Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Crymson
Dinner among powerful fae and conniving vampires is a careful task in itself. One I’m finding my way through little by little. Part of me is enjoying it all, to be honest. Because time is ticking. Soon, they’ll have to go.
And if I have to watch the dust of the Dark Lands sweep these men away from me once again, I don’t know if I’ll survive it.
I’ve taken a strategic seat between Thorn and Christian at the candlelit dinner table, feeling like the peacekeeper in a realm built from conflict.
Seven and Rorrick sit on the other side of the table.
Carver has curiously chosen to sit at Rorrick’s side, asking him odd but interesting questions about his diet.
“Do you drink wine or just the strong stuff?” he asks while swirling a glass of champagne loosely in his palm.
“Jus’ blood mostly.” Rorrick’s brows are heavy across his pretty eyes as he considers the Fae Prince and the apparent lack of space between the two of them.
“What if I was drunk? Would my blood level intoxicate you?” Carver shoots back before emptying his glass in one large gulp like he’s ready to test the theory right here and now.
“Have to be drunk’r than a pixie on perrie petals to affect me,” Rorrick murmurs proudly.
“We do have some of that in the gardens,” Carver says a bit too excitedly.
Rorrick glances to me for help.
“What will you do if the Dead invade your lands?” I ask Thorn instead.
“That’s never happened.” He shakes his head solemnly. “The dead are the Blood Kingdom’s curse. Not ours. I don’t think they’d harm us.”
Christian chuckles low under his breath as he takes a long drink of red wine from his glass.
Thorn chews his food slowly as he eyes the Blood Prince.
I push a pile of hot sugary carrots back and forth on my plate, but my stomach is in knots. I haven’t taken a real bite of food since we sat down nearly half an hour ago.
“After dinner, would anyone care for a game of backgammon?” I ask with a small hopeful smile.
That would surely bring us together, right? Force us to find some normalcy in these very abnormal men.
“Has Aerin returned?” Thorn asks absently, and I can tell he’s in no mood for board games.
“No,” Christian says firmly like he, too, is thinking of the Commander who hasn’t yet returned the only other person he’d burn this lovely kingdom to the ground for.
Carver tilts his head into my view. His pointer finger smooshes hard into his chest before gesturing to me and then back to himself again while mouthing: Me. You. Backgammon. Tonight.
I smile weakly at him, but the loss of it all is starting to settle over me. All of the staff have gone home for the night. It feels like my men are already gone too.
Seven sets his glass of wine down with slow movements, but the glass clatters against the edge of his empty plate and spills the contents across the white tablecloth. Red liquid bleeds across the table inch by inch.
“Shit,” he hisses. “Apologies, My King,” he utters, and with an unsteady hand, he dabs at the stain furiously with his cloth napkin.
“My King?” Christian echoes with a curl of cruel amusement on his tongue.
“Seven . . .” I grab his hand in mine, and it trembles in my palm. “You’re shaking,” I whisper.
“Pro’ly starving,” Rorrick hisses and pats his own hard stomach lightly.
“Have you . . . eaten?” I whisper like it’s a dirty word we shouldn’t talk about.
Thorn’s brows pull together hard as Seven shakes his head back and forth.
I’m suddenly reminded how terrible he felt in the Blood Kingdom when he realized he was literally starving me. And now I’m doing the same to him.
As I stand quickly from my seat, Thorn lifts his big hand in an offering.
“Here,” he says like a command.
His wrist rolls, and a dark blue vein exposes there beneath smooth bronze skin. From beneath thick lashes, Seven flicks his gaze to the King, to his wrist, and then back again.
“Feels like a fae trick,” he murmurs on a gentle laugh.
It’s that scraping sound of uneasy amusement that reminds me of how he spoke to his previous King once upon a time.
Rorrick and Christian both pass one another a silent look.
It’s okay, I send down the mysterious bond I share with all three of them.
The three vampires nod ever so slightly, but no one moves. It’s then that I realize I’m still standing awkwardly at the edge of the table as if I might sacrificially throw myself across it and become the main course they all need in their lives.
But I don’t. I wait. Because in a way, it is a test.
A test for Thorn.
He’s the enemy, after all. The vampire and fae might share pretty words and nice dinners together, but the tension is still there. Their messy history is still there.
Seven wraps his long fingers slowly and carefully around Thorn’s wrist. Thorn’s gleaming eyes dance across Seven’s features while Seven’s attention holds firmly on the Fae King.
Instead of sinking his sharp teeth into the dark vein of the wrist, he studies Thorn’s palm. He’s quiet, and I can practically see the thoughts racing behind his blood-rimmed eyes.
“Do you know what manipulation magic is, My King?” Seven asks, and his other hand parts Thorn’s fingers to study the lines of his hand.
I swallow slowly as I remember the sexy reality break this man gave me in Christian’s bedroom and that . . . that can’t possibly be what he’s offering . . . Is it?
Thorn’s gravelly voice is hesitant but assured.
“I do,” he replies carefully.
“Have you ever felt it, My King?” he asks, and it’s then that I wonder what kind of services Seven provided his previous king.
Thorn shakes his head slowly. I can’t imagine a single fae in this realm that would even think to perform magic on the deadly Thorn King.
And then there’s Seven.
“May I?” he asks politely, and the heat between their eyes is a burning ember of testing tension that I don’t dare break.
Thorn’s lips quirk at the edges with a curious smile.
“By all means. Be my guest.” The very moment the King gives his approval, Seven sinks sharp fangs into the crook of the king’s palm where his thumb meets his forefinger.
Blood drips to the white tablecloth. It spreads on contact.
A gravelly groan fills the silence as Thorn’s lashes flinch closed in pain .
. . or pleasure. My lips part as Seven looks up at me from beneath his lashes and feeds violently from my mate.
Blood slides from both corners of his mouth.
Thorn’s head tips back as his spine arches from his chair. I circle around to break them up.
“That’s enough,” I caution with a light touch of my hand to Seven’s shoulder.
But it’s Thorn’s strong grip that pulls me back. He settles me against him, wrapping his arm fully around my stomach and startling me more than I was before.
“Are you okay? Is he hurting you?” I ask quietly.
His groan hums along the side of my neck as he buries his face there.
“Fuck, Crymson,” he hisses, and the lust in his words slides right through me to my core. “Don’t stop,” he murmurs as his hips rock lightly against my ass.
My gaze falls to the vampire still feeding hungrily from Thorn’s palm.
He’s on his knees at Thorn’s feet, and he hasn’t stopped to take a single breath.
He looks up at me with hooded eyes. A devious smile shines drunkenly there, and I wish like hell I knew what my clever vampire was showing him right now.
“Do you . . . also do party tricks?” Carver asks Rorrick with a curious arch of his dark brow.
Rorrick’s eyes narrow on him.
“No. I don’t do fuckin’ party tricks.” His upper lip curls at the Fae Prince.
Carver looks the vampire commander up and down for less than half a second before uttering, “You can still feed from me.”
Rorrick’s eyebrows lift high. He searches Carver’s bright and hope-filled eyes. A stomach growls loudly, and I just know it’s Rorrick’s.
“Uh, alrigh’,” he finally relents with a hard pinch of his brow.
Carver pulls back the tan sleeve of his tunic and lifts his wrist to the vampire’s parted lips. They lock eyes, and to be fair, it does in fact feel like a conniving fae trick.
What will their blood do to these men? I peer down at Seven, and I can’t see how it’ll change him more than he already has. Rorrick hesitates.
His fingers wrap around Carver’s forearm, but just before he fully commits, he looks to his Prince.
“I dunno abou’ this,” he says quietly.
A smirk toys at the corner of Christian’s lips.
Candlelight dances demonically in the Blood Prince’s eyes.
I’m drawn to his every move. He pushes back his chair and tosses the white cloth napkin to the table.
As he stands, he absently grabs his wine glass and downs the contents.
Steady strides carry him like a predator through the room.
He passes each chair and rounds the table to their side.
Like a sinister omen, he stands behind Carver’s leathery black wings in the darkest edges of the room.
He lingers there in the shadows, his eyes held on mine as long pale fingers slide steadily around Carver’s throat.
The Fae Prince’s lashes flutter closed as Christian angles his neck to one side.
The light in his eyes blazes like red embers as Christian holds me with a hungriness in his gaze.
Then his lips part, sharp white teeth extend, and he sinks slowly in.
Christian’s careful and controlled about the taste of the fae blood that’s pouring from around his lips. Rorrick’s fangs extend as he watches his friend. He lowers his head, and he, too, feeds from Carver but with more gentleness.
At the piercing of his flesh, long fingers tangle in the ruined tablecloth as a groan rumbles through Carver’s throat. His hand trembles desperately there, and a needy, jealous feeling swirls low in my stomach at the idea of what he must feel.
Thorn’s big palm pushes down the fabric of my dress, grinding down my hips and cupping me lightly between my thighs.