THIRTY #3
“I’m ready,” she tells me, but I can hear the rapid beating of her heart and can feel her body taught as a bow. Perhaps this is what’s needed to keep her safe. To keep her away from me.
I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her against me.
With my other hand, I cradle her jaw, tilting her head back.
“This doesn’t count,” I tell her. This shouldn’t be our first time, not like this.
But I’m the big bad bastard, and it’s time to live up to my name.
I see her vein pulse beneath her skin and lick over it, feeling it beat against my tongue, and almost lose myself.
She smells like heaven. As I allow my cuspids to lengthen against her skin, I breathe her in.
Her chest heaves as I close my mouth against her.
When my teeth pierce her skin, she yelps.
Her fingers grip my arm banded around her, and I pull her closer, filling my mouth with her sweet, warm blood.
I don’t want to stop, not as the world around me fades, and everything I am focuses on her.
One drink is all I need, so one is all I’ll take.
Blood pools in her wounds, running like rivers down her neck and over her clavicle.
Piercing my finger, I press my blood to her wounds, watching them close.
Blood stops running over her skin, replaced by something clear and salty.
Tears. Bryn stands abruptly and follows Sheridan out of the room while I’m left to adjust my pants.
Despite the rush of her blood inside of me, I’m enraged to the point I’m struggling to contain my power.
Enraged and embarrassed that I’m not a better man.
With a satisfied grin, Brogan looks at me.
“Give me until the week of the coronation. I’ll send word of my decision.
” The king sweeps the girl’s hair from her neck, revealing an array of scars and fresh wounds layered over one another.
It’s clear that no attempts are made on his part to heal her post feeding.
He probably enjoys the sight of his marks on her as much as the feed itself.
“Surely this decision requires thorough deliberation. I trust you’ll see yourselves out.
” He dismisses us with a wave of his hand, cuffed in a bell sleeve with a lace frill.
His advisor rings a bell, and the doors behind me open, allowing a chilled breeze to graze my skin.
“Certainly,” I say, my words strained as they pass through clenched teeth hidden behind a plastered smile.
The scent of polished wood hangs in the air of the king’s chamber, now mingling with that of fresh blood.
“I look forward to an alliance between our courts.” It’s as close to a lie as I’ve ever uttered.
I look forward to the freedom an alliance would secure, but not any form of relationship with him.
One after the other, we exit the king’s chamber and step into the massive throne room.
Dried leaves crunch under our boots as we continue to the other side.
The guards trail closely behind us, their presence adding a palpable tension to the silence that engulfs us all.
No one says a word. I see the soldier who called Bryn a pet.
Rage propels me as I watch myself advance on him like a mere spectator, fashioning my shadows into a double-edged blade.
I watch my hand drive that blade into his throat as his blood gushes from the wound.
I watch as he falls to the floor, spluttering at my feet, and I feel nothing.
Not even a glimmer of satisfaction. My mind can only focus on Bryn and her expression when Selma entered the room.
The rest of the guards keep walking, following the summoner’s lead, not caring about their fallen companion. I step over the bleeding male, seeing nothing but her face in my memory. Now, her memorised look of displeasure is focussed on me. The monster.
Finally, the summoner guides us through a blinding light, leading us into the lobby of the dimly lit Shadowed Cauldron.
“Son of Carrig!” Eadan exclaims, her hand delivering a sharp slap to the back of my head. I smile back at her. It feels good to finally let go of the secret. “Sheridan? Did you know about this?”
“I had my own unvoiced theories.” Sheridan’s face lights up with the widest smile I’ve ever seen on him. “I see the resemblance. Nicely played, Odhran.”
Sloan bursts into laughter, finding a seat on the bench against the wall. “Well, fuck me sideways… We’ve been in the presence of royalty all along,” he exclaims, folding his arms behind his head. “To think, I’ve beaten your ass in the training arena.”
“I thought you were Darragh’s bastard,” Eadan voices.
My sights remain fixated on Bryn, standing on the opposite side of the room, her unblinking eyes locked with mine.
I’ve known Eadan, Sloan, and Sheridan for the majority of my life and have kept my true lineage a secret for a significant portion of that time.
Yet, somehow, the weight of my actions and deception toward Bryn is heavier.
Somehow, feeding from her, regardless of her approval, together with keeping my true identity from her is a betrayal of a different magnitude.