Chapter 8 Rhianelle #3
Every part of me aches to take what I've been craving. I want to make him lose control and prove I could unravel him the way he unraveled me. But the triumph I wanted, of tastes like ash now.
Because he's not looking at me. He's looking at someone else.
No, I can't do this. My resolve falters. I don’t want to make love to my husband while he thinks I'm someone else.
I can't carry this lie another second.
I let him slip from my grasp and fold forward.
Svenn's brow lifts slightly but before he can speak I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my face into the warm crook of it. His heartbeat is steady against my cheek. Mine is anything but.
“Are you all right?” he asks, his voice confused.
A whisper escapes, small and broken. "It's me."
He goes still beneath me. “What?"
Tears blur my vision. "It's me. Rhianelle."
A shuddering breath escapes from me. I can't hold it back anymore. A sob tears from my throat. My shoulders shake as I cling to him, tears spilling hot and fast against his skin.
I can feel the moment stretching thin, ready to snap. I force myself to lift my head.
Svenn studies me in silence. He reaches up to cup my face. His brow furrows slightly, eyes searching mine for answers.
"Of course it's you," he breathes softly. "Who else would it be?"
My breath catches, suspended somewhere between my lungs and my throat. I lift the mask with shaking hands.
"You knew?" The word barely makes it past my lips.
"Little fawn." His thumb traces my lips. “Did you really think a fae trinket could hide you from me?"
"But how—"
A tendril of shadow slides away from my earring and returns to him.
"I tagged you," he admits, something like shame crossing his face. "To keep you safe."
"You let me think you didn't know?" I push at his chest.
He catches the mask from my fingers and tosses it lightly onto the chaise. "Bas and Vlad have done this sort of play with their women sometimes. I thought perhaps you wanted something different."
"A game?" I can't keep the disbelief out of my voice. "You thought we were playing?"
His expression turns serious. "We still are."
His grip on my waist tightens and he pulls me down in one motion, impaling me without mercy until I've swallowed every inch of him.
My head falls back in a gasp of unbridled pleasure. My back arches.
"Breathe, sweetheart. Don't pass out on me yet."
The feeling of having him inside me is so intense I could cry.
He groans.
He cups my breast, taking the tip in his mouth. He sucks gently, flicking his tongue over the soft bud.
I try to move, to ride him, but I'm too overwhelmed. My hips shake involuntarily, trembling with the effort. The sensation is too much, too intense. I can barely manage more than small, stuttering movements.
"Come on," he encourages, his voice rough with need. "Take what you want."
I whimper, trying again, but my body won't cooperate.
The pleasure has turned my muscles to water.
His hands steady my hips, guiding me gently until I find a rhythm.
Slow at first, testing. Then faster as confidence builds and the pleasure sharpens.
My hips shake involuntarily, chasing the release that will destroy me.
I ride him while he watches me with dark eyes.
"That's my girl," he mutters.
I can feel it in the tension of his muscles, the way his grip stays just this side of gentle when I know he wants to claim me harder.
That won't do.
I lean forward, bracing my hands on his chest, and squeeze my thighs around him deliberately. The angle shifts and I watch his reaction with satisfaction.
He makes a husky noise, his features growing taut. His jaw clenches. His fingers dig into my hips.
"Rhianelle," he warns, voice strained.
I do it again, rolling my hips and clenching around him.
Something in him shifts. I see it in his eyes—the moment his control snaps.
I regret teasing him immediately because he grips my waist and thrusts up hard, stealing the breath from my lungs.
Then again. And again.
His movements become uncontrolled, primal.
Each thrust drives deeper, harder, until I'm crying out with every stroke.
His arms tighten around my waist like a snake around its prey.
He thrusts faster, harder. It's impossible to keep up.
He doesn't stop thrusting into me and he doesn't stop kissing me.
I can't stop the shaking that overtakes me. My body convulses against his as pleasure races through my heavy limbs.
"Oh fuck." He slams in one last time, trembling beneath me as he grunts in release. The feel of him pulsing inside me triggers my own orgasm.
The pleasure crashes over me in waves, pulling me under. I cry out against his neck as my body clenches around him, drawing out his release as mine tears through me. We shudder together, locked in the aftermath, neither of us able to move or speak.
For a long moment, we simply breathe.
His arm rests heavy across my back, anchoring me there.
My head settles on his chest, rising and falling as our breathing slowly steadies.
The world feels small and contained. It's just the two of us in this fragile pocket of warmth in the Rose room.
I trace idle circles over his skin, mapping scars I already know by heart.
His fingers comb absently through my hair.
The hunger drains from his eyes by degrees. It doesn’t fade completely, just enough to leave something more human behind.
His hand tightens at my waist.
“Svenn?” I lift my head slightly.
He stares at the ceiling for a long moment before looking down at me.
I watch him, waiting. There's something heavy ruminating in his mind. I can see it in the way his jaw works, the tension in his shoulders. The faelight catches the hard lines of his face and throws shadows across his expression.
Whatever he's about to say, he's weighing every word.
"Rhianelle," he says carefully. "What do you know about the Nightwalker's nature during red eclipses?"
"Blood moon." I'm still a little flustered, my thoughts scattered. "You get stronger."
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, almost rueful. "It's a little more than that."
I shake my head but I actually I do know. I’m just too embarassed to say it out loud. Debauchery doesn't begin to describe what's in them.
Svenn stares at the ceiling. "During an eclipse the beasts inside take over completely. Feeding, violence, hunger, and desire for the entire nights of it. That's what I become."
My breath catches, but I don't interrupt. I watch him wrestle with whatever he's trying to say and I see something I have almost never seen in his face.
Genuine fear.
"The fae part of me bound into the Rhunhraefn, it doesn't understand that I'm undead. During the eclipse it wakes fully. It thinks I'm still capable of doing whatever other fae are doing during Calanmai. It wants a mate.”
Svenn is being polite when he says the fae wants to mate. But I understand the paintings in the vaults now. The nights of pure lust.
"Is that why the Strigons took multiple partners in those paintings?" The words escape before I can stop them, accidentally exposing that I do know a little about it.
Svenn smiles softly. "Yes. Except now there is only you. All of it focused on one person. I could break you, Rhianelle."
"I can handle—"
"The fae is not what I'm worried about," he says, his thumb stroking absently along my ribs. "All of the creatures bound to the Rhunhraefn love you."
I love them too.
"They would never hurt you," he says firmly. "I'm worried about the bond. During the eclipse my control frays. It will come for you. All those dreams you shared with him? They're real."
I recall the fevered dreams. The bond chasing me through shadow and catching me. Taking me with brutal possession and no restraint.
"Svenn, he's a part of you."
"I don't accept him," he confesses gravely. "He knows only hunger."
He's rejecting a piece of himself woven into his very being by the Rhunhraefn. How exhausting it must be, constantly at war with the parts of yourself you didn't choose.
"But don't worry." He pulls me closer. "I've been preparing for this."
I raise a brow.
"The dwarven prisoner has helped me forge chains strong enough to hold what I become,” he offers carefully.
I understand now where he has been disappearing to. The hours unaccounted for and the secrecy.
"The forge?” I asks slowly. "That's where you've been going.”
His thumb traces my wrist, absent and careful. “Your knight Red—Garrett has found a place for me. I'll lock myself there when the eclipse begins and stay until it passes."
"Svenn—"
He pulls me closer. "Promise me you won't come looking for me during the eclipse. No matter what you feel through the bond."
I look at him. I see the fear he is trying to hold still in his face.
"I promise," I tell him.
He studies me for a moment then exhales and presses his lips to my temple. “Now, tell me why are you here, Rhianelle?"
I swallow nervously. My throat feels tight. "I needed information about the Hunt.”
"Did you get it?"
“Yes.” The words about Calanmai and the eclipse sit heavy on my tongue. I want to tell him but he is already carrying too much.
Svenn sits up. "We need to leave."
He is already moving. Through the door I can hear raised voices.
“Even if they don’t know who I am, they’ll want to question a fellow Nightwalker about the vampire working for Aelfheim,” he says.
“Svenn,” I catch his arm. “Don't hurt anyone from the Painted Moth. They're good people."
He gives me a look. Not a promise. But not a refusal either. I'll accept that.
I reach for the mask on the chaise. Its silver filigree catches the candlelight delicately. I fasten it quickly over my face.
Let them look.
They will not see me. My hand goes to the invitation tucked against my ribs. It’s still there. I can't lose either of them. Without these, CalanMai is impossible.
We make it halfway down the corridor before the noise becomes clear.
Thorn stands at the end of the hall with three fae guards fanned out behind him. He’s trying to block them. “You cannot go. This establishment welcomes all guests. Even Nightwalkers.”
The professional warmth is gone from his voice but he holds steady. "You'll have to wait outside."
I tug Svenn’s sleeve. “Not this way.”
We turn down a side corridor. The Painted Moth is a maze of hallways and private rooms. We move quickly through the dimly lit passages.
"They can't know I'm here," I whisper.
Svenn nods and keeps moving. We take another turn, backtracking once when voices echo ahead. My heart pounds harder with each minute. We're moving in circles and I can feel panic rising. But Svenn’s grip on my hand never wavers and somehow that makes the fear manageable.
We cut through a back staircase and descend into a mirrored hall. Startled patrons pretend not to see us pass. Two guards round the corner ahead.
“Sleep,” Svenn murmurs.
They slump at the compulsion, unconscious before they hit the floor. But the third guard heard the command too late.
He opens his mouth to shout.
Svenn moves before I can stop him. His fist connects with the fae's face. The crack echoes down the hall. The guard drops with blood streaming from his clearly broken nose.
I shoot Svenn a look.
"He'll live," Svenn says.
We reach the corridor that leads to the main ballroom. Three figures block our path.
River. Fleur. Petal. Standing shoulder to shoulder with their wings trembling. Their faces are set with determination.
My chest tightens. I don't want to hurt them. Fae or not, these are the people who showed me kindness tonight.
"Let her go," Petal says.
"We know what you are," Fleur adds, looking at Svenn.
River says nothing. He holds his ground with a dagger raised in a white-knuckled grip. Fear is written all over his face but he doesn't back down.
Something warm blooms in my chest.
They barely know me. Yet, they’re trying to save me.
I step out from behind Svenn. They immediately close around me, flanking me. The three fae who have known me for one evening placing themselves between me and a vampire without being asked.
"It's alright," I tell them gently.
"You don't have to be afraid,” Fleur says. Her hand finds mine. "The house will protect you. We will."
I pull her into a hug. She makes a small surprised sound.
"Thank you," I whisper into her shoulder.
"That's what we do here," she mumbles against my hair. "Look after our own."
I hug River next. Then Petal, who squeezes back fiercely. “Fawn?”
When I step back, all three are staring at me with confused expressions.
"It's truly alright," I tell them and glance back at Svenn. "He's my prince."
Silence. Then gasps.
"Him?" Petal squeaks. She looks at Svenn again and lowers her voice. "He looks more like the villain."
"The best princes usually do," River says sagely.
Fleur beams. "Then you got your happy ending after all, Fawn."
"I hope so," I say softly.
"Oh no, Fawn." Fleur grabs my arm, her eyes going wide. "I told Thorn to activate the house protections to save you.”
The walls groan ominously.
Vines burst from carved wood panels, twisting outward like grasping fingers. The corridor shifts as if alive. Timber bends. Passageways narrow and warp.
Everyone looks up.
"Run," Fleur says urgently. "Go, now."
Svenn doesn't need to be told twice. Black wings erupt from his back.
His arm wraps around my waist and the ground drops away.
We shoot upward through an upper window and into the cold night air.
Greenvale falls away beneath us. The Painted Moth's living walls reach for us, then fall short, then disappear entirely.
I look down at the three small figures in the doorway. Petal's wings catch the light. River's hand is raised. Fleur stands between them, all three grinning and waving.
I wave back.
They cheer, their voices carrying faintly on the wind. I turn to look at Svenn. His dark eyes meet mine as we climb higher into the night sky.
He saved me.
My vampire prince.