Chapter 3 | Sephania #2
My eyelids flutter as he pinches my nipples just right and then clamps his mouth to my neck. I feel the light pinprick of his fangs entering my flesh, consuming my Loreblood, and my arousal reaches new heights. A comet of fire and greed pounds in my belly.
Vallan hoists me into the air—not a small feat for someone of my size—and handles me with ease. His hands cup the large swells of my ass and I wrap my legs around him. I can feel his hard cock through his pants. Since his hands are occupied, I do the honor of reaching between us to undo his belt.
When I have his thick cock freed, it ricochets off my ass and flosses between my folds when he pushes forward, igniting the bonfire inside me. I twitch as he lines up, greedily hugging my curves against his body while my legs kick and squirm on either side of him.
The middle part of the shelf digs into my plush ass. It’s easy to ignore when my big brute has his bulbous cockhead pressed against my drenched pussy lips—
And he slides in.
My skull smacks the top of the shelf as I roll my head back with a loud moan. It rumbles out of my lungs with ease, the puzzle of our bodies fitting perfectly as my thighs constrict against his hips.
Vallan fucks me roughly, never letting my feet touch the ground. He’s aware of what I need and how badly I need it, and he’s glad to make good on his promise to give it to me. Hard. Fast. Reckless.
The sounds of our sex mingle with the finishing thumps down the hall, swallowing the castle in a wave of noises that never seem to end.
No one is sleeping in this place tonight.
He bounces me on his cock, filling me full, stealing the strength from my tired bones.
“No one could ever beat you in size, you fucking lovely barbarian,” I growl in his ear.
He laps the trickle of blood off my collar and comes up with a red-wet mouth, kissing me hard.
He presses my bouncing tits against his firm chest as he holds me closer and rails me.
“Your halfkeeper friend is atypical,” Vallan groans.
“Abnormal, some might say. Palacia just might beat me, or Skartovius—”
“No!” I yell, eyes bulging open when his cock stretches my walls and batters my insides. I tremble with an orgasm, toes curling on his ass while I stay gripped to him. “No one defeats you. Tonight is just you.”
He grunts at my admission, my mindless brain working on its own wavelength that doesn’t correlate with any sense of reality. Our bodies grind, slick with sweat.
“Actually, silverblood, tonight is just for you,” he echoes, and then kisses my neck and pumps his cock into me a final time.
A torrent of cum fills me, forced in deep, pushed into my womb and with the necessity of a man looking to breed me. Vallan typically pulls out and showers me with his cum, and I love it, but this is different. He can’t hold back—neither of us can—and we lose ourselves together.
His typical grunt is raspy and lustful. My moan is loud and high, stealing the crown from Aelin in the other room.
I swear I hear a sound coming from a different part of the castle, perhaps upstairs, or near my room down the hall, and I wonder if everyone is fucking right now.
If Skar has his bloodthrall by the throat and is forcing Garroway to suck his massive cock in preparation for the two of them taking me when I least expect it.
It’s the release I need, and Vallan gives it to me. After the night I’ve had, I don’t want to think about Skar or Lukain and, as an extension of my nobleblood mate, Garroway. Vallan is perfect to suit my needs.
When he pulls out of me, my cunt breathes and spills his cum onto the floor. It’s a waterfall of our combined arousal, drenching the area at our feet with a soft splash.
I laugh in quiet hysterics at the sight of his length hanging spent and flaccid between his strong, muscled thighs. My body trembles and twitches from another orgasm on the horizon.
I yank on Vallan’s beard when he sets my feet down at last. “Are you trying to pump a baby into me, Vallan Stellos? Because you know I have far too much to do for that. We have a revolution to win.”
His lips curl in a wicked smirk behind his beard—a rare sight for the stoic vampire. “Take me to your room and you’ll see.”
“My room?” I gesture at the dark, shapeless storage room before moving past him toward my nightgown on the ground. I bend to pick it up. “We have a perfectly good ahh!”
Vallan slaps my ass with a loud ring, and I bolt upright.
His bulky arm wraps around my middle and he picks me up, hauling me away over his shoulder toward the door. “We need a bed for what I plan to do to you before this night is through, silverblood.”
Vallan is already hard again when we reach my room. He’s ready to defile and debase me some more, and I can’t wait for it. I can’t keep my hands off him. They linger inches from his body at all times, drifting over his bulging muscles, playing with his bulging cock, teasing and commanding him.
A wicked smile rips across my face as I push the door of my room open with my shoulder, my back facing the door as I haul him toward me to crash our bodies together.
Then Vallan goes rigid in the doorway. His body perks up to its full imposing height, his daring smirk faltering.
“Vall?” I croak, a knot forming between my brows.
Vallan roars and spins me in his arms, shoving me out the doorway and into the hall. I yelp from the abrupt shift in energy—
Just in time to hear a hiss and see an arrow plant into my mate’s shoulder from point-blank range.
I stumble onto my ass while Vallan stumbles back with a pained growl. He flares his nostrils, reversing his backward momentum to charge into the room.
I swiftly hop to my feet, all thoughts of lust and need thrown aside as preservation and survival instinct take over. Having brought my sword belt with me to investigate the sounds earlier, I hold my blade in my hand and rip it from its sheath.
Crashing and clattering from the room ruin the sensual silence of the castle. I swing to the side as I push into the room.
Vallan has his hands on a man’s throat. It’s a pale throat. A vampire’s throat, not a human’s. The dark-clad, smaller man’s legs kick off the ground. A second arrow wobbles in Vallan’s leg. The men are locked in a struggle in the corner of the dark room.
A breeze wafts across my face as I make ready to charge into the fray—
And screech to a halt. There shouldn’t be a breeze in here.
My eyes snap over to the window across the way.
Open. Curtain fluttering.
A silhouette takes form in the window, drawing another arrow.
“Vallan!” I scream, knowing there’s no way I can get to the assassin before he lets off his shot into the back of Vall’s skull from ten feet away.
The arrow hisses, the taut bowstring snapping—
The whistling arrow vanishes in the air, consumed by pitch blackness before it can reach Vallan. It’s Vallan’s shadow, come to life, eating up the arrow.
The assassin crouched on the windowsill looks confused, his pale face twisting. From that shadow erupts a crouched form streaking across the room in a blur, closing the gap.
The assassin at the window gasps at the sudden sight and tries to fall backward out of the aperture—
Only to have his hands caught by Garroway Kuffich. My dhampir mate pulls the vampire into the room, draws daggers, and nails his hands against the wall at either side of the window before the vampire can move another inch, pinning him in the aperture.
Skartovius walks next through Vall’s shadow, which was cast when the window opened and the moonlight crept in from the arrival of these assassins.
Big mistake opening the window.
Skar spins at the sound of fighting behind him, shoulders under Vallan, and thrusts his sword into the assassin’s chest. He isn’t using his silver saber since he gave it to Lukain, but his precision is enough to strike the vampire’s heart.
The assassin drops dead, out of Vallan’s grip.
My towering mate staggers from the two arrows in him. He turns to make sure I’m okay. Everything has happened in twenty seconds or less, and it was too dark and swift for me to react.
Now Garro snarls at the vampire at the window, having hauled him into the room as a prisoner. The assassin groans, the bastard crucified against the wall.
“Who sent you?” Garroway demands.
The assassin spits—
And misses Garroway. At point-blank range.
That’s when I notice he wasn’t spitting saliva. It was a tooth he spit out. A scent I recognize from Old Endolf’s alchemy room fills the room: silver and sulfur and mercury.
“Wait!” I cry out, reaching futilely.
The vampire in the window erupts into a wreath of white-hot flames as he bites down on something in his mouth. Garroway hops back so he isn’t enveloped in the conflagration.
The assassin screams and squeals, quickly silenced by his immolated body. It sets alight the curtains but not the rough stone making up the walls of the room.
Skartovius growls to himself, to everyone, and flicks his wrist toward the embers of the corpse. Shadows thrust from the floor—my own shadow included—and wrap around the burning carcass like a heavy blanket.
The fire snuffs out, leaving an ashen skeleton in its wake.
The room falls deadly quiet.
Skartovius turns, faces me—everyone does.
The nobleblood storms toward me in the doorway.
I step aside before he can barrel over me, and then I lean out the door, calling down the hall, “Where are you going?!”
“To get fucking answers!”