Taste
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Iam trying, Lord Draven.” My words were biting. With the lack of sleep, I struggled to keep my temper tamed, but by the Saints, he was so demanding to a point that had dashed my efforts of attempting to remain calm and collected.
Patience, Amara.
In my defense, I lasted longer than I anticipated. I was attempting to get into his good graces for an entire moon rotation, but I did not last more than a sennight.
I set the quill down beside the parchments marked with my scribbles and rubbed my ink-stained fingertips together until the smoothness sank into my skin.
All the information in the book was new to me. I must not have been in the chamber when Miriam’s tutor covered the origin. Saints had risen from the various elements.
It was why blueblood magicks were so varied.
Until one of the Saints sought to thieve from the rest, wanting all the magicks for themselves. In doing this, creatures of nightmares were created, and redbloods were one of them.
That was as much as I had been able to decipher in the lengthy span of time I had transcribed. The slim window rimmed along the wall opposite the desk allowed me to see the orange hue of the dusklight fading as the moon slowly overtook it.
Squeezing my eyes tight did not force away the ache at my temples.
His order was simple—too simple. Translate everything, and if I came across anything in regard to gifts and abilities, I was to inform him immediately. He had ordered that as if he were giving me distance, but Lord Draven had hovered the entire time, so still he seemed a statue.
“Continue reading,” Lord Draven ordered, hand flattening on the desk surface, and leaned toward me.
Grinding my teeth, I returned my focus to the thick book that may kill me before I finished. Unreadable symbols swirled on the page until they settled.
So far, I had learned of the Saints using magicks to create the moonlight and dawnlight with an inordinate amount of unnecessary description.
“This is in severe need of revision.” Another throb through my temple felt like a spike being driven through the middle of my forehead. A scarlet droplet plopped onto the desk. “Saints,” I hissed. “Not again.”
He plucked the quill away from me, a glower fixed on his face. “I do not know what I was expecting from a mere mortal. Weakling,” he huffed.
“Exactly, so forcing me to sit here and stare will be no help.”
I pressed the back of my hand against the bottom of my nose. Without fail, I ended up bleeding from my nose, so he had kept a cloth nearby because he ‘did not need my filthy crimson blood to taint the Creation Scripture.’
“Would you look at that? It has started again.” This time I did nothing to manage the pique in my tone.
“Here,” he said gruffly, holding out the tawny cloth. I took it from his hand. My fingertips grazed his palm as I withdrew.
My stomach turned. And I was not sure if it was excitement or fear. I shoved the cloth under my nose, turning from his too intense gaze.
“Why is it so vital for you to translate this?” I said, muffled. “Most of it sounds like overinflated droning.”
“You insult the Saints?” Humor raised his brows.
My face heated, and I mumbled, “Of course not.” I scooted closer to the edge of the seat until my toes braced against the ground. “Maybe it will help if I understand what you are searching for.”
He crossed his arms, the tunic molding to every line of his body. This one seemed especially tight. I ripped my admiring gaze away back to his angry face.
I tried to stand, and his hand on my shoulder forced me back down.
“Seven dawnlight rotations have gone by, Lord Draven. I have worked tirelessly, and with no information. None,” I continued, my words rushed.
“Bloody noses, pain, and secrets have been my companions since I was dragged out of my bed and brought here.” A knot pulsed at my throat, thick and refusing to be ignored.
“I will be nothing after your bondmate takes my body.” I spat. “Allow me a few freedoms—”
His hand squeezing my throat cut me off. A strangled sound escaped my mouth, and I dropped the cloth I had been clenching in my hand.
“You continue to question me?” he threatened in a silky tone.
I wheezed out a breath.
A tickle trickled down my nose. His gaze followed the trail as if entranced. With his other hand, he swiped his thumb across the top of my lip. His obsidian ring flashed from the corner of my eye.
Lifting his finger, he studied the crimson staining his thumb.
“Lord Draven,” I managed.
It did not faze him. Slowly, he brought his finger to his lips, the pupils in his eyes expanding and thinning the ring of his irises. He shoved his thumb past his lips, flashing his incisors as he opened his mouth.
A shudder shook his shoulders, and his hand around my throat flexed, squeezing into the hollow dip of my neck where it joined to my chin. His eyes rose with his finger still in his mouth, and he pulled it out with another shudder.
His breathing had elevated.
“Lord Draven?” I whispered.
He didn’t react, the glaze still present. Dragging his hand down until it collided with the metal collar, he slid his finger into the space between it and my skin. I could not look away from his fangs poking out from behind his parted lips.
In a smooth movement, too fast for me to follow, he squeezed the collar. Metal creaked loudly as he crushed the clasp, as easily as if tearing through parchment.
The collar fell open and clattered on the floor.
Lord Draven wound his arms around me until I was off the ground. He dipped and sharp stings assaulted the column of my throat. My strangled cry turned into a whimper. Then he sucked, and the tug at my neck zinged between my legs. I floated on a cloud of ecstasy.
I kicked my legs out weakly, looking for purchase. Lord Draven walked me backwards until my bottom rested on the edge of the desk, the entire time not lifting from his feeding. His tongue swiped against the skin, and my hips jolted up.
The pressure of my thighs squeezing together was not enough to satiate the urge.
“You taste delicious,” he moaned against my throat.
Pleasure rippled through every nerve ending, and I could not stop writhing. My fingers tangled in the front of his tunic. I was pure sensation against him. Each time he drew another mouthful of my blood, it heightened the bliss.
Sensation spread, coating my limbs, drowsy and feverish at once.
Something surfaced so close. So terribly close.
I stiffened. The overwhelming sensation might kill me.
He groaned against my neck, and I lost all sense as a pinnacle swept me away.
I screamed, my hand spanning across his chest, rubbing into the hard muscle until I memorized the feel of steel under the cotton. How would it feel with my flesh touching his?
The pulsing between my legs had rendered me limp. A hard length pressed against my leg. Was that his . . .
“Lord Draven,” I whimpered.
He groaned against my neck and his tongue swiped across. He fit between my thighs, the desk tall enough to minimize how much he had to lean down.
“My legs are shaking?” I whispered, sense returning to my body.
I couldn’t stop panting. Now I understood those feeders I had seen.
“What was that?” The foolish question crawled free on the heels of embarrassment.
Lord Draven chuckled, his hands sliding across my back as he straightened, removing his mouth. The smile disappeared so quickly that I must have imagined it. Horror widened his gaze. He released me by my next blink. I lost my balance and sent stacked books tumbling off the edge of the desk.
Lord Draven continued to look at me, unmoving, his gaze fastened on my neck as if it would attack him. His chest rose and fell sharply, his jaw working from side to side.
“Pick that up,” he finally ordered, but it did not have the same bite. “Now!” he roared.
I hopped off the edge of the desk, and my knees wobbled. Lord Draven reached out, cupping my elbow and steadying me. He pulled back and raked his hand through his hair. I fixated on the veins beneath the pale skin.
My blood stained the corner of his mouth. His hand followed my gaze. He touched the curve of his bottom lip and came away with scarlet on his fingertips. His tongue swiped across the stain, collecting it.
He shuddered, then all at once, he went still. Anger flitted across his features.
I whirled and crouched to pick up the stack of books I had knocked over, grasping for anything to return me to normalcy. I stacked Magicks and Bluebloods on top of The Art of Magicks: Knowing How to Activate.
My eyebrow ached to arch up, so I kept my head lowered. What exactly does he need these for?
Grabbing two other blank journals, I placed them on top and reached for the last one, still open. I brought it closer and breathed in sharply.
A drawing. Clean lines curved upward on the half-closed bloom, the angled petals hugging its heart.
“This is gorgeous,” I breathed, admiring the clean lines of the Rosah flower. The parchment had absorbed the ink. I had searched so many markets and shops for a journal of this quality, thick enough for the ink not to bleed when I crushed flowers between the pages.
“Can I have this?” I blurted without thought, peering up at him from where I knelt on the rug.
He watched me with uncensored confusion. I had asked the Warlord for a journal. Life was no longer the same. What was I thinking? I stood quickly, and my head swam. Gritting my teeth, I placed it on the edge of the desk where it had been.
Lord Draven’s face was fixed into a twisted expression. I was unsure whether it was discomfort or anger.
“I apologize,” I murmured meekly.
He continued to study me as I crouched to collect the stack on the carpet and placed them on top of the journal.
The first time I had asked for something, and I had bungled it. It had been the incorrect question. Owning a journal wasn’t the foremost of my concern. Guilt swelled.
“May I be allowed to see Piper?” I blurted.
He cocked his head, causing his tawny hair to rustle against his temples.
“My wraithling,” I clarified. His mouth thinned. His disgust should not have surprised me. “Please, Lord Draven.” I stepped forward. “Please.”
His colored gaze dropped to my throat. I could see the denial working toward his mouth.
“I refuse to translate anything unless I get to see her.” I lifted my chin, daring him.
“There’s nothing I have to lose, Lord Draven,” I kept going, not holding back anymore.
I had tried from dawnlight to dusklight, but the more time I spent with him, the more I recognized that this immortal did not feel as mortals did.
The only time he seemed to partially react was when he was challenged. I did not want another sennight to pass without seeing Piper.
Besides, now that I was useful to him, he wouldn’t toss me into that pit until Nocturn came.
I hope.
His eyes narrowed. “So you are not the completely weak, pathetic thing you’ve been pretending to be.”
Instead of speaking, I held his gaze. Each breath came easier and easier.
“I will give in to this, mortal.”
He strode toward the door with his obnoxiously long strides. My foot kicked into the collar, sending it skittering against the desk, and I hurried after him.