Chapter 63
Severin
MAEVE PULLS HER SWEATER OFF and settles it onto the floor beside us. Beneath it, she’s wearing a thin camisole, and her nipples press against the fabric. I lift one hand, trailing it along her side until it settles over her breast. My thumb brushes her nipple, and I turn my gaze up to hers.
Staring back at me are violet eyes filled with conviction.
She wants me to feed from her again, to make permanent this connection between my blood and hers. To press into the unknown together, prepared for whatever may come. And I won’t deny her—not when she’s chosen this with full understanding of what it means. Of what we could become.
My attempts to protect Maeve did nothing but push her away; I almost lost this, lost her, because I didn’t trust her to make such an important decision for herself—not because I don’t think her capable, but because I . . .
Because I love her.
But loving her does not mean sheltering her from the world. Or from me.
Loving her means letting her make her own choices. And in this, I’ll lay down my sword. I won’t fight her.
Because I want it too.
My throat has been dry since the last time her blood coated my tongue. No amount of donated blood satiates the hunger I have. My fangs crave her like seedlings crave sunlight. They need her in a way I am unaccustomed to. In a way that I’m afraid of.
But I won’t let that fear control me anymore.
My hand moves from her breast to her cheek, and I wrap my fingers around the back of her head, drawing her mouth to mine slowly, reverently. She tastes of red wine, and when her tongue strokes languidly along my bottom lip, I growl, my cock growing hard in my trousers.
Our bond burns in my blood, and I can feel the trust she’s putting in me. I feel her anticipation, her heat.
She breaks our kiss and leans away from me, already short of breath. Then she pushes to her feet, which are still clad in thick winter socks.
Slowly, without her gaze leaving mine, she continues to undress herself: first the flowy cotton pants she’s wearing, then the thin camisole.
Her breasts are full, her nipples flushed red against her pale skin.
I want to suck them into my mouth, to bite down just hard enough to elicit a gasp.
But I remain where I am, looking up at her from the floor as she reaches for the lacy black panties she still has on.
And as she eases them down, the firelight behind her reveals the trails of wetness coating her inner thighs.
My cock strains harder, and I grit my teeth, fangs aching for her.
“I want you to bite me here,” she says, pushing her hair back and drawing her fingertips along the side of her neck. “While you’re touching me here.” Her other hand dips between her thighs, fingers coming away wet.
I flex my jaw, then drag my gaze away from her glistening pussy lips to meet her eyes. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
Her lips lift in the corners. “You can start by taking your clothes off.”
I do as she says. After getting to my feet, I stand before her, working through my clothes layer by layer, dropping each article into a pile until I’m naked. Her gaze rakes over me, taking in every inch of my skin, leaving trails of heat in its wake.
“Now get on your knees,” she demands.
I sink to the floor, knees settling into the rug. And from my place before her, I pause, look up at her, commit this sight to memory. Because this moment—this choice—is about to change everything.
And her wish is my command.
When she steps toward me, gripping my hair in one hand and pressing her pussy into my face, I know she commands that I feast. So I do.
I lick the wetness from each of her thighs, then drag my tongue along her slick cunt, making her draw breath.
My hands lift to grip her ass, and I crush her pussy against my mouth, tongue lapping at her, then flicking her clit before I draw it into my mouth and suck.
She lifts one leg, bracing her foot on the couch behind me, her nails digging into my scalp.
She’s using two hands now, holding me exactly where she wants me.
I welcome the pain. It serves only to make me harder, my cock now standing rigid.
My tongue dips lower, and I plunge it inside of her, fucking her with it as I squeeze her ass in my hands. She moans.
My veins tingle with heat and what feels like the coming of a storm.
But she doesn’t yet allow the storm to make landfall.
Instead, she pulls my head back and looks down at me.
And from my knees, she looks like a goddess who could wreak havoc on my world, who could tear my kingdom asunder.
Her breasts rise and fall with each heavy breath, and her long hair hangs around her shoulders like a violet veil.
Slowly, I rise to my feet. And as I stand before her, I reach up to take her chin in my hand, tipping her head back.
I press my thumb between her pretty lips, easing it into her mouth, and she sucks it hungrily, the same way she sucked my cock that night at the inn, on her knees before me.
I’ve gotten myself off to that image so many times since then that I’ve lost count.
At the same time, she reaches for me, her fingers wrapping around my shaft like they belong there—like they’ve always belonged there. She begins to stroke me, eyes narrowing as she sucks my thumb to the same rhythm.
I groan.
This witch. Three hundred years of control and restraint. Now she might as well be the heart beating in my chest, the blood coursing through my veins.
I ease my thumb from her mouth, then capture her lips with mine. She deepens our kiss, her tongue dragging along mine, not deterred by her own flavor on my lips. Her fingers work along my length, stroking me, handling me until I can’t take it anymore.
Breaking our kiss, I press my forehead to hers and whisper, “I need to be inside you.”
She smiles up at me. “Do what you want with me.”
There’s so much I want to do with her, do to her—one night will not suffice. But it’s a start.
With ease, I lift her by the waist. She wraps her arms and legs around me, and a fluttering breath tickles my ear as I slowly, slowly guide her slick cunt onto my cock. She’s dripping. There’s almost no resistance as I push inside her.
“Fuck,” she whispers, legs tightening around me, the air simmering with an electric charge that nips at my bare skin.
I turn around, still buried inside her, and lower myself to my knees on the couch, then ease Maeve down so the cushions cradle her. Then I pause. I look down at her, trace the lines of her face with one hand, memorize her like dates in a history book.
In return, she stares back, and I wonder if she’s doing the same thing.
I brush my thumb along her cheekbone. “I love you,” I whisper. “And I’m sorry for not saying it more often. I’m sorry for making you think I didn’t.”
Her violet eyes shimmer in the firelight. “I love you too,” she whispers back, her voice like a wisp of smoke from an extinguished candle, so soft it’s almost as if I imagined it. Her arms, still draped around my neck, tighten. “So, so much.”
I’m not sure how I came to be here, how the goddesses deemed me worthy of the blessing that is Maeve Vandermere. But I’m determined not to fuck it up again.
Leaning over her, I bring my lips to her mouth, kissing her deeply, then trail them across her jaw, to the soft spot beneath her ear. I take her earlobe into my mouth, and she whimpers as I sink my cock deeper inside her. The bond between us pulls tight.
“Severin,” she whispers.
“Hmm?” I release her earlobe from between my lips and continue a leisurely journey down the column of her throat, breathing in the scent of the blood rushing through her veins, each beat of her heart sending the intoxicating smell swirling around me.
“I’m ready.”
My heart gives one heavy thump, and I lift my head, my gaze meeting hers.
Violet eyes stare back at me. She holds my gaze, unwavering.
A question dances at the tip of my tongue. Are you sure?
But I know her well enough to know that I don’t have to ask again. She’s made her choice. And I’ve made mine.
Her smooth skin sparkles with perspiration in the firelight. My fangs ache with the need to taste her blood.
With one hand, I brush the few stray strands of hair away from her throat. My thumb finds the small scars left from the first time I fed on her, the two circular marks pale against the rest of her skin. When I touch them, her eyelids flutter closed.
Her body surrenders to mine, soft and supple on the couch beneath me. Her storm settles, just for a moment, as if to grant me safe harbor.
I lower my mouth to her neck, breathe in her rich scent.
This is it. Our point of no return. This feed will change everything—for both of us.
I ease my weight onto her, holding her body firm. She doesn’t tremble, and I don’t detect even a whiff of fear from her.
She’s ready for this.
I kiss her throat, right where I intend to bite. She lets out a fluttering breath, preparing herself.
Then I part my jaws, find her skin with the tips of my fangs, and sink them into her neck.
She flinches, but I hold her down, not allowing her to accidentally tear my fangs free. They find her bloodstream, coursing hot and fast, and before I even begin to feed, I moan.
I’ve needed this, needed her. More than I’ve ever needed anything before.
Our bond burns with adrenaline and pain. I can feel her suffering like it’s my own. But she withstands, her muscles locked tight, resisting the instinctual urge to fight back.
Venom seeps from my fangs and into her blood. Her body trembles as it bleeds through her veins, and through our bond, I feel it as it takes hold. Slowly at first, with a blossoming of heat and a slow unraveling of tension. Then faster, the venom circulating through her system.
Her resistance loosens, yields.
“Mm,” she whispers as the venom takes effect, her body softening, the last of her restraint slipping away.
And finally, I begin to feed.
The moment her blood touches my tongue, something inside me shifts. Lightning rushes through my veins, setting my insides on fire. And I know Maeve feels it too, from the way she draws a sudden hitched breath.
This may be our third time, but it may as well be the first—my first. I’m certain I’ve never tasted blood so rich and sweet. I drink like a man dying of thirst.
Which I suppose is what I’ve been, though I’ve not wanted to admit it. Nothing has been able to satiate me. Nothing but Maeve. And if this is my future—dependence on her, on her blood—then so be it. I don’t want to keep resisting her, resisting this.
I surrender.
I draw her blood into my mouth and press my cock inside her, deep and slow. Her body is soft and supple against mine, the venom serving as a potent relaxer and aphrodisiac.
With Maeve’s blood fueling me, my muscles already feel stronger, my mind clearer. Everything comes into sharper focus, as if before I was looking at the world through a window frosted with ice and snow. Her scent swirls around us—sage and the crackle of a storm. The hair on my arms rises.
I shift my weight, reaching down between our bodies to find the heat between her legs. She catches her breath as I trail my fingertips across her clit. It’s already swollen, begging for touch. I circle it gently, my pace slow, almost languid. I’m in no mood to rush this.
Because this changes everything.
And I feel the split second that we cross the threshold.
The bond between us surges, no longer a trembling thread, but a wild current, coursing with bright, undeniable energy, like the sunrise cresting over the horizon. It rushes through me, through her, tingling everywhere that our bodies touch, until I can no longer tell where she ends and I begin.
I can feel her more strongly now than ever before. Her pleasure, the heat coiling low in her belly, the overwhelming emotions waiting to pour out of her.
This is no longer just feeding. It’s so much more sacred than that.
My fangs remain buried in her throat as the realization settles over me.
This is it. There’s no undoing this, no turning back and choosing another path. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because Maeve chose this. She chose me.
And something inside me responds in kind—deep and instinctual and so raw it hurts.
She’s mine now. And I’m eternally hers.