Chapter 12
Twelve
Though Silt had traveled through life united with no one, he’d experienced a camaraderie with the leech. Surprisingly for a princess, she’d never complained, giving as much effort as he had. Now he could almost pretend she actually cared about him. “No, I wasn’t scratched. The grip of my improvised sword sliced my fingers. I’ll heal quickly.”
“Good,” she said with obvious relief, before adding in a cutting tone, “As if I’d need another reason to kill you.”
No, she hadn’t complained, but her insults continued. So did his: “The only one of us who’ll ever be a maneater is you.”
“You are a wretched excuse for a . . .” She trailed off, her gaze locking on the flow of blood dripping from his hand.
“It looks good, doesn’t it? You’ve gone at least three nights without drinking. I bet you’d suck my body as dry as a desert right now.” He was exhausted. Starving. Fuming. And now . . . his wayward cock stiffened? “I predicted you’d beg. The words are on your lips.”
She bit out, “Never.”
What is so wrong with me? A thirsty leech wouldn’t even tap him! Her continued refusal made him wonder if she might have another reason for her reddened eyes. Female vampires were rare in the Lore because of the plague; was that the cause of her crimson gaze?
He discounted the idea. A sickened, twentysomething vampire couldn’t have fought as long as she had without dropping. No, she was simply refusing him .
Silt’s ego didn’t like that. “Never?” He moved in, lowering his voice to say, “Because you know that once you tasted me, you’ll always hunger for me.” He raised his dripping hand. “I could make you a slave for this.”
Her cheeks heated to a warm rose color. That must’ve cost her some blood. Her gaze, trying valiantly not to dart to his hand, had reddened even more. Those eyes signaled danger in every fiber of his sorcerer’s body, yet his cock was hard as stone.
She licked her full lips, and his length strained for them. If she noticed, she didn’t let on. “You have no real sorcery, but you don’t fear what I could do to you?”
“Not at all.” Fear it? Do your worst. A dozen concubines hadn’t been able to arouse him. Yet his body reacted to this leech with raw intensity.
Nothing special about this female; the drugs had simply deadened his drive before. Of course. Free of his pipe, he was back to desiring once more. And what he desired was to have this princess bite him. He imagined feeding his member between those lips, her tongue greeting him. Her fangs greeting him . . .
Sand almighty. As a male who’d chased down every pleasure, had he been missing out on blood play? Two thoughts arose in rapid succession:
You’re reacting this way only because there is something special about her.
No. Shut the fuck up.
The last thing he needed to do was let down his guard with Mirceo Daciano’s sister—a female who’d been doomed by her crimes against the Lore, by the Gaolers’ punishment, and by Silt’s plans for revenge.
Magic.
Within the sorcerer’s blood, Mina scented life, power, and so much magic .
She’d bet one drop would fuel her like a thousand Dacian blood fountains—and he was brimming with that nectar! The heady scent of it threaded through her, seeming to take root in her very heart. Had she ever felt so euphoric?
She wasn’t the only one affected. His pupils were blown. Though the irises of most immortals changed shades with sharp emotions, his didn’t. They glowed and shimmered like gold dust. Within his muscled chest, his heartbeat thundered, awakening her every predator instinct.
Why was his heart working so hard? Where was all that blood being pumped? Her attention descended his torso, past his navel to the trail of hair leading down. Below the low-slung waist of his pants, his penis stretched to his hip, visibly pulsating.
Mouthwatering . The organ of his pleasure just happened to be filled with his magical blood. It beckoned her to taboo’s front door, and her fangs sharpened again. With her tongue, she tested their little edges, their achiness.
His deep voice washed over her: “Like what you see?”
I want to pierce your manhood and drink you while you roar.
The seductive sorcerer murmured, “Take a sip, princess.”
From his fingers, his neck, or . . . there ?
Yes, yes, yes!
“Your vampire instincts demand it. And I’ve decided I want to experience those fangs of yours buried deep into my skin.”
They’d never throbbed like this, as much as her pebbled nipples. She imagined his skin closing around her fangs, milking them of sensation.
Inner shake. She almost told him that no Dacian would lower themselves to consume blood from the flesh, but that wasn’t true anymore. Still, drinking from a source wasn’t something a proper princess like her would ever consider! She met his gaze. “If I took your blood directly from your body, I would harvest your memories.” His thousands of years’ worth of them would surely send her straight into madness. “I’ll dream your past when I sleep. Are you ready for that?”
A shadow crossed his face. Then his lips curled into a cocky grin, revealing even white teeth. “I think my sorcerer’s blood is potent. It’ll ruin you for all others, maneater.”
Stop staring at his sexy grin! “You want me to drink you because you think it will gratify you as well.”
“In so many words.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his member pulse even harder. Gods above and below. At the Tree of Delight, she’d seen males in this state. Fantasies bloomed of this sorcerer participating in some of the acts she’d witnessed—participating with her . The scenes she’d deemed yawn-worthy took on a lascivious bent. Her breaths shallowed even more, and her skin grew flushed all over.
She’d never reacted this way while staring longingly at Kristoff. This bruiser of a sorcerer was a world away from the sophisticated vampire king, but only Silt conjured wicked scenarios in her mind.
Mina pictured him crazed for release, gripping her body. Entering it. Thrusting between her thighs until she soaked his rod in her climax. Would he bellow against her neck when his own lust spilled over inside her . . . ?
She blushed as if he could hear her musings.
“I don’t understand you.” He scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “One minute you’re throwing heads at me, the next you’re blushing like a demure virgin. So is my gratification on the table? I mean, why else would you mention it?”
She yearned to share pleasure as much as the next immortal female, but after witnessing that couple in the moonlit clearing, she knew she would need affection and trust to fully enjoy it. She didn’t want mere sex; she wanted everything. I crave the divine. This sorcerer wasn’t even in the realm of possibility. “It’s not on the table, no more than my drinking your blood is.”
“Such scruples. Do you think I’m not good enough?”
“Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that you’re sworn to kill the last of my immediate family!” Saying the words aloud reminded her of what a villain he was, snuffing her arousal like a candle.
Good. Arousal thwarted reason. She’d seen it happen again and again at the Tree. Would she forget the lessons she’d learned? Shame swept over her, and with it came fatigue as she’d never known. Thirst only worsened her weariness and confusion.
This sorcerer had protected her, but he’d acted for nefarious reasons. The mental wear of being near someone like him affected her as much as fighting wendigos.
Seeming to make a decision about her, he said, “We need to keep moving anyway.”
“Agreed,” she said, and they forayed deeper into a black-hole gloom.