Chapter 11 #3
The question hung between them. She could give him the safe answer, the one that focused on survival and practicality. Or she could tell him the truth that was forming in the depths of her heart, the one that terrified her more than any physical threat.
“Something that’s ours,” she said finally. “Not fae, not vampire, not bound by the old hatreds and hierarchies. Something new.”
“Even if that means ruling over the ashes of both our peoples?”
The question should have given her pause. Should have reminded her of her duty, her heritage, the promises she’d made to her dead family. Instead, she found herself nodding. The world was broken. Just like them. “Even then.”
The smile that spread across his face was unlike any she’d seen before—neither predatory nor calculating, but genuinely pleased. Proud, even. “There’s my Serpent Queen.”
Before she could respond to the title, his lips were on hers again, but this kiss was different. Deeper, more claiming. His hands moved with purpose now, one sliding to the nape of her neck while the other pressed against the small of her back, drawing her fully against him.
She could feel the tension in his body, the careful control he was maintaining even as his touch grew more urgent. There was something almost reverent in the way he held her.
“Nadi.” Her real name was a whisper against her throat as he trailed kisses along her jawline. “My beautiful, dangerous Nadi.”
The sound of her true name on his lips sent a shiver through her. For weeks, she had been Monica to the world, even to him. But now, and forever, she could be herself to him. The fae who had loved him despite everything, who had chosen him despite the cost.
“I need you to know something,” he said, his voice rough with emotion she didn’t recognize. “Whatever happens on this raid, whatever we become—this is real. You and me, here, now. This isn’t strategy or manipulation. This is—”
“Love,” she finished for him, the word carrying all the weight of their impossible situation. “I know.”
His forehead pressed against hers, and in the dim light of their makeshift room, she could see something she’d never expected to find in those crimson depths. Peace. As if all the centuries of pain and anger and carefully constructed plans had led to this single moment.
“Then let me show you,” he murmured, “what forever feels like.”
* * *
Raziel knew Nadi was conflicted, even as she surrendered beneath him. He pressed her down to the tattered mattress, and watched as she shut her eyes—those beautiful, black opal eyes that haunted his dreams.
His Nadi. His murderer. His. If anyone was going to kill him in this world, it would be her.
No one else. No one else had earned the right.
No one else would ever deserve it. No one else was allowed to deem him unsuitable.
Except her. His conscience. His morals. The proof of his sin. A killer of his making.
A vampire of his own, though she didn’t feed on blood. She preyed on life, all the same, didn’t she?
He ran his tongue up along the trail of her neck, tracing the tendon, and savored the moan that escaped her lips as she arched her back and pressed her perfect breasts into his chest.
She was so warm. So soft. So his.
He wouldn’t drink much from her. They both needed their strength for the next day. But that was the problem—they both needed their strength. And stringy meat stew stopped the ache in his stomach but did nothing for the burning in his veins.
The burning that could only be solved by one thing, and one thing alone.
Two hungers would be filled this night, however. Two needs would be sated at once. When he began the low, deep purr that he knew emptied her mind and left her limp in his arms, he grinned.
He would never cease to adore the power it gave him over her. But how he wished for real power. Even just from time to time. He was a monster, after all. And he did so much enjoy his games. Shedding the rest of his clothing, he stripped her quickly of what remained of hers.
So soft. But beneath the layer of smoothness was the lithe muscle of a woman who had fought for everything she had. Who had earned it all. He had taken her life from her. Sent her to the gutters and she had clawed her way up from the muck and dirt to come for him.
And now he parted her and sank himself deep into her heat, feeling her need, her desire, her pleasure. Hate had driven her to his side, and he had somehow turned it into lust, then molded that lust to love.
Perfect, beautiful, deadly little Nadi.
He devoured her lips with his. Felt her kiss him back with the same desperate fervor. She needed him just as badly as he needed her. Parting from her, he yanked her head forcefully to the side—not because he had to. But because he wanted to.
And sank his fangs into the tender skin of her throat, even as he rutted himself deep into her exquisite heat.
How he had missed the taste of her intoxicating blood.
Mael, before he had chained him into the coffin, had warned him it was addicting. “You only think you care about her. It’s the blood. It’s not poison, it’s a drug. Look what it did to Braen.”
Lie.
It was only a lie.
It had to be.
Because the alternative…
Might break the only thing keeping his tenuous grasp on sanity intact.
Her.