Chapter 35 Madness Incarnate
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
MADNESS INCARNATE
Valen ripped his wrist away, tearing his flesh from my desperate mouth before I was ready to release him.
The loss was devastating—like having air stolen from my lungs, like being dragged from sunlight into shadow. A sound escaped me that I barely recognized as my own voice, a low whine of protest that held no trace of the dignified princess I had once been.
I lunged forward instinctively, chasing the source of that divine nectar, my bound hands reaching for his retreating arm.
But he was already beyond my grasp, already pulling back to watch whatever transformation his blood would work upon my fragile mortal mind.
The wounds on his wrist sealed themselves as I watched, divine flesh knitting together with inhuman speed, leaving only the faintest trace of what had transpired.
“More,” I whispered, my voice hoarse with desperate want. “Please, I need—“
But then the heat hit me.
It began as a warmth in my chest, spreading outward like oil poured onto water, flowing through my veins with purpose and power. This wasn’t the alien heat I had felt when first tasting his blood at the feast—that had been slight, almost like a blush. This was different. This was fire.
It must be the madness. Valen had promised madness.
But this… this didn’t feel like that. It felt like sanity for the first time in my life. Like waking from a dream of being small and powerless to discover that I had always been something more.
A sound bubbled up from my chest—not quite laughter, not quite a purr, but a sound that belonged to a creature that was wild and knowing. I felt my head tilt to one side as I studied Valen with new eyes, seeing him through the lens of whatever transformation was taking place within my cells.
He was beautiful, yes. Powerful beyond mortal comprehension. But he was also... mine. The thought settled in my mind with absolute certainty, as if it had been written in the fabric of reality itself.
Mine to challenge, mine to claim, mine to mark as I saw fit.
A smile spread across my lips—slow, dangerous, utterly confident. The expression felt foreign on my face, but also absolutely right, as if I had been wearing masks my entire life and was finally showing my true self to the world.
For just a moment, Valen’s perfect composure cracked, revealing something underneath that looked suspiciously like shock.
His black eyes widened slightly, his lips parting as if to speak words that wouldn’t come.
It was the first time I had ever seen him truly surprised, the first time his ancient confidence had faltered in my presence.
The sight sent a thrill of triumph through me that was even more intoxicating than his blood.
“How...” he began, then stopped, his gaze searching my face as if looking for signs of the madness he had promised. “How do you feel?”
The question was simple enough, but the way he asked it—with genuine curiosity rather than clinical observation—told me that whatever was happening to me was not what he had expected.
I took my time considering my answer, savoring the way his attention focused on me with laser intensity, the way he leaned forward slightly as if my response might contain the secrets of the universe.
I looked up at him through my lashes, letting my new confidence color every movement, every breath. “I feel,” I said, my voice emerging deeper than before, rougher with want, “like I want you to touch me.”
The words danced between us, bold and shameless and absolutely true. I had spent my entire life hiding my desires, apologizing for wanting things, pretending that hunger was something that belonged to other people. No more. This new creature wearing my skin had no patience for such deceptions.
Valen’s smile returned, but it was different now—sharper, more interested, as if my words were closer to his expectations. “Do you?” he murmured, his voice dropping to that velvet whisper that made my bones hum with resonance. “And do you believe you deserve to be touched?”
I licked my lips deliberately, tasting the lingering traces of his blood, savoring the way his eyes tracked the movement with predatory focus.
“Yes,” I said without shame. Just confident certainty, as if the question itself was absurd.
Heat flashed in Valen’s eyes as he pushed himself to his feet, towering over me once again.
“How badly do you want it?” he asked, taking a deliberate step backward, then another, putting distance between us. “Badly enough to crawl to me? To beg for what you think you deserve?”
The old Mireille would have bristled at the suggestion, would have met it with either tearful refusal or desperate compliance. But this version of myself—this creature of want and power and divine blood—felt only excitement.
The challenge in his voice wasn’t an insult, it was an invitation to play.
My smile widened, revealing teeth that felt sharper. Somewhere in the distance, I was dimly aware of the sound of chains rattling, of Death’s rage pressing against me. But it felt distant now, unimportant compared to the fire burning in Valen’s eyes.
Those eyes—black as the void between stars—seemed to shine with copper light, divine power manifesting in response to whatever he saw in my expression.
It was the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed.
I began to crawl to him.
Not in the desperate, degrading way he had suggested, but moving forward on my knees, my hips swaying predatorily, my bound hands pushing my breasts forward.
I kept my eyes locked on his, watching the way his breathing changed, the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as if he was fighting the urge to reach for me.
His reaction made me smile wider.
When I reached him, my fingers resting against the leather of his boots, Valen looked down at me with something that might have been pride if it weren’t so thoroughly tainted with malice.
“Your father would be so proud,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress wrapped around a blade.
“His bastard daughter, crawling toward the very god who slaughtered her family. Tell me, do you think Aeldrin is watching, right now, from beyond the void? Do you think he can see what his precious bloodline has become?”
The words should have cut me. Should have sent shame spiraling through my chest, should have made me recoil from what I was doing, from what I had become. Once, they might have reduced me to tears, might have sent me scrambling backward in horror at my own actions.
Instead, I felt my smile turn wicked.
The expression felt wild on my face, untamed and wholly unrepentant.
Let my father watch from whatever hell contained his soul.
Let him witness his bastard daughter embracing her own darkness.
Let him see that I was no longer the shadow he had kept hidden in palace corners, but something magnificent and terrible in my own right.
“I hope he is watching,” I said, my voice emerging as a purr of satisfaction. “I hope he sees exactly what his choices have wrought.”
Valen’s eyes flashed crimson, a mixture of surprise and delight, as if my shameless response wasn’t what he’d been looking to provoke, but something better.
The divine blood in my veins sang its approval, heating my skin until I felt fevered with want, with power, with the intoxicating certainty that I was exactly where I belonged.
My bound hands moved upward, trailing along the fabric of his breeches with deliberate slowness.
The material was soft beneath my palms, warming under my touch, and I could feel the heat of him through the barrier of clothing.
My fingers found the lacings that held the garment closed, and I began to work at them with single-minded determination.
“What do you think you are doing?” Valen asked, though his tone held no real surprise. If anything, he sounded amused by my boldness, as if he was curious to see how far this new version of myself would push.
“What does it look like?” I replied without looking up from my task. The lacings were complex, designed more for security than easy removal, but I was patient. I had all the time in the world to unravel him, piece by piece. “I’m taking what I want.”
My fingers had just begun to loosen the first tie when Valen’s hands shot downward, his grip closing around my bound wrists with bruising force. The sudden restraint sent a jolt of frustrated need through me, my body protesting the interruption with an intensity that surprised me.
“No,” he said, his voice rough with something that might have been his own barely leashed desire. “You haven’t earned the privilege to get the things you want.”
I looked up at him, letting my disappointment show plainly on my face.
My lower lip pushed out in an exaggerated pout, and I shifted my weight, pressing my thighs together in a desperate attempt to ease the ache that was building between them.
The movement was instinctive, my body seeking relief from the fire that Valen’s blood had ignited in my veins.
The sensation was unlike anything I had ever experienced—not just physical arousal, though that was certainly part of it, but something deeper.
Something that felt like hunger and power and desperate need all tangled together into one overwhelming force.
It was as if every nerve ending in my body had been set alight, as if I was burning from the inside out with want.
“Please,” I whispered, the word slipping from my lips before I could stop it.
Not the broken plea of a victim, but the demand of someone who knew exactly what she wanted and was growing impatient with being denied.
“I need you. I need your cock on my tongue, to feel you piercings dig into my throat.” I let out a breath, rocking my body closer to his. “Please.”