Chapter 7
Zarathos
Aryana lay crumpled on the floor, her eyes slitted, barely conscious. Zarathos heard her heart pumping in her chest, slow, unsteady, ready to give out at any moment.
That was that.
He’d fulfilled his bargain, made a reasonable effort, told her how to go about things so everything would turn out correctly. She chose not to listen. His powers would remain intact if she died. Zarathos had warned her she couldn’t make it through another spinning.
And now she’d pay for it with her life.
Unless he offered her his blood. Demons were similar enough to humans that it would sustain her, at least for a little while. The thought had him automatically shutting the door on the option. Nobody. Nobody drew blood from Zarathos. Ever.
Besides, it wasn’t like he was in top form.
He’d spent the day running around, making sure everything was moving in order to secure her release.
He hadn’t had time to hunt for himself. Though the spinning wheel didn’t take as much energy as the loss of blood took from Aryana, it was draining.
His whole body felt as if it had trudged through a bog of mud with no relief, and the effects of ravenousness were beginning to set in.
He’d planned on going hunting after their meeting tonight.
It had almost been three days since he last fed.
He was in no condition to share with the vampire princess.
He stared at her unmoving form, her loose, midnight brown hair splayed across the harsh stone floor.
Her lips, naturally red, appeared washed out.
Her skin, which matched the paleness of the moonlight, had taken on a sallow quality, the contrast of her black dress against it granting her a ghostly hue.
It really was a pity. After what Zarathos had beheld of her life, it probably was best that he didn’t analyze everything he’d seen and felt inside Aryana’s memories.
How her uncle had used her and manipulated her, and the devastating realization when she realized she’d never gain his approval.
The woman’s recollections made his heart twist with emotions he’d long buried for his own safety.
And with her gone, he didn’t have to put any names to anything. He could simply write it off as another broken bargain.
But the Demon Trials were coming up.
And Aryana was the key to uniting the scepter.
If Zarathos managed that, he’d almost certainly secure victory in the trials and keep his kingship. The scepter would empower and protect him far more than any ordinary magical sword.
It was the best deal he had struck in many years.
Damn it. He needed her.
“Aryana.” He knelt beside her helpless body that lay next to her own pool of blood. She had to have it fresh to heal and rejuvenate.
Otherwise, she’d die.
He hissed at what he was about to do. Gods, he was taking a risk. But he had her under the power of a bargain. He could control what she did with what she discovered about him, at least until after the trials were concluded.
And after that, well, he wouldn’t have to worry about her after.
There was only one winner.
Casting his cloak aside, he rolled the sleeve of his ebony shirt up to expose his bicep. Whatever happened, he needed to keep his next actions hidden. He drew his clawed nail down a vein. The blood bubbled up, leaking out.
He gripped her head, sliding his fingers into her hair to tilt it back.
Drawing a finger over her lips, he remembered their softness, how it was to have them pressed against his.
How much he’d enjoyed her nearness, her touch.
That sleeping beast that lurked under his skin, just out of sight, stirred.
He shook his head. Not now, damn it. Focus.
He split her lips open and brought his bleeding arm close. “Aryana, drink.”
She didn’t even have the energy to respond. Cursing, he set her head down and squeezed the vein on his bicep, forcing a few drops onto her tongue. “Drink, Vampress.”
The film of haze in her gaze cleared as her eyelids fluttered and her lips closed as she tested his taste.
When she opened her mouth again, her incisors were out.
He took that as a sign. Tipping her head to the side, he pressed his vein between her lips and flinched at the instant her teeth broke his skin.
At the first drag of his blood, her eyes flew open, wide and dilated.
She seized his arm to keep him from withdrawing and then drank two more large gulps.
He held in a chuckle. He knew she wouldn’t be able to resist. That was expected.
An unexpected searing heat surged in his own veins, his chest swelling with a sudden and overwhelming need.
He looked down at her flawless marble skin, tinged with the faintest hint of color.
His gaze lingered on her delicate nose, her high cheekbones, and the soft flutter of her lashes, dark as onyx, framing her eyes in a soft, mysterious haze.
Exquisite burning flowed through his body.
It turned his thoughts shadowy, like someone had slipped a drug into his drink, and his awareness became clouded and oh so black.
Could this be the effect of her venom? It was much more powerful than he supposed. For humans, it forced them to go limp. For demons, it felt… shit.
Aryana moaned and grabbed him with her free arm, urging him over her body.
She gripped his shirt and jerked it from where it was tucked in his trousers.
Then her fingers slipped underneath the fabric, running over his chest. He had expected her reaction and his to a degree, but he had fully intended going into this in complete control.
He tried to cool the fire, tried to—his cock twitched. Fuck.
The beast inside him had awakened. His breathing picked up, his heart hammering against his ribs.
An insatiable hunger raged deep within him, causing him to drop onto her.
Another moan escaped Aryana, and she writhed underneath him.
Gods, the feel of her. A feral energy rushed through him, his length hardening, straining against his trouser’s front.
The beast roared for more, demanding satisfaction.
He brought his lips to the softness of her throat, dragging his teeth lightly over her vulnerable skin.
She released yet another moan of pleasure and her hand slid lower, grasping the edge of his trousers.
If she did much more to him, he’d lose all control. He wanted to lose control. His shadows pulled around them, darkening the room, brushing over her body. For a moment, he struggled to fight it, lifting his hips slightly, attempting to breathe, to take back the beast, but it was useless.
“Aryana,” he murmured, his voice deep and husky. She kept pulling blood from his arm. Her hand tugged on his trousers, making the near-unbearable need burn even harsher.
His shadows wrapped around her legs, rising under her skirts, lifting them, helpless to the beast’s commands. Her fingers were working at undoing the buttons on his trousers. Shit, how he wanted this. How he wanted her.
The beast growled in possession. He’d have her. He’d please her body in a way she’d never felt before.
Pressing his palm to her soft silken skin, he traced the shadowed path up her leg, caressing her, drawing his claws over her. She released a gentle whimper. Yes, little vampress, the darkness inside him snarled. Feel me.
She pulled even more blood from him. How long had they been doing this? Some dull alarm clanged in the back of his mind, but to hell with warnings. He thrust his hand upward, reaching for that spot that would bring her the most pleasure.
A sharp, aching coldness stung through him, a pain gathering in his chest.
Wait, no. Something was wrong.
She took another protracted draw from his vein, her hand dipping into his open trousers.
“Aryana,” he gasped.
She drank more, and Zarathos’s vision blackened. He shook his head trying to clear it. “Aryan—”
The world closed off around him.