Chapter 5
Five
Adrien
When I open the door, I suck in a breath and close my eyes, letting it out slowly.
“Long night?” Wesley’s voice pulls me from my moment of weakness. Because that’s all it was, a moment of weakness spurred by my own spiraling, no doubt. I know that.
My monster was only responding to the princess’s bloodheat itself, not Ivy Reign.
It was a fluke, for sure. Prior to coming to this academy, I’d certainly been around my fair share of vampiresses, and in turn, I’d smelled their bloodheat on countless occasions and never once did my cock react the way it did to Ivy.
The only bloodheat I’ve ever responded to was Wesley’s. Two years ago.
I open my eyes, noting Wes sprawled out across my bed, naked, his cock gleaming with precum.
He looks up at me with those pristine blue eyes, like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered.
The scent of cinnamon and cayenne mixed with his bloodheat arousal perfumes the air, and I can see even from here, his pupils are blown.
All I want is to tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I didn’t mean to upset him earlier, that I want to bite him. That I want to claim him. But instead, I say nothing. I simply throw my wet shirt on the floor and move to undress myself, letting my cock bounce free as I meet his gaze.
I should tell him to leave. I really should, all things considered. I’m prolonging the inevitable, only hurting myself more.
But when it comes to Wesley, I am weak.
Gods, I am fucking weak.
“Something like that,” I say, wrapping my hand around my cock and stroking it as I saunter towards the bed. Wesley looks up at me, then at my cock, like he truly is starving for it. For me.
That look is my undoing. No one’s ever looked at me the way Wesley does. Like I’m truly a sight to behold. Like I’m everything.
“Can I help?” he asks, his voice smooth and sweet. I don’t understand what he sees in me, truthfully. All I do is hurt him. Over and over again.
“I’m not sure you can,” I tell him honestly. “Help me.”
I carefully saunter onto the bed, finding my spot between his legs. Wesley looks down at me, those crystal eyes sparkling with hope and love.
Love I don’t deserve.
Love that will do nothing but destroy our chances of redemption.
“I’m not sure anyone can, Wes.” I catch his gaze, imploring him with my own, needing him to understand. I can’t let him in. But fuck, I want to. “But you can make me forget,” I whisper.
“What if I don’t want you to forget?” he whispers back. I settle between his legs, reaching for his cock. His lips part for the faintest moment, and his eyebrows furrow.
“Adrien—”
My fangs ache and I absentmindedly adjust my cock since this position isn’t the most comfortable by any means, but this isn't about me. It’s about Wesley.
I can’t say the things I want without breaking the delicate glass ledge we are perched on.
So I say the words I wish to say with my lips on his thigh, slowly stroking his cock and spreading his wetness along his shaft.
I write the words with my tongue along his skin until he’s thrusting himself in my hand and squirming beneath me, begging me to let him come.
His strained voice always gets me. It’s equal parts arousing and addicting.
I love to hear him like this, love knowing I have this effect on him.
The scent of his bloodheat is thick this close up.
Spicy cinnamon mingles in the air and I swear I can still smell the sweet caramel notes of someone else, as if it lingers like a ghost. My cock twitches and a strange vision pushes forth in my brain.
Of my head between pale, porcelain legs, my tongue sliding through gleaming pink lips and I stop abruptly.
What the fuck was that?
Wesley whines, panting like he’s run a damn marathon. His cock bobs as I try to shake the strange thought from my mind.
“Adrien, please, I…I’m sorry,” he mewls.
I blink, feeling put off by the odd intrusive thought. I don’t know where that came from, but I know what I do need to focus on.
Wesley.
“Sorry? For what?” I ask, my voice harsher than it should be. Wesley’s chest rises and falls and his body tenses. He looks at me with watery eyes.
“Everything,” he says, and I realize his voice is shaky, not strained, and he sounds on the verge of tears. Something about that pulls me from my stupor, and I abandon his cock, moving to crawl over him and pull him into my arms without thinking.
“Wesley, it’s alright, I—”
Wesley wraps his arms around me, burying his face into my neck.
For a moment, neither of us says a word. I hold him in my arms, his heartbeat heavy against my chest. I close my eyes for a moment and breathe him in. He smells like heaven.
If heaven exists for monsters like us, I think he would be it.
“You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?” he whispers.
His tears are warm against my flesh. I pull him closer to my body, his cock trailing precum along my stomach.
I slide my leg between his, his tongue licking at the sweat on my chest. My fangs ache to bite him, to drink his blood and spread my venom.
Another strange flash permeates my brain.
Of fangs in my neck, of nails drawing blood across my chest. Of ruby eyes pleading with me.
They fade into sapphire and sapphire fades into onyx.
My cock throbs against his entrance, but I can not find it in me to move, to take charge of his bloodheat as I normally would.
Instead, all I can do is breathe in his sweet cayenne and cinnamon scent and hold on to him as long as I can.
“Of course not, baby,” I whisper, though I know it’s a lie. We both know we are fraying at the seams, and this will not last.
Wesley Castor is not my destiny. And I am not his.
But I want to keep him all the same, even if I know it’s wrong.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, stroking his obsidian hair. The locks are like silk between my fingers. Wesley sniffles against my chest.
“I always ruin everything,” he mutters. “I’m sorry.”
I shush him, holding him as tight as I can without squeezing him senseless. It’s not tight enough.
“No, Wes. I’m the one who should be apologizing,” I murmur. His grip on my waist tightens as his lips brush over my chest, his tongue licking at my sweat again. He’s hungry, I can sense it.
“When is the last time you ate?” I ask, making no move to let him go.
“Couple days,” he whispers with a sniffle.
“Wesley… we talked about this. You can’t starve yourself like this. Especially during your bloodheat, it’s dangerous.”
“I don’t want blood,” he murmurs. “I don’t need blood.”
My heart aches at his words because I know what he’s going to say. And I know it’s going to hurt me more than it should.
“I just want you, Adrien.”
There is a tense silence before I utter, “I know.”
I roll us over until he is on top of me, straddling me. He looks down at me with his sapphire gaze, the glimmer of unshed tears a ghost in his attention.
I grab him by his jaw. I slide my thumb over his lips and part them, exposing his fangs.
He grabs my hand, burrowing his face into my palm as he closes his mouth, and I can see how hard he’s fighting his bloodlust. My sweet, good Wesley.
Always so fucking noble. He never asks for anything.
He deserves so much more than I can give him.
All I can give him is my cock, my heart, and my blood in the shadows where no one can see, where no one will ever know how much he truly means to me.
“Take it, Wesley.” I press my wrist to his mouth. He shakes his head, grasping my wrist with his fingers.
“No, I can’t. I—”
“Take it,” I say, my voice stern and commanding.
Wesley’s entire body stiffens, responding to my tone instinctively.
He looks at me with wary blue eyes, as if he wants to protest, but he knows better. Especially when I use that tone.
“My blood is yours,” I say, hoping he understands in those words what I can not say, but what I wish I could.
I’m such a fucking coward.
I don’t deserve him.
He licks his lips as he grips my wrist, his eyelashes fluttering as my heart thumps in my chest, waiting for his strike.
When I feel his sharp fangs break through my skin, the moan that escapes me is unavoidable.
I close my eyes as he moans contentedly, and I let the bliss overcome me.
I’ve never offered my blood to anyone before. Only him.
Somewhere deep inside, I know that is damning. My love for Wesley Castor is a poison that runs deep within me and it’ll never leave my blood, even if he leaves me.
And make no mistake, Wesley will leave me. Maybe not tonight, or tomorrow, but one day I know he will.
Because our time is limited and one day, he will realize I can’t give him what he wants, and he will find a mate who will. The thought makes my heart ache. I don’t want to lose him, don’t want to think of him with someone else. So, for the moment, I push the thought aside.
I reach for his cock, my muscles like liquid. I find his cock and stroke it, committing the feel of him like this to memory. I file it away under perfection, where all my memories of Wesley Castor live rent-free in my brain. Where they will always stay, when he is long gone from my arms.
My own cock throbs as he drinks me, moaning and sucking in delight from his obvious dehydration.
Flashes of images in my brain push forth, once again; disjointed pieces of a puzzle I don’t understand.
The scent of sugar and blood, of cinnamon and cayenne mixed with vanilla, the bright cerulean gaze of my Wesley pinning me morphing into fiery red pupils that hold me still. The sound of wet skin and a symphony of moans echo around me like ghosts in a haunted house.
Wesley licks at my flesh and grinds his hips against me, the motion driving his cock against my own. I grab our cocks together and stroke us both with my free hand.
“Oh, fuck,” I curse as I feel his cock pulsate against mine, and a moment later, his warmth spreads over my cock, slipping through my fingers. I come in tandem, my entire body tensing as my fangs ache to bite him.
He drops my hand, and for a moment, I think he must be sated and full.
But before I can gather my bearings, I feel his lips on mine.
Wesley groans into my mouth, probing my tongue with his, and I can taste my blood on his lips, on his tongue.
I kiss him harder, deeper as I let my tongue stroke his sharp fangs.
Time stops as I hold our erupting cocks, as I stare up at his perfect eyes.
“Are you full?” The words are loaded, and we both know it.
Wesley licks my blood off his lips. “Mhmm. All better now.”
I give him a soft smile. The one I reserve for him.
“Good boy.” I roll him off me, and he lets me, his body loose and spent from his feeding and his orgasm.
His eyes flutter and it won’t be long until he passes out. The orgasms he sustains during his seven day bloodheat always drain him ostensibly.
I stay by his side until my cock is soft and he’s snoring, and when I am certain I won’t wake him, I slip away to shower.
But not even the hot water could cleanse me of Wesley Castor, the rejected prince.
When I reach my bed, I get in and pull him as close as I can, breathing his cinnamon-y scent until the darkness pulls me under, and when I dream, it is of rubies and sapphires and treasures I will never be able to keep.