Chapter 26
Blaise
I’ve always hated the acrid smell of dungeons.
Piss, foul blood, and excrements.
The stench of hopeless defeat and imminent death.
It’s different from the smell of battle, where adrenaline and violence course through one’s veins, and the bloodshed tastes like victory.
No, the stink that permeates the air deep in the entrails of Sangeries irritates my nostrils, so I shift closer to Sariah, trying to focus solely on her delicate jasmine scent.
“Heavens above, this is nasty,” she says, scrunching up her cute button nose as we walk down the long, stone-walled corridor lined with prison cells. It’s rather silent tonight in here; no muted moans of pain floating from behind the closed doors.
The torchlights are few and far between down here, casting a subdued yellow light on her pale skin. Only she could look like a breathtaking Goddess even in the middle of such rotten decay.
“Such a skilled, sexy spy, and you haven’t been around in dungeons that much?” I tease her, twirling a single lock of gold-spun hair around my finger.
She swats my hand away, but there’s no bite behind the gesture. “A skilled spy is a fly on the wall, pretty boy, not a butcher in the slaughterhouse.”
Oh Gods, why does the image of her covered in someone else’s blood, swinging a cleaver around, get my dick instantly hard? I hiss, trying to subtly arrange my erection in my constricting leathers, but she catches the movement, her eyes crinkling with restrained laughter.
“You’re sick.”
“You like it,” I offer in response, and she doesn’t miss a beat to answer.
“You wish.”
I pull her ass snugly in front of me, grinding slightly into her as we halt beside a heavy wooden door.
“I know you do, moonlight. And I can’t wait to remind you once we finish our business here.”
I don’t give her time to form a clever retort, swinging open the door and gesturing beyond the threshold.
“After you, my fair lady.”
“Such a gentleman,” she says, rolling her eyes before stepping into the small, damp cell barren of anything except the strong steel shackles chaining the onpyr prisoner to the vaulted ceiling.
A battered and bruised female hangs limply from chains suspending her two feet from the dirty floor.
Her head is slumped forward, her once vibrant red hair covering her face in a tangled mess of dry blood and mud.
Her naked body has seen better days for sure, an oozing gash in her stomach letting her bloody intestines fall flaccidly toward the ground.
Another gaping hole in her chest bares her heart to us, the organ pulsing in a weak but steady manner.
Leilah would be so proud of the handiwork if she still were alive, but that conniving bitch is dead, as this one will be, but not before we get as much information out of her as possible.
“Look at you, you pathetic creature,” I spit, grabbing her hair and dragging her face up. “Your mistress won’t save you now, scum.”
Sariah’s sharp intake of breath catches my attention, and I turn my head to see her eyes widen in horror.
“Messina?”
The onpyr releases a small whimper; her chapped lips parting as she moans in pain. “Sariah, h-help m-me, please.”
“Blaise, I know her,” Sariah says agitatedly, grabbing my biceps and trying to pull my hand away from the creature’s hair. “She’s one of us. A Dark Umbra. A courtesan at the Royal Fae court. We have to save her.”
“There is no saving an onpyr, little pixie,” I answer slowly. “Look at her eyes. She is beyond redemption.”
The creature cackles, a shrill sound like glass grinding against stone.
“You’re not as dumb as you look, vampire.
” Her eyes are two rotten crimson sockets, reeking of madness.
She snaps her canines at me, her body thrashing against the heavy chains, desperately trying to bite me.
I lose any semblance of civility, thrusting my hand inside her chest wound and squeezing the organ that still pumps her putrefied blood in her veins.
Sariah gasps, and I know she might hate the brutality I’m about to unleash on her former acquaintance. I can be a vicious torturer if need be. I just don’t particularly like it.
Morweena’s minion wails, blood bubbling up past her dry lips, and she spits it in my face.
“I was quite fond of that shirt, you brainless bitch.” I twist my hand inside her chest, puncturing her heart. “Ready to talk?”
She has the audacity to laugh in my face, her eyes crazed and unblinking.
“You’re already late, vampire dog. You thought you could fool her? Mistress will always be one step ahead of you.”
“Messina, please,” Sariah interjects from beside me. “You don’t have to do this. Your death can be quick and merciful. Just tell us what you know.”
“What I know?! I know you’re all going to die soon enough,” she snarls, pushing herself more into my hand, more blood spilling from her chest. “Starting with your brother. He’ll make such an obedient servant for Mistress. I hope he’s the one to end your pathetic life.”
“No, no, no,” Sariah utters in disbelief. “Leave Soren out of it.”
“Your umbras have fallen, you miserable, weak Faeling. Mistress will crush you all for standing between her and her vampire. She knows all your secrets!” the onpyr bellows, foaming at the mouth. “There’s no one left at court to spy for you. Your brother’s next!”
Sariah’s sob feels like a physical blow to my gut, and I turn my gaze her way as she takes out her dagger with trembling hands.
“I have to contact him, Blaise. Warn him. I can’t lose Soren!”
It all happens so fast. The onpyr takes advantage of my momentary lapse in focus, swinging her legs to wrap around my waist, dragging me forward and clamping down on my neck like a feral beast. Like hell I’m going to let her draw blood from me.
I wrench Sariah’s dagger from her trembling fingers and swing it up in a wide arc, impaling it in the creature’s neck.
I twist, sawing my way through spine and sinew, until the head falls at our feet with a wet thud.
We’re both soaked in blood that is not our own, breathing raggedly in the graveyard silence of the cell.
I push the corpse away from me, swaying limply from the ceiling, and turn to Sariah.
“Take my knife, moonlight. Contact him.”
She loses no time in cutting her finger, frantically speaking to the droplets swirling on her forearm.
“Soren, Soren, please be okay,” she pleads, and it pains me inside to see her so terrified.
Nothing happens for several seconds that seem to drag into eternity, and she crumbles in my arms, weeping.
“Not him. Not him, Blaise.”
I hold her upright, at a loss for words. I know the devastation of losing your kin, and I wouldn’t wish that on anybody, least of all her.
“Sari, I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
Words form on her milky skin, flecked with gore, and she shudders in response.
“Oh, thank heavens. Soren, you’re compromised; our Umbras in court are gone. Turned onpyr. You must run!”
Relief courses through my veins at his answer. I might not like the annoying male, but he’s everything to my little pixie, and I’m quickly learning that she has become everything to me.
“I know. We were ambushed earlier. Managed to kill them, but few of us remain. About to cross the border now. No time to forge papers. I’ll contact again when we’re in the clear.”
The words vanish, leaving only a thin trail of blood in their wake. She casts her watery eyes up at me, her lips quivering.
“We have to help them, Blaise. Send word to Bradvva to await them. They might be hurt.”
“Moonlight.” I hate myself for what I’m about to say. “There’s still a chance he might not be himself anymore. It could be a trap.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head violently, her pale locks sticking to the blood on her face. “I know my brother, Blaise. It’s him. He’s not an onpyr. He can’t be.”
“We can’t overlook that possibility. It would be a fatal mistake. I’ll alert my warriors in Bradvva. They’ll be waiting for them, prepared for the worst. If they are not under Morweena’s control, they’ll grant them passage to Sangeries.”
She nods once, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the door.
“Let’s go.”
She breaks into a run, dragging me with her, but she’s in no state to sprint the stairs leading out of the dungeons.
I grab her waist and haul her up in my arms, adrenaline wreaking havoc in both of us.
I understand her urgency to secure safe passage for her brother, to ensure his safety, but her loss of composure is fatal in our line of work.
I grip her harder in my embrace, the need to subdue her fear—to bring her back to herself—overpowering my senses.
Words and logic should be my weapon of choice, but the thrill of killing and the high of having her so close after pining over her since I met her, cloud my already not so sensible judgement.
She’s still shaking, her body twitching in uncontrollable tremors. I don’t know how to soothe her, other than crashing my lips against her mouth, pushing her into the stone stairwell wall.
“Blaise, what are you…” she tries to say, but I swallow her words with a sweep of my tongue, biting her bottom lip until a guttural moan escapes her.
“You need a distraction, moonlight. I don’t know how to ground you any other way.”
She pushes my chest with a huff, tilting her chin up.
“I’m fine, Blaise. I don’t need a distraction.”
I lift her shaky fingers to my lips, sucking two of them into my mouth, grazing my fangs on her knuckles.
“Everyone needs a distraction, little pixie. Nothing wrong with that.”
She bites her lip, looking like she wants to argue with me further, but her body is unwinding in my grasp, arching subtly toward me, chasing the very thing she says she doesn’t need.
“That’s it, little pixie. Let go.”
Her azure gaze pierces through me like a sharpened spear, and as fear grips me with the thought that I’ve fucked up and she’ll push me away completely, she nods slowly, her eyes slanting in mirrored arousal.
“Fear does make for a powerful aphrodisiac, pretty boy,” she purrs, wrapping her legs around me and grinding on my growing erection. “Might be just what we both need.”
Damn this female.
We’re covered head to toe in gore, and the only thing I can think about is to fuck the anxiety out of her system. I kiss her with renewed determination, wrapping my tongue around her own, pushing my hips harder into the apex of her thighs.
She moans in my mouth, the vibration shooting straight for my groin.
I fumble with the leather laces of her skin-tight pants, cursing internally her choice of attire.
A dress might not be appropriate for prisoner torture, but these constricting, intricate leathers are atrocious for spontaneous sex on a staircase.
“Faster, Blaise,” she complains breathily. “I need you inside now.”
My already fraying composure snaps at her wanton tone, and I hook my fingers in the waistband of her pants and rip them down the middle. My trousers fall to the ground next.
“Blaise!” she exclaims, half in shock, half in amusement.
“Don’t tell me such things, moonlight, and not expect me to go all brute vampire on you.”
I impale her on the next breath, my hips snapping forcefully until I’m buried to the hilt inside her.
Her cunt clenches around me like a serpent choking its prey, and I slam my mouth on hers, my tongue fucking her mouth with the same crazed pace as my cock rams inside her.
I snake a hand around her throat and squeeze; the air leaving her lungs on an ecstatic wail.
“I wish you could see how good my fingers look around your perfect little throat.”
She instantly wraps her hand around my neck, squeezing just as viciously.
“Mine look even prettier on yours,” she hums against my lips. “Now be a good boy and fuck me like you just murdered that prisoner, savage and without remorse.”
I pound into her harder, slamming her into the stone wall with such force that it cracks, spiderweb lines going in all directions.
My vision blurs from how tightly she’s squeezing me.
This is no gentle lovemaking. It’s two dominants pushing and pulling, chasing the other into submission with no avail.
We’re equally built, neither gaining the upper hand over the other.
As she clamps down on my jaw, her blunt teeth piercing the skin lightly, my balls tighten in pleasure and pain, and a thought occurs to me in the haze of impending rapture.
I’ve met my match. And I will turn this realm upside down to keep her. There is nowhere in existence that she could go and I wouldn’t follow.
This is not just a transient fling. It’s both the starting line and the finish line for me.
I press my thumb to her nub, my movements matching the fevered frenzy of our hips, and she rolls her eyes until I can see the whites.
“That’s it, I’m coming,” she screams, her body convulsing in my arms. Thank fuck, because I’m bursting at the seams, her orgasm triggering mine, and as my cock throbs inside her, filling her with my cum, I can’t help but envision her again gorgeously swollen with my children.
It’s an impossible delusion I can’t shake from my brain, so I let it painfully unfold, a longing ache forming between my ribs.
“That was…cathartic,” she murmurs with a kiss on the same spot where she bit me in the throes of passion. “Now hand me your shirt, pretty boy, because no way I am walking through the castle with this thoroughly fucked appearance and my pants ripped down the middle.”
I let out a satisfied laugh.
“Whatever my little pixie wants.”