Chapter 4
Four
Adrien
Real smooth, Adrien. Fucking idiot!
The urge to kick something is strong as I head towards the gym to work on my combat technique. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself because I’m pretty sure I just need to punch something, especially after that strange, fucked up hook up I just shared with Wesley in the janitor’s closet.
I wish I could blame my behavior on his bloodheat, but that’s not entirely true.
I mean, yes—his bloodheat drives me fucking wild in a way I’ve never felt with anyone—even my former male lovers—but it’s just Wesley that makes me feel like this.
It’s his perfect, deep voice. It’s how warm and smooth his skin feels against mine when I touch him.
It’s the sparkle in his sapphire eyes when he looks at me and flashes that perfect fanged grin that makes me want to drop to my knees.
Wesley James Castor ignites a fire inside of me, and I both love it and hate it at the same time.
Because I know wanting more with Wesley is dangerous.
For both of us. He’s got royal blood, for one, which is problematic itself considering his tumultuous and strained relationship with his mother and brother.
But there’s also the reality that being together is a punishable offense—for both of us.
And on top of that, I can not bear the thought of being rejected by the man.
I’ve been rejected twice already, I am not looking for a trifecta, and while part of me wants to believe Wes would not reject me, that he would, in fact, welcome my love with open arms, I know it’s foolish to give into such flights of fantasy.
Eventually I will have to choose a mate from this stupid fucking academy—find a suitable woman to mate and knock up, since that’s all my noble blood is actually good for, apparently.
My mother doesn’t understand. I don’t desire women. I don’t have the same drive that most vampire males in their late twenties have when it comes to breeding.
Make no mistake, I feel the desire to breed… I just feel that desire for men. My mind wanders to Wesley and his bloodheat. What had started as a periodic hook up during his heats has turned into something so much deeper.
My former lovers were not so keen and accepting of my… preferences. I’d learned early on that I preferred to be the top, that I preferred to be the one breeding them as opposed to them breeding me.
But any sort of dirty talk surrounding my desires often left them feeling uncomfortable and as such, things would fizzle out quickly.
But Wesley was different. Because in the midst of his bloodheat, he becomes as possessed as me. The things I say to him as I soak up his bloodheat are not pushed off or ignored. Wes eats it up like candy. He begs for my words, for my cock.
And every time it is better than the last and I fall deeper and deeper into Wesley Castor’s unrelenting sea.
I fear it won’t be long before I drown, and I need to keep my head above water. I need to focus on finding a mate so that I can return home. Problem is, I don’t want some woman who I don’t have feelings or desires for. Clearly, that worked out so well the first time around.
I push away the thoughts of my first proposal.
My parents had arranged for me to meet a woman they insisted was a good match for me.
A good match to my parents meant she was young and fertile, and that was all that truly mattered because I was getting dangerously close to being—gasp, twenty-five— which is quite old for a vampire to have not claimed, bonded, or slept with a woman.
It was either poor circumstance or the universe’s way of fucking me, because it just so happened the woman my parents were desperate to offer me to was the younger sister of a man I’d been fucking on and off for nearly three months.
He did not take our offer, needless to say, and my parents learned that day just why their only son had remained a bachelor and was making no attempt to find a mate on his own.
And the second time…
Well, the second time, the vampiress refused me because she did not desire a man like me.
Apparently, my reputation and my penchant for dick had preceded me.
My parents did not wish a third rejection, and so they sent me here, to R.I.S.E.
, as a last resort, hoping that perhaps my exposure to other rejected mates would incite some latent desire and fix the problem.
As if my desires are in fact, a problem, solely for the reason I can’t knock up a vampire, and because I don’t want to.
Make no mistake, I’d love a family of my own some day—with the right man, of course. I know no amount of magic will change nature, but I am not opposed to the idea of getting a cat or maybe a room full of plants. As long as it was ours.
And if that man also desired a woman and children, as much as they desired me, I would not object to that.
I would embrace it, if it was what my love wanted.
I know that makes me dishonorable to my kind.
As a vampire of noble blood, I should want a vampiress to carry on my legacy. But all I want is Wesley.
I want his body to be the one I wake up next to, I want his bright eyes to be the first I look for in a room, always.
I shove the thoughts away, because if I go down this road, it will only make me angrier.
Because when I let myself think of Wesley, without borders and truth, I think thoughts that are quite dangerous.
I think about biting Wesley and making him mine for all eternity. And then I descend into the worst fantasy of them all—I let myself imagine him holding our child, one made from both of us, even though it’s damn near impossible.
But dreams are like that. As impossible as they are, they persist in your brain, driving you mad.
As mad as a vampire prince begging for you to bite him.
I am so lost in my thoughts, I nearly walk past the gym. With a grunt, I shove away my stupid fantasies, knowing I will never have them, and I best remember that.
I need to keep from falling into his sea, if only so I can keep him, and myself, safe.
It’s nearing ten-thirty by the time I have completed a work out and am covered in sweat.
My body aches and I’m hot and starving. I could have drank from Wes earlier.
He wouldn’t have cared, I know that, and drinking blood from one of our own is much better than human blood.
But with how euphoric I felt as I buried myself in Wesley, I feared I would lose control.
That I would become too enamored with his blood, his body, and the way he makes me feel, and I would let my venom come without a second thought.
And then he’d asked me to do it. He begged me to bite him. And I almost did.
My control slipped.
I can’t let it slip again. Which is why I need to put some distance between Wesley and I. For both of our sakes.
I don’t bother putting a shirt on, since I’d lost it ten minutes into my session.
Instead, I use it as a towel to wipe my face and throw it around my neck.
The gym is quiet now, since I am the only one that is left.
Most of the other students left mere hours ago, and I realize I’ve been here practically all night.
Working out my stress.
Still, I feel uneasy, but I also feel tired. And tired works, because when I am asleep, I am not thinking of Wesley Castor.
I shut the lights out and head down the hall.
It’s late, so the halls of the academy are eerily silent and give off a haunting feel.
I take my time, knowing no one will be out at this hour, figuring a walk will help me settle my mind.
Yet as I turn the corner, I nearly fall over when I run into something. No, someone.
“Ow!” the voice calls out, and I step back to see a woman I have certainly never seen before.
The class of vampires here is not large, twenty, thirty individuals, tops. Our dorm is the least populated because there are not as many of us as there are angels, witches, or shifters.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask, taking in the sight of the petite woman. She rubs her head, her long, dark hair fading into the shadows. Her skin is like porcelain china, which contrast her deep crimson eyes.
Crimson eyes… I have to say that is the first time I have seen such a shade on a vampire in person. I’d heard of ancient vampires with this trait, but it seemed to be one that had been bred out over time.
But I can not deny the woman in front of me has those ancient jeweled irises, and they are quite stunning.
She is pretty, I will admit. In a soft, almost innocent sort of way. There is no mistaking what she is, from her beauty to her peepers, she is irrefutably like me. A vampire.
“You do not know who I am?” she bites, almost as if she is appalled.
“Would I ask you if I did?”
Her gaze narrows. “Why are vampire men so fucking rude?” she asks, and I raise an eyebrow.
“I am not rude,” I defend. “I am not the one who nearly trampled me to death because they were not looking where they were going.”
She crosses her arms over her black dress, the motion pushing her breasts together as she regales me with an alluring gaze. I can’t help but scoff at her attempt to play coy and sexy.
“Nice try, princess, but your feminine wiles will not work here,” I drawl sarcastically.
“So you do know who I am.”
I roll my eyes. “A pain in my ass? At this rate, I’ll make it back to my dorm by sunrise.”
She scoffs back at me. “Maybe that would be best, since clearly you are not very useful.”
I take two steps towards her, and then I smell her. Her scent is thick—floral and heavy, like a funeral with too many flowers.
I don’t like it, but…
I also kind of like it. In the way one likes the thought of death, I suppose.
“Says the petulant little tart preventing me from collapsing on my bed because she’s wandering the halls past curfew.”
She pouts, glaring at me. “I did not know there was a curfew.”
I sigh, crossing my arms.