27. CHAPTER 27
Sorin
The wound in my side hadn’t hurt this much in weeks. I needed to see Azhar, and I needed to see him now. But I had searched his rooms before the ball and hadn’t been able to find him.
Where could he have gone?
I slumped against Aveline, my arm slung over her shoulder. She did her best to help me ascend the curved staircase toward the second floor. My body was weak, my shirt sticking to the hot wound in my side that had begun pulsing.
“I need to see Azhar,” I ground out as we reached the top of the steps. I keeled over, using the stone banister for support.
“Who is Azhar?” she asked, worry clear in her voice.
Aveline was worried about me.
I shook my head, a grin spreading across my lips at the mere thought that flashed across my mind. Stupid, stupid prince. “My healer.”
Her eyes widened. “And…he is…where?”
I pointed toward the left wing of the castle. “Down that corridor, make a right. The door at the end. The one with the mahogany inlay.”
“Wait here,” she said, fixing me with a serious look.
As if I could go anywhere, even if I wanted to. She disappeared down the hall and the only thing I could think of was how beautiful she was as her hips sashayed, her curls bobbing with each step she took.
She returned a moment later, her expression grim. “He isn’t there.”
I cursed. “Take me to my rooms, then.”
“You may have forgotten, but I am a herbologist and an alchemist, for gods’ sake. I am practically a healer myself.”
She took my arm once more, slinging it over her shoulder to help bear my weight as we ascended the next flight of stairs to the third floor.
A wave of nausea rolled through me as we finally reached the landing. I had to stop and catch my breath, the pulsing wound rhythmic at my side.
“Wait here,” she said, not waiting for my response before disappearing down the corridor.
She was gone only moments before she returned once more, her satchel slung over her shoulder, her mask from the ball discarded.
I stared at it in confusion.
She pointed at herself. “Herbologist.” Then she pointed at the satchel. “Herbs. Let’s go.”
It was difficult for her to help me with the heavy bag banging against her side with every step. Somehow, the two of us managed. We made it to my rooms safely, though I was sure half of the court had seen me keeling over in pain at this point.
The strongest Blackwater prince, heir to the throne. Taken down by a curse.
My bed was calling to me but I wasn’t sure I possessed the strength to climb atop it in my current state.
I collapsed into the high-backed armchair before the fire, discarding my own mask on the side table.
Sweat immediately dotted my brow beneath the heat of the flames.
I was certain I was spiking a fever to ward off infection.
My shirt was completely plastered to me, soaked in both blood and sweat.
“Well, let’s see it,” Aveline announced, standing before me with her arms crossed.
The movement pressed her breasts up even further against the bodice of the dress I had picked out. Despite the fever and the pain, my cock twitched at the sight of their fullness.
“Can’t,” I ground out, my head falling back against the chair, eyes falling closed.
My thoughts were consumed by exhaustion.
It wasn’t the first time this had happened—and if past history was any indication—it wouldn’t be the last.
Aveline kneeled. I initially thought it had to be the delirium—there was no way she was on her knees before me. But I blinked, and she remained. The flames cast half her face in shadow, the other half painted with a golden glow that made her brown iris appear as if it were spun caramel.
She reached for my shirt and undid the buttons with the efficiency of someone who had done this before. She unceremoniously tore the shirt open. I surged upward, searing pain renewed as the material tore free from my skin.
“Sorry.” But she didn’t sound sorry, not really.
She turned, rifling through her bag to search for the ingredients she needed. “How long have you had this?” she asked, pulling out a mortar and pestle.
A laugh bubbled to my lips at the thought of her traveling the realm with her personal mortar and pestle stowed away, but that honestly didn’t surprise me.
“A few decades,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper as I watched her.
Her movements halted, her perfectly pink lips falling open. “A few decades?” I nodded in response. “What are you talking about, Sorin?”
Sorin.
Not Prince.
Not Your Highness.
Sorin.
My name was an answer to every prayer I had ever made to the old gods coming from those lips.
“Cursed,” I ground out, a groan of pain escaping my open mouth.
I was seeing spots of light behind my eyes as I pressed them closed. I desperately hoped she had something in that little bag of treasures to sedate me.
Why in the nine gods was this wound hurting so much if my mate was right here, kneeling before me? My thoughts were becoming muddled, confusion taking over.
She emptied a mixture of dried herbs into the bowl, a few drops from a stoppered bottle joining them. She mixed them together to create a thick, awful-smelling paste that was so potent it had my nostrils flaring. I recoiled as much as I could while remaining seated in the chair.
It dawned on me that if she truly meant to poison me, now would be the perfect time. I was half lost to delirium, and everyone in this castle was attending the ball in my honor.
“Stop fussing,” she told me, leaning forward. “I can’t reach it—your knees are in the way. Your legs are too long. Open them.”
I had never heard that particular complaint before.
I raised my brow at her despite the pain that threatened to pull me under. “You want to kneel between my legs, Princess?”
“I’m no princess,” she replied, eyes blazing. “Do as I say.”
I did, allowing my knees to fall open so that she could come closer and better access the wound. My legs were still too long; she wouldn’t be able to reach the area where it spread onto my back and up the back of my arm.
She stood, biting her lip while assessing her options with the bowl in her hand and the other on her hip.
“Fuck it.” She pulled her midnight skirts up to pool around her hips with one hand as she climbed onto my lap.
I was surely delirious now. There was no way that I wasn’t imagining this.
No way in the seven hells that this woman was straddling me, her soft legs braced against the chair on either side of me. Her thighs clenching the outsides of mine, her soft hair brushing my chest as she bent over me to slather the paste over the wound.
Despite my confusion and the fever that muddled my thoughts, I grew hard beneath her. She narrowed her gaze in assessment as it traveled from the wound to my face, then back again.
She said nothing.
Could she feel my hard length pressed against her thigh?
Even if her poultice didn’t work, I still preferred this version of healing to anything Azhar could offer. He had never climbed into my lap while wearing a sinfully arousing dress.
A laugh bubbled to my lips, but my mouth was too dry, and the sound was garbled.
“I’m glad you find this amusing, Prince.”
Her touch was soft. Like moonlight against bare skin.
“Amusing?” My gaze darkened as I watched her work. “That’s one word for it.”
Desire flooded me as I watched her, bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she smothered my side in that gods-awful paste. I flinched as she pulled me toward her to reach around my back.
Did she feel it too? That insatiable pull? That draw unlike anything I had ever experienced before?
She sat back, admiring her work as the throbbing in my side dulled to a soft ache. Her pulse was beating heavily at her neck. I unconsciously leaned into her, the smell of citrus and bergamot rushing over me. I wanted to drown in it. In her.
She leaned back to meet my gaze and my nostrils flared.
“Sorin…when was the last time you fed?” she asked, gaze serious.
Fed?
All I could think about was the blush that rose to her cheeks, spilling blood beneath her skin like a pooling glow. Her narrowed eyes, one blue as the tides, the other soft as melted chocolate. She shifted her weight atop me and I groaned, but not from pain.
Did she know what she did to me? That I felt more unraveled in this moment than I ever had before? That the mere presence of her on top of me had me so hard I was throbbing beneath her?
“Sorin?” Her voice of concern broke through my haze of thoughts.
“Aveline?” I answered back with a laugh.
She pressed a hand to my shoulder as she dropped the empty bowl onto the side table beside us.
“When was the last time you fed? I am no expert by any means, but I know that Vireth require blood to live. I would assume that they, too, require blood to heal,” she pointed out.
My head fell to the side as I studied her beneath heavy lids.
She made a good point. When was the last time I had fed? My memories from today were hazy at best, but I do recall having been thirsty.
I sat up straight, a moment of clarity sparking as I held her gaze. It had been days since I had fed.
No…not days.
Since bringing her to Stormgaard. I had spirits laced with old blood that night, but it had done nothing to tide me over.
I had been too preoccupied, ignoring the thirst that stirred within me.
It had been almost two weeks since I had truly fed.
I usually fed at least twice weekly, the realization washing over me as I internally cursed myself. It was no wonder I wasn’t healing.
I was starving.
She reached over me to grab something leafy and green from the table beside her.
“Under your tongue,” she instructed.
I lifted a brow at her as a wicked smile lifted the corner of my mouth. She raised her own eyebrows in return, and I simply allowed my mouth to fall open.
With an exasperated sigh, she placed the leaf under my tongue, leaning close enough that her chest was almost pressed up against mine. I closed my mouth around it, the bitter taste causing my nose to scrunch.
It was her turn to laugh. “The taste will subside in a moment. This will help break your fever. You need blood in order for this wound to heal, and you need it right now. Is there a way to call for your…feeder?” She said the word as if she were unsure.
That could be the only feasible explanation for why I wasn’t healing despite her presence. I needed blood, but I had none.
“The court is full of dignitaries and royals for the ball being held in my and my betrothed’s honor…I can hardly send for a courtesan.”
Was that…jealousy crossing her features? In the twist of her mouth?
“Aren’t there feeders that are not courtesans? Do you not have someone on hand for something like this?” she asked, patience wearing thin.
I merely shook my head.
I used to, but I had slept with her. When she wanted more from me than I could give, I had to dismiss her.
I hadn’t had a chance to replace her yet.
That didn’t seem like a piece of information I needed to share at this very moment, Aveline warm in my lap.
Her delicate, pale hands pressed against my bare chest.
She turned; her brow creased as she fell deep in thought. The first time we had touched, it had been as if my fire had been magnified and sent back toward me. Ever since bringing her to Stormgaard, the sensation was different. As if the magic I felt beneath her skin was that of cool, running water.
Of mist. Tides.
But she was a human…she had no magic.
“I suppose you can have some of my blood. But only if you promise to take merely enough to heal that wound and get into bed,” she said, her gaze drifting back toward mine.
I was stunned.
Stunned that she was offering.
Stunned that it had been her idea.
My mouth instantly watered at the thought of sinking my teeth into her milky flesh. Of taking her blood deep into me, filling me with its warmth and vitality. A flush rose to my own cheeks, and her gaze turned warning.
“Do you have a glass?” she asked, moving to get up off my lap.
I reached out and clasped her wrist in my grip, holding her arm against my chest. Holding her in place. She lifted a brow in warning, but I shook my head.
“It is more…effective…from the source.”
Her expression turned chastising. “I’m afraid that isn’t an option.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a glass,” I replied.
She took a deep, steeling breath before offering me the wrist still held in my own grip. “Fine. Go ahead, then.”
I leaned in, the scent of lemon and bergamot wafting off her skin so heady I felt drunk on it. So inviting.
“It will hurt less if I—” My words cut off as I brushed her raven hair back from her shoulder, exposing the column of her throat to me.
My gaze fixed on the junction where her throat met her shoulder, exposed due to the dress she had chosen. I had chosen.
Her breath caught in her throat, tendons contracting as she tensed.
“Relax, Aveline. I would never hurt you,” I whispered against her neck, close enough that my lips barely grazed her skin.
“Coming from the man who needed to remind me exactly how dangerous he is?” she asked, breathless.
She remembered that. What I had said to her that night after the tavern brawl weeks ago. Was she replaying the interactions between us in her head on a loop as I was?
I pulled back only enough to capture her gaze in mine, her wrist still trapped in my grip. “Never dangerous to you.”
She swallowed hard, her bi-colored gaze holding mine for one long, interminable moment. Her head nodded ever so slightly. I breathed through my nose as I moved my hand to cup the back of her neck, bringing her closer to me.
She was pressed fully against my chest now, her breasts trapped between us.
Her skirts pooled around her hips as she ground into mine in anticipation.
I groaned against her skin, knowing exactly what she felt trapped between us now that our bodies were pressed flush together.
My lips met her skin in earnest, and she shivered, a nervous laugh escaping her.
I allowed her a moment to adjust to the sensation of my fangs scraping against her skin.
“Are you trying to torture me? Get it over with already,” she said, fear and discontent clear in her voice.
“Relax,” I told her, hand steady against her back.
She did as I asked, settling against my lap and allowing her muscles to loosen. Her entire body unclenched as she fell against me. I couldn’t imagine the taste of her—that she would allow me this.
Aveline was the match, and I was the flame.
She didn’t know what this meant…not like this. This was no regular feeding. This was something much, much more.
With one last breath, she sighed against me. She let out a soft, enticing gasp as my tongue darted out of my mouth to taste her skin. I imagined one last time what I thought her blood might taste like before it flooded my mouth.
I allowed my halfling fangs to brush against her before biting down into her soft flesh and losing myself to ecstasy.