CHAPTER THIRTEEN
13
Draven
Ten impatient minutes had ticked by, and still no Morwenna.
My hand instinctively raised the delicate porcelain cup to my lips, only to find it empty. A rustle announced her arrival. Morwenna set the tray on the mahogany table with a practiced clatter. The heirloom silver jug gleamed alongside fresh cups, a silent accusation of my dwindling patience.
With a practiced grace, she tucked the tray under her arm, maintaining a respectful distance.
I reached for the jug, filling the cup once more, the crimson liquid a temporary balm to my gnawing hunger.
Morwenna averted her gaze, her posture stiff. Just as she turned to leave, I spoke, my voice a low rumble. “And who said you should leave...?” Her steps faltered, and she returned to her position by the table.
“I thought you didn’t need me here anymore,” she ventured, a hint of defiance lacing her voice.
“Stop assuming,” I growled, tossing back the last of the crimson liquid.
The cup hit the table with a sharp rap, teetering on the edge but refusing to shatter.
A gnawing hunger clawed at me, a primal yearning for two things: blood and her.
I flicked a finger towards the empty cup, a silent command. Morwenna understood. She set the tray down carefully and tilted the heavy jug, her hand steady as she poured into the delicate porcelain.
“More,” I rasped, the blood barely satiating the ravenous hunger. Just as the cup brimmed, ready to spill, she hesitated. “Keep pouring, Morwenna.”
“But it’s already full!” she protested, indicating the brimming cup.
“Keep pouring until I tell you to stop,” I instructed, my bottom lip caught between my teeth as I imagined Morwenna as the cup, filled to the brim with my release, overflowing from her swollen, needy pussy.
It was a tantalizing thought, making my cock throb uncomfortably in my pants.
Damn it, I was fantasizing about her again.
This wasn’t the first time, and I could feel the evidence slickening the tip of my cock.
My hand stretched out to grasp hers, halting her mid-pour. She stopped immediately, but not before the blood spilled over the rim of the cup onto the table.
With a sigh, she placed the jug aside, though my grip on her wrist remained tight.
I could smell her blood, pulsing through her veins, tempting me to leave my mark.
Fuck this shit.
Bringing her wrist to my face, I drew her closer to me, her body inching nearer on the chair.
I began to lick her finger, biting it softly before sucking on it, savoring her intoxicating scent until it was almost unbearable.
The urge to press my fangs against her skin was overwhelming. So overwhelming.
“The cup,” I rasped, hunger gnawing at my insides. My hand remained clamped on her wrist as she used her free hand to navigate the overflowing porcelain cup towards me. My face contorted in desperate need. I dipped a finger into the crimson liquid and brought it to my lips. It was satisfactory—artificial, unable to fully quench a vampire’s thirst, but enough to dampen the craving for human blood. “Set it down on the table,” I commanded, noticing her trembling hand as she held the cup. She complied, lowering the cup to the tabletop with a clatter. “Feed me,” I growled, a low rumble in my chest.
Confusion clouded her features. “Feed you?” she echoed, a whisper escaping her lips. “With...” Her voice trailed off as I snatched one of her fingers in my grip and plunged it into the cup. Her breath hitched.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” I hissed, retrieving her blood-coated finger and guiding it towards my mouth.
Her digit flinched – the artificial concoction, thick and viscous, bore an uncanny resemblance to the real thing, save for its unnatural consistency.
I clamped down, sucking greedily, the frantic pulse of her heart a counterpoint to the hollow ache within me.
She swallowed audibly. “Is that... human blood?”
I released her finger, a wry smile twisting my lips. “Artificial,” I replied, the word a sigh.
“Who supplies the blood?” she pressed, her voice a breathy whisper. I hungrily sucked her finger, the same one I’d dipped back into the overflowing cup moments before.
A guttural moan escaped her lips as I drained the last drop.
With a final flick of my tongue, I released her finger.
“The Alchemists,” I answered curtly.
“Ah,” she breathed, the air thick with unspoken questions. “And... is it your family who brokers this arrangement with them?”
My hunger gnawed at me with every question. “The more you pry,” I warned, my voice a low growl, “the harder it gets to resist.”
She flinched, dropping her gaze in submission. Fuck, she played the innocent well. My eyes raked down her form, taking in the dress. “Elara delivered a gift,” I said, my voice laced with suspicion. “Why aren’t you wearing it?”
Her head snapped up, but she avoided my gaze. “I received your gift, Almighty Lord Draven, and I am indeed wearing it,” she stammered, a touch too formally.
My eyes narrowed as they traversed her body again. A curse word slipped under my breath. “Did you… alter the dress?”
“I merely… adjusted it,” she replied, the cutesy tone dripping with insincerity.
“Adjusted? You scissored it. Why?” I demanded, my patience wearing thin.
“Because you’re treating me like royalty,” she mumbled, defiance flickering in her eyes, “and I’m not.”
A dangerous glint entered my own. “So, you prefer the opposite treatment?”
“Yes,” she nodded, “I’m a servant here, and I should remain one, not some type of royalty.”
I sighed. “It’s a gift, Morwenna. Is that how you treat a gift?”
“Gifts always come with strings attached. You sent me the gift either as a mockery because I’m not royalty or because you want me to look pretty, which I don’t want to, and...” She trailed off, finally meeting my gaze. “Because I sucked you,” she implied, and I immediately understood her meaning. With another sigh, she added, “And I don’t think it’s genuine, that’s all.”
“Morwenna, it’s a nice gesture. I just wanted you to wear it.”
“So you can admire me? Nope,” she said. “I doubt it’s a genuine gesture; you probably want me to have sex with you,” she boldly added.
I tightened my grip on her wrist. “Damn it, Morwenna. If I wanted to have sex, I would’ve done it a long time ago. I would have done it the moment you stumbled upon the blue room where the seven sins were committed. I wouldn’t have even let you go without taking you until you trembled on my cock.”
She tried to maintain her composure. “So what’s stopping you from doing that?”
A wry smile played on my lips as I lifted her hand, the one still bound by my grasp, and brought it to my lips. A chaste kiss landed on its back, a stark contrast to the desires simmering beneath the surface. “A whole lot of things that you don’t know of,” I murmured.
Her gaze darted away, unable to meet mine. “And that’s why I don’t want to look pretty for you, so you don’t feel this urge to... have sex,” she whispered, and that’s when I lost it. With a swift movement, I rose, pulling her close. Her head found solace against my chest, the rapid rhythm of her heart a counterpoint to the slow burn consuming me.
“You don’t need to fucking look pretty to turn me on because I can still lust for your body and yet still not be satisfied with it,” My hand drifted down, finding its way to the curve of her backside. A satisfied sigh escaped her lips as I squeezed gently. “Pretty clothes bring out the seduction of a body, but the real seduction lies in you being...” I trailed off as my hand gripped one of her ass cheeks, pressing it and causing her to moan under my touch. “Naked!” I added in a whisper as I freed her from my grip, allowing her to finally catch her breath.
I settled back in my chair, draining the small porcelain cup in one go. I wiped my lips with a nearby tissue, stealing a glance at her. She was trying to regain her composure, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. “What?” I asked, catching her gaze before she looked away. “Want me to rip that dress off and fuck you?” It was a question that silenced every thought in her heart.
“No,” she swallowed the desire burning in her chest.
“Doesn’t sound like that’s what your body wants,” I countered, a smirk playing on my lips.
“Stop reading my mind,” she hissed, a flicker of annoyance flashing across her face.
“I can’t help it,” I murmured, a low rumble in my chest. “I can’t help but be drawn to your fucking thoughts, Morwenna. It’s like my drug, remember?” I said as I raised the cup in the air. “Pour me another!”
She muttered a barely audible protest, but her steps bridged the distance between us.
“What is it you’re complaining about?” My voice was a low rumble as I watched her grip tighten on the heirloom jug.
“No—Nothing,” she stammered, a touch of formality creeping into her tone. “Nothing, Almighty Lord Draven!” Her hands trembled slightly as she continued to pour the contents into the delicate porcelain cup, a slow, deliberate ritual. A stray strand of hair tickled her cheek, which she kept blowing away with a huff. Unable to resist, I reached out a single finger and brushed it aside, the feather-light touch causing her to flinch.
Then my voice lowered, “I want to get to know you more, Morwenna,” I said.
She finished pouring and set the jug down on the mahogany table. “What would you like to know?”
“Everything,” I whispered. “Tell me everything about you,” I breathed, cupping the porcelain in my hand and lifting it towards my lips.
“Well,” she began just as I was about to take a sip, “I have a boyfriend.”
A flicker of jealousy sparked within me, but I managed to keep my voice neutral. “Anything other than that.”
She seemed to relish ignoring my question. “We’ve known each other for a long time,” she continued, a knowing glint in her eyes. “We’ve been dating for six months now, and yes, we’ve had sex. Quite a lot, actually.” The way she purred the last part sent a jolt through me.
“Sex?!” The word ripped from my throat, laced with jealousy. Before I could control myself, my vampire reflexes kicked in. One smooth motion, and my hand was wrapped around her waist, the long mahogany table a meager barrier between us. “Let’s see!”
“Fuck no,” she says, trying to loosen herself from my grip, but it’s futile. “Let go of me, Draven!” she calls my name without any formality, but I’m not concerned with that. I’m focused on seeing if she’s a virgin or not.
I can smell it—the blood that passes through the tightness of her pussy. She’s a virgin, and I know she’s just lying to get under my skin.
With that, I fulfill her words by letting her go.
If I were to hungrily dip my finger into her cunt right now to find out if she’s a virgin or not (which I can do at this moment), I wouldn’t even think twice about pulling my dick out to slam deep into her.
Fuck.
Heat runs down my groin.
I don’t think I can help it. I can’t.
Now free, Morwenna tries to maintain a distance, but not too much, from the long table and me.
“Next time, Morwenna,” I clench my teeth, “don’t try to use your innocence to lie to me because I know you’re still a virgin, and I can take it away from you right now.” She rolls her eyes at what I said. I lick my lips, imagining thrusting into her and having those eyes of hers roll.
Everything about her, every part of her body, every word she says is an instant turn-on. “Careful, Morwenna, you’re turning me on!” I say, trying to divert my thoughts.
With that, I dip the cup into my mouth to try to take a sip and calm myself down.
“Let’s talk about you,” she says.
“What do you want to talk about?”
“The late Mistress who used to occupy the room that I’m now staying in,” when she brings that up, I stop sipping from the cup immediately.
“We don’t talk about her!” I warn.
“Was she your wife?” she questions, waving off my warnings. I clench the cup tightly as Morwenna continues to throw questions at me. “Did you put me in that room because I look like your late wife? Did you—”
“I said we don’t talk about her!” I say, my voice dangerous like a viper’s hiss as the cup I was gripping breaks from my hand, making her heart skip a beat.
“My apologies. I didn’t know how triggering raising that topic would be,” she says.
Fuck. Now the blood in the cup has shattered, staining the table and my shirt. It incorporated the broken fragments of the past, literally dripping onto the present.
Morwenna, the dutiful one, takes out a clean tissue from the table. “I am so sor—” she pauses, noticing our closeness. I scoffed internally. A napkin wouldn’t erase the ache in my chest. Still, I watched her dab at the stain, her touch surprisingly gentle on my hardened exterior.
“Morwenna,” I whisper, noticing how she hurriedly wipes my shirt, but she doesn’t respond. “It’s black, no one will see the stain.”
“But it’s my fault,” she whispers back. Her blaming herself, for once, feels like an instant turn-on.
“I can give you something to wipe if you insist,” With a lightning-fast movement, honed by centuries of existence, I unbuttoned my shirt, revealing a glimpse of bare chest. Her eyes skip a beat as she flutters them open and shut, shocked, unsure of what to do or feel next. “Ahem!” I clear my throat, pulling her out of her thoughts, and she immediately turns back to the present.
“Oh!” she gasped, momentarily startled.
She began to lower herself, her gaze dropping to my bare chest.
My own eyes followed hers, a slow, deliberate scan that lingered on the tempting curve of her neck and the hint of creamy skin peeking from her dress.
Heat flared in my gut, a primal hunger stoked by the forbidden glimpse.
Fuck. My cock. Damn.
Her jaw tilted up in my hand, briefly halting her ministrations.
As I rose from the chair, her gaze locked on mine, the disparity in our heights momentarily stealing her focus. “Continue,” I murmured, a hint of amusement dancing in my voice. Her head snapped down as she resumed wiping my chest with practiced efficiency. While my flesh remained pristine, the brush of her touch sent a jolt through me.
To heighten the tension, I shed my black shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the chair.
A gasp escaped her lips, her hand trembling as she took in the expanse of my chest.
Her eyes devoured the sight, and a silent bite of her lip betrayed her mounting desire.
The tissue forgotten, it fluttered to the floor, its descent snapping her attention back to the task at hand.
“Oops,” she breathed, a touch flustered. She started to bend down, but I reached out, capturing her hand and guiding it back to my chest. The movement seemed to steal the air from her lungs, leaving her breathless.
“I prefer your hand to do the work, Morwenna,” I said as she uses her hand to wipe my chest. Fuck, I can feel the heat running down my groin. “Lower your hand down, love,” I say, letting go of her wrist as she follows my instructions, lowering her hand to my chest. “Lower, love,” I urged, a groan escaping my lips as she seemed to misinterpret my desire. Taking a deep breath, I gently guided her hand down my torso, the friction sending a jolt of electricity through me. Her gasp echoed in the breathes as her fingers brushed the bulge straining against my pants.
Morwenna’s eyes met mine, a mixture of curiosity and trepidation swirling within them.
Slowly, as if unsure, she circled the pulsing heat beneath the fabric, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
Desire crackled between us, thick and potent.
Shit.
I couldn’t hold back any longer.
My hand went up to her face as I lowered my head and planted my lips on hers, exploring every corner of her mouth.
Fuck.
I sucked harder, slipping my tongue inside her mouth, gaining entrance through her teeth.
I kept the pace slow at first as one of her hands circled my erection.
A moan escaped her lips as I pulled out, noticing Lady Jen’s interruption at the other end. Morwenna was backing her, and I was the only one who could see Lady Jen in the doorway.
“Yes, Genevieve,” I said, my voice a touch strained. Despite the distance between us, thanks to the vastness of the dining room and the flickering candlelight, our gazes locked.
“Your brothers are waiting,” she informed me, her tone laced with urgency. “The ritual... it’s about to begin.”
Fuck. I had totally forgotten that Aric was hosting a ceremony, a sacred vow my late father had insisted upon for the Brothers of Sin. And here I was, lost in the intoxicating haze of Morwenna’s touch, completely forgetting. I was so close to claiming her until Lady Jen interrupted.
“I’ll be there shortly,” I replied, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders. They couldn’t commence without their King. With a nod, Lady Jen disappeared, leaving me alone with Morwenna, the embers of our interrupted passion still flickering in the air.
“What... ritual?” Morwenna questioned between ragged breaths, our lips still tingling from our kisses.
“A ceremony,” I clarified, teeth gritted. “To honor my late father.”
The name stuck in my throat. The man who reveled in sin, who christened his sons with the names of the seven deadly vices, believing it would forge an empire of powerful vampires. And me? I was the embodiment of it all.
Morwenna, ever curious, pressed on. “What happens at this ceremony?”
“After the tribute,” I muttered, “they indulge with their...companions.” Aric, Prince of Lust, and Cassian, Prince of Sloth, were particularly adept at such indulgences.
“Like...?” Morwenna’s curiosity persisted.
A slow smirk played on my lips as I grazed her bottom lip. “Think of it as a very...heated gathering.”
“I see,” she murmured, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Busy night, then?”
“Not for you,” I replied, claiming her lips in a possessive kiss. “You’re coming with me. As my servant.”
A flicker of protest crossed her features. “But I—”
I cut her off, my voice husky with desire. “Morwenna. You’re with me.”