Chapter 16 #2
But the warmth, weak as it was, still pulled southward, reaching for its true source.
It still remembered who it really belonged to.
The knock came late the next afternoon. Briar had spent the day curled in bed, the bite wound on her throat finally closed but still tender. Every movement reminded her of his hands, his rage, the way he'd tried to tear the warmth from her chest.
"Come in," she called, expecting servants.
Malus entered instead, pausing in the doorway with a tray bearing wine, fruit, and delicate pastries that looked too perfect to eat. He'd changed into softer colors, russet and gold rather than the deep burgundy of last night. His expression was carefully pleasant.
"I thought you might be hungry," he said, entering without invitation. "You missed breakfast. And lunch."
She sat up slowly, pulling the covers higher. The shift she wore felt too thin, too exposed, but she had nothing else. Her dress from the feast lay ruined on his chamber floor.
"I'm not hungry."
"No?" He set the tray on her bedside table, movements unhurried. "My temper got the better of me yesterday. The oil trick, the resistance of your blood—I reacted poorly."
The words sounded like apology but felt like strategy. She watched him pour wine into two glasses, the liquid dark as garnets.
"I've been thinking about what you are," he said, offering her a glass. When she didn't take it, he set it on the table beside her. "What my brother created. A living vessel for his essence. Quite brilliant, actually."
He moved to the window, looking out at the forest that no longer fully answered to him.
"In the old days," he continued, "before the courts split, before we pretended we were better than our nature, human blood served a purpose beyond pleasure.
" He turned to face her. "Each drop strengthens our magic.
Each feeding sharpens our power. The Night Court ruled for millennia on that strength. "
"You don't need it to survive," she said, her voice rough.
"No, we don't need it." He moved closer, sitting in the chair beside her bed. "But iron doesn't need to be sharpened to exist—yet a dull blade is useless. We abandoned the old ways and our magic dulled with it. Became... domesticated."
He leaned forward slightly. "Your blood is particularly interesting. Human essence mixed with fae magic. I wonder—does it strengthen twice as much? Or does that forest taint make it poison to anyone but him?"
The warmth in her chest pulsed with alarm, recognizing threat.
"I tasted your fear and pain last night," he continued.
"But blood changes with the body's state.
Fear makes it sharp. Pain makes it bitter.
" He paused, studying her face. "And arousal.
.. arousal makes it sweet. More potent. In the old days, the Night Court would keep favored humans, pleasure them thoroughly before feeding.
The power gained from willing, aroused blood could last for weeks. "
Her stomach turned. "You can't—"
"Can't?" He moved closer, sitting in the chair beside her bed.
"Did my brother tolerate such defiance? You belong to me.
With a word I could command you to want me.
" He paused, studying her face which Briar struggled to keep impassive.
"But commands are so... inelegant. And they don't produce authentic responses. "
"So I'm going to offer you a choice," he continued. "Come to my bed willingly. Give yourself to me. Let me taste your blood in pleasure rather than pain. Show me what sweetness you're capable of."
"No." The word came out firm despite her fear.
"No?" He leaned back, still casual. "Interesting… then I'll have Eliam brought up from the dungeons. You can watch while I remove pieces of him. Fingers first, I think. Then perhaps an eye. He has two, after all."
The warmth contracted violently, and she felt it pulling desperately southward.
"You're lying," she said. "You need him alive."
"Alive, yes. Whole? That's negotiable." He stood, moving toward the door. "I'll have the guards fetch him now. We can conduct this experiment with him watching. Would that be better? Let him see exactly how his essence responds when you're taken by another?"
"Wait." The word escaped before she could stop it.
He paused, hand on the door. "Yes?"
She couldn't look at him. The warmth in her chest was thrashing, knowing what she was about to do, trying to stop her. But she could picture it too clearly. Eliam chained and helpless, Malus with a blade, the blood and screaming.
"If I... if I come willingly," she said, each word a struggle, "you leave him alone?"
"For now." He returned to stand before her. "Though if you resist, if you fight me, if you make this difficult, well, the deal changes."
She stood on shaking legs, the shift falling to mid-thigh. Every instinct screamed to run, to fight, but where would she go? And Eliam would pay the price.
"Your chambers," she said quietly. "Not here."
Not in the bed where she'd been trying to feel safe. Some small boundary she could maintain.
He smiled, pleased by her negotiation. "As you wish."
Briar felt her stomach twist as she she followed him through the connecting door, each step feeling like walking to an execution. His chambers still smelled of autumn, the fire casting shadows that moved wrong.
"Wine?" he offered, gesturing to a decanter.
"No." She wouldn't make this easier for herself. If she was choosing this to protect Eliam, she'd face it clear-headed.
"Proud even now." He moved closer, circling her slowly. "Take off the shift."
Her hands shook as she reached for the hem.
The fabric whispered against her skin as she pulled it over her head, each inch of exposure making her stomach clench.
The cold air hit her like a slap—her nipples tightening, goosebumps racing across her flesh.
She could feel his gaze like touch, cataloguing every mark, every bruise he'd left before.
The warmth in her chest contracted, pulling so deep she could barely sense it, like it was trying to hide from what was coming.
"Lovely," he murmured. "Come here."
Her bare feet were silent on the cold floor.
Each step felt like walking through mud, her body fighting the command even as it obeyed.
When she reached him, his hands settled on her waist, and revulsion rolled through her so strongly she thought she might vomit.
His skin was too cool, too smooth, wrong in every way.
"You're trembling," he observed, his thumbs stroking her hip bones. "Fear? Or anticipation?"
"You know which."
"Do I?" His mouth found her throat, lips resting against her pulse. She could feel him inhale, scenting her. "Your body says you're afraid. But you came willingly. You chose this."
"To protect—"
"Yes, yes, to protect him." His hands moved lower, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "But you still chose. That's what matters."
When he kissed her, she held herself rigid, neither responding nor pulling away. His tongue pushed into her mouth, tasting, claiming. He tasted of spiced wine and something metallic. The warmth in her chest recoiled so violently she felt physical pain, like something tearing.
"You're not trying," he said against her lips. "Should I send for Eliam after all? Let him watch what you're willing to do for his life?"
The image of Eliam chained, being forced to watch, broke something in her.
She kissed him back, hating herself for the small sound of satisfaction he made.
Her hands came up to his chest, feeling the expensive fabric of his shirt, the hard muscle beneath.
Nothing like Eliam's body, but she pushed that thought away viciously.
"Better," he murmured. "But not enough."
He walked her backward toward the bed, his mouth moving to her ear. "I need to understand what makes you respond. What makes your blood sing." His teeth caught her earlobe, tugging. "Is it gentle touches?" His hand skimmed up her ribs, barely there. "Or something rougher?"
His other hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. The position made her vulnerable, made her heart race with instinctive panic. He licked a line from her collarbone to her jaw, and she shuddered, not with want but with the effort of not pulling away.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Your pulse speeds but your body fights. Let's try something else."
He pushed her onto the bed, but didn't follow immediately. Instead, he stood over her, slowly removing his shirt. "Watch," he commanded when she tried to look away. "I want you to see who's about to take you."
His chest was pale, unmarked by battle or labor. Beautiful in an ethereal way that felt cold and decorative. She watched his hands move to his belt, the leather sliding through loops with a whisper that made her stomach clench.
"Tell me you want this," he said as he removed his boots, then his trousers, taking his time. Making her watch every movement.
"I—" The lie stuck in her throat.
"Tell me, or Eliam loses a finger. Then another. I'll have them brought to you in a box."
"I want this." The words tasted vile, but she made herself hold his gaze as she said them.
"Again. Make me believe it."
She sat up, forcing herself to reach for him even as every cell in her body screamed in protest. "I want you."
He climbed onto the bed then, prowling over her on hands and knees. "Your body tells a different story. Still so tense. So resistant." He nudged her legs apart with his knee, settling between them but not pressing against her yet. Just hovering, making her aware of his presence, his intent.
His mouth found her breast, tongue circling before teeth bit down—not to feed, just enough to hurt. She gasped, her back arching involuntarily. He did the same to the other side, alternating between gentle and sharp until her body didn't know how to respond, caught between flinching and following.
"Better," he said, watching her face. "Your blood is warming. I can smell it changing."