Chapter 12
Esiree
For a community that no longer ate real food, I was somehow blessed with a decent chef who had retained the skills to prepare an enjoyable meal.
I was the only one chewing at mealtime, which would take some getting used to, but there was some small sense of relief that the food was pleasant.
The Harvest made it easier to ignore their disgusting behavior since the tents were overwhelmed with the delectable scent of food.
The air in the Great Hall was stale, unmoving.
Dead, like its inhabitants. And though I did not stare, I did witness Vastion partake for the first time, which steeled my resolve that despite his kindness, he was still one of them.
Back in our chambers, I spent far too long weighing options for nightgowns simply because I feared, the moment I stepped back into the room, I’d be met with expectations I was too reluctant to fulfill.
My parting declaration to Rorik echoed in my mind: “I will never fuck a vampire.” Although I’d said it with conviction, the moment before me seemed inescapable.
Surely fortune wouldn’t grant me the favor of having Vastion select his human brides solely to fulfill their duty to the kingdom.
From the armoire I removed a lilac chiffon caftan with a front slit and a stunningly detailed embroidery of yellow flowers and orange butterflies that curiously matched my hair color.
I placed it over the white, silk negligee, unable to conceal my very erect nipples which were on full display due to the cooler temperatures.
I admired myself in the full-length mirror, its decorative wooden frame, elaborate and striking.
Its grandeur served as the focal point of my boudoir, which was brimming with trinkets of unknown origin but unmistakable beauty.
As I tested a variety of poses, lost in thought, an idea came to me.
I quickly began braiding my hair, using a few ribbons from the drawer to tie it back.
It may have been silly to think something as simple as hairstyle would dissuade Vastion, but it was worth a try.
I strode back into the room to greet him, praying that he would let me and my braid escape whatever he had in mind.
To my surprise, it was much warmer when I returned; he had lit the giant fireplace and the heat of it had begun to fill the room.
The bedsheets were already pulled back, likely by some servant or Lailanor, and piles of fur blankets now lay across it.
Vastion did not stir upon my entry, his nose in a book by the fireside.
I approached him hesitantly, willing my feet to caress the stone floors soundlessly.
It was not in my nature to sidestep carnal encounters, but this was different.
Maybe if I seemed disinterested, or even scared, he’d spare me.
I took a seat across from him, taking in his more casual attire.
With the low collar left untied, his black blouse offered a glimpse of bare chest. As my gaze drifted down his slacks, I realized he had abandoned both socks and shoes. Could he be any more obvious?
“What are you reading?” I asked.
He replied without lifting his gaze from the pages, “Difficult Wives: A Study in Human and Vampyr Relations by El Knight.”
The daggers in my glare pierced the silence.
“You think you’re awfully amusing for someone who is dead.” My sharp words were met with a cocked head and an unmistakable flash of irritation.
“I am not dead; I am diseased,” he corrected, his voice dropping to a low, resonant thrum. “The dead find the luxury of rest, Esiree. I am the one who never sleeps. I am the one who never finds peace.”
He wasn’t going to earn any sympathy from me with those semantics.
“If you don’t sleep, why do you have a bed?” I asked, immediately realizing how easily I had walked into that trap.
“Other purposes,” he said slyly, setting his book on the side table. “Would you like to see the vigor with which ‘the dead’ can make you come?”
“I don’t think someone of your particular age could make a single tear drip down my inner thigh, even if you tried,” I challenged.
Vastion stood abruptly, and I dug my nails into both armrests as he stepped toward me, stopping in front of my chair. He shoved his leg between my knees and spread each of my thighs apart as he slowly kneeled before me. My heart pounded with fear. Why had I been so foolish?
He then placed his palms on my thighs and, slowly, began to drag the caftan up higher, almost to the point of exposing my sex. My breaths grew short, my pulse racing more with each passing second.
“If I were dead, could I make you feel this way?”
I sat frozen to the chair, stunned into silence.
He leaned down, moving his head between my legs.
At this vantage, I could have easily kicked him away.
But that simple act of defiance would be no match for his strength and speed should he choose to retaliate.
He tightened his grip on me and began placing small, gentle kisses on my inner thigh before tilting his head back up to address me. There was a satisfied gleam in his eye.
“Strange how someone with scarcely a pulse can still make yours race. I can feel it, you know. I can hear it drumming beneath your tender flesh. And if the dead excite you so much, what does that say about you, Es?”
“It says I’m delighted at the thought of your death,” I lied through gritted teeth, trying to tug away from him, but the chair didn’t budge. Fuck, why was he doing this to me? How could I let him draw this reaction from me? It’s just your body, Es. Ignore it.
“I didn’t know that attraction and lies smelled so similar,” he purred, releasing me from his overwhelming presence and rising to his feet.
“I don’t know what this game is that you’re playing, Es, but I am a very patient man.
And it has been a very long time,” he said sternly, rising and striding toward the door.
“Tell that to your previous wife!” I yelled, chucking a small pillow from the settee at him.
He caught it with his back turned and said over his shoulder, “You know nothing.” And exited our room without any indication of return.