Chapter 15
Blaise
Another day has passed, and no news has emerged about Killian and Aimee’s whereabouts.
Sariah says to trust her brother and the Dark Umbras. That if Aurora were involved in their disappearance, Soren would find out about it. But what if deceptively sweet-faced Aurora would not bring them to the Fae court?
She’s a masterful manipulator—calculated, conniving, and always a step ahead of us.
She might keep her evil persona separate from her queenly title, just as she pretended to be the Foretold One for so long, while infecting our lands with the exact sickness we needed the Foretold One’s help to defeat.
A sudden thought freezes the blood in my veins to the point I can feel it move sluggishly, barely pumping my chilled heart with its sustenance.
Is she still pretending to be the Foretold One? Is that how she weaseled her way into the Royal Fae family?
What if she poisoned their minds not with her mind control, but with outrageous lies furthering Killian’s image as the ruthless villain that must be vanquished?
She could still pretend to be the doting sister, terrified about Aimee’s safety and only wanting to save her from the Vampire King’s clutches.
After centuries of deceit, no one in the Fae lands would bat an eye or question her side of events.
No one besides the Dark Umbras, the only ones in that dishonest kingdom to know the truth.
I don’t know what would be worse. If Noahlin, dipshit that he is, knew about her sinister motivations and still married her, or if the Fae are just mindless pawns in her wicked, nefarious scheme?
And amid all this uncertainty, how could I possibly do anything else but worry and ransack the whole Godsdamn castle for evidence of their whereabouts?
The maids have been trying to drag me into shadowed corners for trivial trysts, the usual endeavors I jump into without a second thought. A spanking here, a quick fuck there, nothing but a normal Tuesday for me. But it all feels tainted now. Inconceivable.
No, I can’t in good conscience dally in my usual rakish pursuits while waiting for my brother in arms to reappear, together with the female who has become like a sister to me.
Albeit, that’s not how I regarded her at first.
Those lecherous dreams about Aimee and Killian have stopped completely, thank fuck.
It wasn’t one of my best moments, secretly lusting after the future Vampire Queen.
In my defense, I used to lust openly after every pretty girl that caught my eye because life’s too short and even eternity is not guaranteed, so why would I hold myself to nonsensical standards of virtue thrust upon me by others?
But I don’t have the mindset for meaningless sex anymore. I’m trying to come to terms with the baffling revelation that neither my body nor my mind seems to find it thrilling anymore.
Several buxom courtesans in Drovillan have been making their usual googly eyes at me, and for the death of me, I can’t seem to give a rat’s ass. I’ve never discarded a leggy opportunity that literally landed in my lap, yet now the attentions of any other damsel except Sariah feel utterly wrong.
So, I might have accumulated quite a bit of pent-up, frenzied energy without a sexual outlet.
Combine it with my trepidation over Killian and Aimee’s current fate, and what you get is a six-hundred-year-old vampire snooping around the Vampire King’s bedroom, checking for clues everywhere, including his undergarments drawer.
The room’s a mess in my wake, as if a hurricane of handsomeness just barreled through, upturning everything.
Clothes lie discarded in a black heap on the floor.
More black clothes hang haphazardly on wooden hangers, while black knives peek out from under his massive bed wrapped in, once again, black satin bedsheets.
Killian’s affinity for the sable shade is nothing new, but this is just plain ridiculous. Does he even own anything that is not dark as midnight?
My fingers pause before touching a pair of bejeweled ruby-red thongs. There it is, the pop of color in his life.
They must be Aimee’s, tucked away in the back of a drawer, hidden like a precious treasure.
Ha! I knew it! The poor sap pretends he hates her, but deep down he can’t help himself but keep mementos of their better days.
Oh, this is motherfucking gold! I store this priceless information for later, fully planning to use it to annoy him with it. That’s our relationship, after all. I say or do something inappropriately outrageous; he gets positively furious and curses me to the high heavens; I laugh it off.
But there’s never bad blood between us, just brotherly love and exasperated acceptance on his part toward my antics.
Someone knocks on the bedroom door just as I cover the indecorous discovery with more of Killian’s black unmentionables.
“Blaise, are you in there?”
Sariah’s sweet voice floats from the other side of the closed doors, and I hurriedly straighten myself, brushing my stray locks of hair with my fingers and adjusting my disheveled shirt.
“Who’s the poor sap now?” my subconscious quips in unlawful delight.
“Come in,” I answer as I try to throw stuff back into the wardrobe, but it’s no use. There’s no hiding the mess I’ve made.
“Nella said you might be in here. Another party of Dark Umbras just arrived, and I, whoaaa,” Sariah stops speaking as she takes in the chamber with wide eyes. “Doing a bit of redecorating, are we, pretty boy?”
If vampires could properly blush, I would probably be red like a tomato right now.
“I, uhm, I was feeling restless. Thought maybe there’s a clue in here that we overlooked.”
“And did you find anything?” she asks as she approaches me, stepping gingerly over discarded identical black shirts.
“Not a Godsdamn thing,” I huff in frustration, raking a hand through my knotted hair. I can’t stop the bouncing of my feet, nor the dark thoughts that plague my mind.
“Look,” she says, grabbing my shaking hands in her supple ones, and pressing soothing circles with her fingers in the center of my palms, “I get it, I really do, but you’re working yourself into a frenzy over nothing but assumptions.
I’ve been in constant communication with my brother, and there’s no chatter coming from the Fae court about new prisoners.
I’ve talked with all the Fae that arrived today, and there is nothing amiss. Not more than usual.”
I huff in frustration, kicking a pile of clothes with the tip of my boot.
“And you don’t find that highly suspicious, Sariah?
What is she plotting? Where have all the onpyrs vanished?
There have been no sightings in weeks. She plagued our lands for over seven fucking years, killed and mind-controlled so many of us, and now she just—what?
—gave it all up to become Noahlin’s wife? ”
My voice rises to a fevered pitch, and Sariah winces, pressing a palm to my cheek, taking me by surprise.
“I don’t believe for one second this preposterous domestic bliss deception, moonlight.”
“Of course not, Blaise. War is brewing; there’s no doubt about that.
She’s shifted tactics, and we must be prepared for when her brutal attack comes.
But I am certain she did not kidnap Aimee, nor Killian.
She wouldn’t do it quietly. We would know without a shadow of a doubt if they were in her clutches, believe me. ”
“I can’t take this uncertainty much longer, moonlight,” I say, shifting closer, resting my forehead against her own and clinging to her like she’s an anchor in a turbulent sea.
“If we don’t get word from them by nightfall, I’m gathering the troops and marching into Ryawarath, blades drawn. To hell with it all.”
“That would be a mistake, Blaise. You’re too great a spy not to realize that. What you need is to blow off some steam.”
We’re so close now, I get drowned in her delicate jasmine scent and her sky-blue eyes that watch me warily from beneath pale eyelashes. My gaze snags on her heart-shaped, rosy mouth as my brain registers her last words.
“Blow off steam?”
My dick likes that idea very much, hardening beneath my trousers.
“Oh no, that’s not what I meant,” she says, trying to wriggle out of my grasp to no avail. I press my palm against the curve of her back, meshing our bodies together to where I’m sure she feels my erection pressed against her thigh, through the folds of her cerulean velvet dress.
“Then what did you mean, moonlight?” I ask, tracing her jawline with a finger, until reaching her nape and grabbing a fistful of golden locks.
Our noses touch, and it’s the most thrilling experience I’ve ever encountered.
Tingles erupt from the point of connection, spreading outwards through my body, swallowing one nerve ending at a time, until my entire body buzzes with that butterflies in the stomach feeling that I’ve read so much about in my favorite steamy romance novels.
With the amount of crazy shit I’ve done in the bedroom, that’s got to mean something.
“Just that you should spar with your warriors, or something,” she says without faltering.
“I think I like the sound of or something,” I answer back, pushing my hips harder into hers. This attraction can’t be one-sided, no matter how much she states otherwise.
“Blaise,” she sighs, “I’m not interested in you.”
“I beg to differ.” I shift my head lower, listening to the erratic beating of her heart.
Her hooded eyes give her away, a stark contrast to her verbal dismissal.
Her body reacts to mine, of that I’m sure.
It’s her mind, though. That’s where the resistance lies.
She’s restraining herself around me, not out of disgust or lack of interest. The reason, though, escapes me, but I’m determined to prove her wrong.
I will find a way to dismantle the barrier she’s raising between us.
Our lips are almost touching, her breath a warm caress against my skin. I’m too lost in the moment, too absorbed by this marvelous creature in my arms, to sense the energy shift in the room. A jarring whoosh that ruptures the silence, breaking the tension boiling between us.
The air becomes thicker, angrier, as swirls of black and crimson dance in my periphery.
“Who the fuck gave you permission to frolic in my chamber while I was away?” Killian’s enraged voice booms out of nowhere.