up as we walked through the great room, I saw how they watched me. Not just with wariness.
But with want.
Their eyes clung to me, sliding over bare skin like hands. Fear still lingered—good—but now there was hunger in it too. A shift. A recognition that I was not just dangerous.
I was desirable.
One vampire leaned to another and muttered something with a grin.
Another tipped his glass to me, and I didn’t look away.
August walked beside me like a thundercloud, his silence louder than anything.
The tension rolled off him in waves, and every time someone stared too long at me, I felt it spike higher.
That was the part I liked best.
We ascended to the thrones as the great room pulsed beneath us, music rising like a heartbeat. Dancers twirled, laughter cut sharp through the air.
Then Simon appeared.
He was the first of the siblings to approach us during one of these displays. He bowed low in exaggerated fashion, holding a goblet out to me. His grin was too white, too easy.
“For the queen.”
I didn’t move right away. My eyes slid to August.
He didn’t even glance my way. Just sipped his wine and said, “He wouldn’t be stupid enough to try something. Drink.”
That told me everything I needed to know. He was watching, even if he wasn’t looking. And he hated this. I took the goblet. It was chilled and heavy in my hand. The liquid inside caught the light like garnet—deep red wine that smelled of dark berries and spice, rich and heady.
Simon lingered, gaze flicking to August, then back to me. I took a sip. It was good.
“Would you like to dance, my queen?”
August stiffened beside me, his jaw flexing. “I don—”
“Yes, I’d love to,” I said quickly, rising before he could finish.
I took Simon’s hand. I would’ve turned him down if it weren’t for August trying to answer for me. But now? Now that I knew his indifference was an act? I wanted him to watch.
We danced. And drank. Simon spun me until the room blurred, handed me drink after drink until the edges softened. I laughed once—maybe too loudly—but I didn’t care. For a little while, I forgot what surrounded me. Monsters in beautiful clothes. Danger disguised as delight.
And above it all, August watched. Burning.