Chapter 6
Six
Ivy
Ilook around my dormitory, taking in the sight of this room that is smaller than my room back home.
Home.
I can’t go home, not until I find a mate to claim and bond, and the sands of the hourglass it seems have already started to fall.
I think about Ptaris’s words. His admission. Wyatt’s bloody rejection. I can’t help but think if the Castorian prince had accepted my father’s offer, perhaps he’d still be alive. I’d be moved in with the Castors and the ink on the alliance treaties would be drying as we speak.
Though, I have to give Ptaris credit for one thing.
He was prepared. I hadn’t even thought of what could happen in the event of Wyatt’s rejection.
I was so sure of myself that he would accept me.
But Ptaris planned just for this, and I have to think there was a chance my father knew—he was far too calm, in my opinion, once he’d heard Wyatt’s rejection.
Perhaps, he knew Ptaris’s plan. But I guess we will never know, now will we?
I run my finger over the thick, crimson comforter, relishing in the feel of it. I crawl onto bed, and all at once, exhaustion hits me.
I close my tired eyes and suck in a deep breath. I swear I can still smell Adrien’s thick woodsy scent. I’ve never smelled anything like him before, not even Wyatt smelled that good.
Adrien—the rather attractive shirtless vampire I’d stumbled upon as I tried to navigate my way through this dreaded academy in the middle of the night.
Alright, well, it’s not technically the middle of the night, Ivy. But it will be if you don’t fall asleep soon. And apparently you have class in the morning.
Because, of course, my father’s number one advisor not only sent me here to romance a vampire, but he scheduled classes for me, too.
I thought I was done with school ages ago, but apparently the universe decided it wasn’t fucking me hard enough, I guess, all things considered.
My mind is a mess, like a chaotic painting.
Nothing makes sense and I know it’s just my brain trying to make sense of what’s happened, but I wish it would shut off.
I don’t want to think about Wyatt and his strikingly beautiful features or his deep, velveteen voice that made my insides warm and my thighs wet.
Especially considering the fact he rejected me.
He treated me like I was nothing to him, no one of importance.
But I can not deny the fire I felt in my belly, the rush I felt in my blood when he challenged me.
I have never considered myself a combative person.
Far from it, to say the least. But something about the Castorian prince made me feel like I wanted to fight.
I wanted to wrap my hands around Wyatt Castor’s throat and show him who was truly in charge of the situation.
But I did not choke the prince as I wished, knowing it was rude and improper, and I didn’t wish to make things more difficult for my father or myself, than they already were.
And then he’d simply rejected me. He’d cast me off for no reason other than he believed he did not need me to rule, when the laws of our kingdoms clearly state we can not rule a throne alone without a proper mate. A king needs a queen, and a queen needs a king.
But Wyatt, it seemed, was not following the law of our land. He was going rogue, and using his lineage and bravado to storm over decades of tradition and stomping his bloody foot in a fit of rage.
My throne! Mine!
Even now, as I lay here, the very thought of him and his foolishness makes me feel hot and angry, but…
The memory of his sharp fangs, his lips so close to mine and his hand around my throat…
I press my legs together to quell the sudden ache brought on by my bloodheat.
I know my father waited until my bloodheat cycle to arrange this meeting; a detail I am certain was intended to manipulate the Castorian Prince, in the event I could not entice him with my beauty or my charm.
There was always sex, and the promise of being the first and only vampire to break me and have as he wished, was a low blow to a vampire’s primal instinct.
But that itself wasn’t enough to make the Castorian prince desire me. I shouldn’t feel ashamed of his outright denial, his rejection. But I can not shake the feeling, all the same. I’ve never been rejected before. I’ve never been desired by a man before, either.
I was quite honestly kept like a bottle of bordeaux in a cellar until I reached the height of fermentation; making me sweeter than any off-the-rack bottle.
But sweet or not, I was clearly out of my league.
I was clearly not sweet enough to save my kingdom or his, and now I am here, with barely ninety days to find someone to fix this problem so that I may ascend my throne.
And when I do ascend my throne, my first task will be challenging the Castorian prince.
If he wishes to be at war, I will engage in his bloody war until he is begging for me on his knees and then I will reject him as he rejected me.
But I can not do that unless I find some poor unfortunate bloodsucker to bind.
And that itself is going to be difficult, given my title, my rejection, and the fact I am not fully transitioned yet. Not to mention my whole virginity debacle.
My mind wanders to Adrien—the hot, shirtless vampire who seemed to be a bit of a grump if I’ve ever met one.
He didn’t know who I was, and that itself was perplexing and reliving at the same time.
I know I may not be so lucky tomorrow, when I arrive at my classes.
Adrien may not have known who I was, but it is highly likely that some folks may know who I am.
And if they know who I am, then they will know I have been rejected—a princess– and that alone is quite a stain on one’s record as far as relationships go.
Who’s going to want a rejected princess?
Though as I think the words, my mind wanders to Adrien. I don’t know him, not really, but I can’t deny that the moment I ran into him, there was some sort of strange energy between us, some sharp pang in my chest.
And it hasn’t gone away since.
Even as I lay here, my body spent, tired as all hell, I can’t deny that something feels different inside me.
You’ve suffered a traumatizing event, Ivy. Of course, you are different, I chastise myself.
But my mind keeps going over the events of today like a movie on repeat, trying to find some semblance of reason, some spark of hope in what feels so bleak.
I breathe deeply, letting out a sigh, and I swear the scent of cedar and moss hangs in the air, as if Adrien himself is somehow here with me, even though I am alone.
Alone. I’ve always been alone, in a way. I grew up in the walls of the castle, shuttled from class to class and my free time spent learning languages and art and music and anything my father deemed would make me a well-educated, multi-faceted offering.
I was being designed from the start to appeal to a man who took one look at me and refused what I had to offer.
And now that my father is gone, I am alone once more. At this academy, I am alone.
The sadness festers in my stomach. I will remain alone if I can not find a mate.
I’d always thought I’d be offered to Wyatt and he would take one look at me and know I was his destiny, the same way I knew he was mine.
That he would gaze upon me and be so moved by my beauty and my offering of peace that he would not be able to resist me and we would ride off into our proverbial dusk and he would claim me with his fangs and his cock and all would be as it was destined to be.
Even in my bloodheat, I longed for a man I’d created in my mind. For the man Wyatt Castor truly is, is not the man I dreamed he’d be.
Bright, sapphire eyes beckon me in my thoughts. I’d often dreamed of those eyes, deep and blue and wondrous. I had no idea what Wyatt would look like, but I was close enough with some details in my mind that it’s almost uncanny.
Wyatt’s eyes were like aquamarine jewels underwater, and they were stunning. But they were not the deep blue of a morning glory or a sparkling sapphire that I had dreamed of. Pity.
My skin flushes with heat as I let my mind wander down its favorite rabbit hole. For as much as my fantasy has shifted over the years during my bloodheat, there has always been one fantasy that prevailed over the rest.
Those deep ocean eyes looking up at me. From below.
My pussy clenches at the thought, knowing this fantasy well.
It’s served me through many a heat, with and without my aides, and judging from the look of things when I entered, I do not think Ptaris covered that particular aspect of my departure.
He rarely cared for me during my bloodheat.
My father made sure when I was in the midst, I was alone, because it was safer for all of us.
Your bloodheat is a powerful thing, sweetheart. And not every vampire can resist the call of such power.
Apparently, Wyatt Castor can.
I push away the thought of Wyatt and his cruel aquamarine gaze, not wanting him to poison this moment of peace. And I need peace, right now. To settle my mind and my lust.
I let my mind wander back to the sapphire orbs that warm my soul. Dark, thick eyelashes frame those beautiful eyes that stare up at me like I am worth worship.
Like I am truly a queen in my own right.
I let out a deep sigh as my insides twist, my thighs moistening once more.
I don’t think twice about sliding my hand below my dress, my fingers seeking purchase between my slick folds.
The relief is damn near palpable as I imagine sharp fangs in place of my fingers, a warm tongue probing my entrance, the softness in contrast with the prick of sharp teeth.
And then, like a poison, those aquamarine eyes fight to take hold, Wyatt’s bitter voice rumbling in my psyche as I slide a finger inside my cavernous warmth.
Tell me all the ways you’re perfect for me.
I cry out in frustration as the position of those aquamarine pools switches places with the sapphire gaze I’ve dreamed about.
The image of Wyatt, on his knees before me, looking up at me with that cruel gaze, his fangs glistening with the evidence of my bloodheat juices on his lips, his chin, cause my insides to flutter like a moth, seeking light.
His image flickers, fading in and out with the figment of my fantasies—the man I’d created in my mind. But now, he looks more complete. Deep blue eyes, dark hair. Broad, muscled shoulders and sun-kissed skin.
An odd shade for a vampire, but nonetheless, it is beautiful. I slide another finger inside myself as I try to latch on to one image, but it is no use. The man in my dreams fades into Wyatt, flickering back and forth as if my mind can not settle on who I wish to bring me the satisfaction I seek.
I shouldn’t want Wyatt. I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this, with my hand between my legs, but I can’t deny the effect I felt in his presence, nor can I deny that my orgasm is already starting to build.
I whine in defeat, settling on the thought of the Castorian prince and his bitter voice, his hand wrapped around my throat. The only sound that can be heard in the room is that of my heavy breath and the wet sound of my fingers as my hips thrust against my hand.
And then Wyatt’s vicious gaze melts away like chocolate in the heat, revealing deep brown eyes that stared at me as if they could see right through me down to my very soul.
Adrien.
My insides twist as I remember his cloying earthy scent, his fiery gaze. His sarcastic, yet bitter tongue.
His exquisitely defined chest. I’ve never seen a vampire like Adrien. All muscles and sinuous curves, dark and inviting but also surprisingly irritating and enticing at the same time.
That sharp pain in my just echoes at the thought of him, as if his name alone could conjure up something inside of me I didn’t even know existed.
I know it makes no sense to think of him in this way, especially given the fact I barely know him. He had agreed to help me, and I know I should leave things at that, but…
I can not help but let my mind linger over the memory of him standing above me, his golden chest shimmering with sweat, the scent of him practically choking me.
For the briefest moment, he glanced at my mouth, at my neck.
The energy between us pitched like a fire, and something inside of me just… knew.
He felt this strange desire, too.
But Adrien did not press further. He did not engage the fire or push me against the door to ravage my mouth like I wanted him to in that moment. Instead, he walked away and bid me goodnight like a gentleman. But the bitterness in his tone was anything but polite and gentle.
It was accusatory; it was wicked.
Tell me why you’re perfect for me.
I, Ivy Reign, am certainly not perfect, and I know not the first thing about being enticing.
But what I do know is the thought of Adrien and his sweat-slick chest, the thought of his lips crushing against my own as he presses his body against me, is the thought that drives me over the edge.
I come without warning, my brain a jumbled mess of death and flame, of aquamarine and sapphire, and woody scents and golden skin.
As my insides pulse, the echo of my orgasm ricocheting through my body, I find solace. The bloodheat has been sated. For now.
So I close my eyes, and I tell myself tomorrow will be a better day.
And for the moment, I believe it as the darkness swallows me whole.