Chapter 18 August
August
Fucking Simon!
I knew he loved to play his games and tonight it was how drunk he could get the queen. And she let him. I’d never seen her so carefree. Ever since we got here, she had been tense, calculating, apprehensive toward everyone. The type that would never let me near her. Just as she needed to be.
But tonight, she wasn’t. She danced, her laughter spilling out.
She smiled at strangers, let their hands rest too long at her waist, twirled beneath their arms like she didn’t feel the weight of what this was.
Drink after drink, she let herself slip further from the rigid control she always clung to.
And gods, she was beautiful in it—infuriatingly beautiful.
I watched her from the throne, every touch she allowed from another man stoking the slow burn of jealousy beneath my skin.
My Winnie.
But not mine.
But still mine.
And here I was carrying her back to our room. I started to run, but she screamed and said she would vomit if I went too fast. So I was fucking walking up this spiraling staircase.
She wouldn’t shut up. Talking about everything—how many men she danced with, how good the wine was, how Simon told a joke that made her laugh so hard she cried.
On and on, like she didn’t even need me to respond.
I just kept walking, tightening my hold on her with every word.
Part of me wondered if that’s what I sounded like when I spiraled—rambling and frantic and pretending I wasn’t breaking apart.
She closed her eyes and nuzzled her nose into my chest, taking a deep breath. “Take me to bed, August.”
I stilled as I stepped into our chambers.
“Excuse me?”
She glanced up at me as if I had two heads, her eyes wide. “I am tired so take me to bed.”
I shook my head, trying to clear the thought of truly taking her to bed out of my mind. “No, you need a bath. I can smell those vampires all over you.”
She trailed a single finger up my chest. “Are you jealous?”
I ignored her.
She let out a huff but didn’t fight me as I carried her to the washroom. I helped her out of her dress—well, the thin pieces of fabric that barely covered her. These dresses tested my control every time she put one on.
Then I noticed the wooden stake strapped to her thigh. Interesting.
When I tried to help her step over the side of the tub, she snatched her hand from mine. “I am perfectly capable of getting in the bath myself.”
I threw my hands up before pulling the stool up that Jane always used and sitting down.
Just as she stepped into the bath—steam curling around her limbs like smoke—she slipped.
She let out a sharp gasp just as I heard the scrape of flesh against metal.
My body stiffened instantly. The scent hit me before I saw it.
Blood. Her blood.
She’d caught her hand on the jagged corner of the table. It was a small cut, but potent. My mouth tingled. Hunger flared like a match struck too close to dry paper.
“Oops,” she said lightly, easing herself into the water as if nothing had happened. She lifted her hand, staring at it with theatrical curiosity before dragging two fingers through the blood. The motion was slow. Deliberate. Seductive.
She turned her head, eyes gleaming with mischief, innocence painted across her face like a dare. “Want a taste?”
Fuck me!
My throat tightened. I hesitated, wrestling against instinct, against the sharp spike of desire from the scent of her blood. My vision darkened for a beat, pupils stretching wide.
Inhale. Steady. Don’t move.
And in the space of that hesitation, memories surged.
Flashes of her standing over the corpses of Legion soldiers, blood dripping from her fingertips, calm as the moon above. She’d killed them so easily—like it meant nothing. Anyone sane would have been repulsed.
But I wasn’t.
Another flash—her kissing me in that alley, her lips stained with her own blood. She didn’t care. She kissed me anyway.
I leaned forward before I could stop myself.
She smiled as she slipped her fingers into her mouth. Her eyes never left mine as she sucked them clean. A soft, satisfied giggle escaped her lips.
“See?” she whispered. “I knew you still wanted me.”
She thought she could control this. Control me.
But she didn’t know how dangerous this game was.
I couldn’t handle this. I had to show her that I was the one in control. Not her. I rose slowly, unbuttoning my shirt. Her bravado faltered—her arms came up, covering herself like I hadn’t already memorized every inch of her.
Then my pants hit the floor with a soft thud.
Her gaze dropped instinctively. She hadn’t meant to look, but she did—and when her eyes found my hard-exposed length, they widened.
A pink flush crept up her neck. I couldn’t help the slow, wicked smile that pulled at my lips.
She quickly looked away, but it was too late.
I saw it. She still wanted me. And gods, I wanted her to know it.
I stepped into the bath without a word. She tensed, shifting backward until her spine pressed against the porcelain wall, trying to retreat. But there was nowhere to go. Her pulse thundered in my ears. The scent of her—arousal, defiance, the coppery trace of blood—wrapped around me like a noose.
I leaned back, water lapping up my chest, and draped my arms along the rim of the tub behind her.
Close. Caged.
I tilted my head and let my eyes drag slowly over her face. “Don’t think you can win this, Winnie.”
I forced my gaze to stay on her face. Her skin glistened, water catching the flicker of candlelight. My voice was low, controlled—but beneath it, the hunger stirred. Not just for her blood. But for her.
She narrowed her eyes, but didn’t move. “Then what are we doing here?”
I leaned in, just enough for her to feel the brush of my breath. “You tell me. You drew the blood. You issued the invitation.”
“I thought you were trying to stay away from me,” she whispered.
“I was.” I glanced down at the rippling water between us. “And yet here we are.”
She reached out, fingertips brushing my chest. It wasn’t gentle. It was a test—measuring just how far I’d let her go.
“Do you feel nothing for me?” she asked.
I closed my eyes, jaw flexing. “Yes.”
“Liar.”
My eyes snapped open. She was closer now. The distance between us reduced to nothing. I could hear her blood pulsing, feel the heat of her body through the water.
“Actually I do feel something,” I said, jaw clenched. “The need to drain you of every drop of blood.”
She leaned in until our lips almost touched. “Then do it.”
I was a breath away from disaster. “You keep pushing me. You want to see what happens when I stop holding back?”
She tilted her head slowly to the side, exposing the delicate column of her throat. Her black waves spilled off her shoulder, revealing bare, flushed skin. The pulse in her neck fluttered visibly. “Yes.”
My restraint shattered.
With a sharp inhale, I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into my lap.
She gasped—whether from surprise or anticipation, I couldn’t tell.
Her thighs pressed to either side of mine, her hands braced against my chest. I didn’t give her time to think.
My lips found her throat, brushing the skin where her pulse throbbed like a drum.
She arched into me as I sank my fangs in.
It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t violent. It was intimate. Deep and slow. Her fingers dug into my shoulders, not to push me away but to pull me closer. I drank just enough to taste her. To feel her.
When I finally pulled back, her chest was heaving. Her lips parted. Her eyes glazed. She was still in my lap, still holding onto me like she didn’t want to let go.
Too far. This was going too far.
My hands lingered on her waist a moment longer than they should have. Her breath ghosted against my cheek, shallow and warm, her pulse still racing from the bite. It would be so easy to stay there. To let her pull me under again.
But I couldn’t.
With a sharp breath, I pushed her off me—not harshly, but firm enough to make her stumble slightly in the water. Her eyes widened, shocked, maybe even hurt.
I stood, the bathwater rushing off me in waves that slapped against the porcelain and spilled onto the marble floor.
“We can’t.” My reply was a choked off whisper.
She didn’t respond, just watched me with parted lips and a storm of emotion in her eyes. Lust, confusion, and something close to fury.
I didn’t look back again. I reached for a towel and stepped out of the room, leaving behind the ache of her body, the scent of her blood, and the weight of a line I’d already crossed too many times.
But it wasn’t enough.
The moment the door shut behind me, I slammed my fist against the stone wall.
Pain exploded through my knuckles. I welcomed it.
With a guttural sound I couldn’t suppress, I seized the edge of the dressing table and cracked it in half.
Wood splintered under my grip, fragments flying. Playing with fire always had a price.
And tonight, it almost cost me everything.