by Ali Winters
I can’t get close enough—I want to feel more of him. This isn’t just the mark. This is what I’ve wanted since that night in the music room but could never admit to myself.
The back of my legs bump against the bed. Alaric grabs my upper thighs and lifts me up onto the mattress. I release my hold on his neck, bringing my hands to his waist. I tug on the material, but he grips my wrists, halting me.
Breaking the kiss, he steps back and removes his boots then quickly steps out of the rest of his clothes. I can’t take my eyes off him.
He tangles a hand in my hair, tipping my face up and gazing at my exposed neck. Bending down, he places several kisses down the column of my throat. I lean back, and he follows me. An arm wraps around my waist as he lifts me enough to move me up the bed.
Alaric kneels between my legs, taking every inch of me in. The sharp lines of his features are softened in the pale light. A thick lock of hair falls forward, obscuring a single eye. I could stare at him forever. His scars stand out against his tanned skin like shards of moonlight.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper.
He smiles. “I think I’m the one who’s supposed to say that.”
He lowers himself, caging me with his body, and his mouth finds mine again. The hard planes of his body press down on my soft ones. I shift in response, and I feel him smile against me.
Alaric’s hand drifts down, stilling my movements. I groan, wanting more. Wanting everything.
He presses his lips to my collarbone then down to the space above my heart then between my breasts, making his way down my ribs and stomach then over the swell of my hips. He nips at my inner thigh, moving up. I squirm beneath him, anticipation clawing at me.
He pauses at my core, his warm breath drawing a small whimper from my lips. Then, he places a kiss.
I suck in a breath, and when I feel his tongue against my hot flesh, my hips buck.
“Patience, my dear Clara. I told you this time I would savor every second.”
Alaric makes his way back up my body until he hovers over me, the tip of his cock pressing against my entrance.
I run my fingers over the corded muscles, feeling the faint lines of the pale scars that scar his back as they do his chest. When he doesn’t move, I lift my hips, urging him.
His hand glides down to mine, bringing it to his mouth. He places a kiss along each scar along my arm as I’d once kissed his. Alaric moves to my other arm and echoes the movement. He holds both of my wrists in one hand. The other glides down my side, coming to rest on my hip.
“Please,” I whisper.
Slowly, he presses forward, sinking himself deep. I pull in a breath at the sensation of him filling and stretching me. Once he’s fully seated himself inside, he pauses and gazes down at me. The red ring has vanished entirely, but fire blazes in the depths of those two endless pools of blue. There is more than heat and desire in his eyes. Whatever is between us is so much more than just the mark, and I am tethered to it from a place deep inside my soul.
He pulls out then slides forward. I move to rise up to meet him, but his hand still pins me down. He moves in and out, and with each stroke, he threatens to make me come undone. I swallow thickly, unable to think with him inside me. Alaric savors each movement as he’d promised he would.
Tension coils and builds as his speed increases. My back arches, and I tighten around him. A moan rips itself from my lips as my orgasm rips through me. He doesn’t slow until I collapse back into the bed, panting.
Alaric leans down and kisses the hollow of my throat, still moving.
“Clara,” he says, and I wait for him to say more. Instead, he begins moving again, faster, driving himself home. He’s no longer holding back. I rise to meet each powerful thrust.
I wrap my legs around his waist, needing more of him. His gaze snags on mine as he moves in me. Then without warning, I cry out as another orgasm lashes through me. A few more thrusts, and I can feel him thicken inside me. Then, with a groan, he comes.
Gradually, our movements slow, and I lower my legs to the bed, my inner thighs tremor in the wake. Every nerve in my body hums.
Alaric brushes damp strands of hair from my face and places a sweet kiss to my forehead then to the corner my mouth before shifting to lie next to me.
For a long moment, Alaric stares into my eyes as if he can see down into my soul. I feel the weight of his gaze caressing each place and curve of my face like a feather-light touch. My cheeks warm, and I have to look away, unable to hold the intensity.
I never knew being with someone could feel like this. It’s almost overwhelming.
Alaric gathers me in his arms, holding me tight, his warm breath brushing over my cheek. I’m suddenly overcome with exhaustion, but I feel the need to share a truth with him I hadn’t dared think before now.
“I thought I was going to die in there,” I say against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart beating.
He chuckles.
That is not the response I expected. I bend my neck back to look at Alaric because there’s nothing funny about that.
“That’s impossible,” he says. The sexy grin playing on his lips is almost enough to make me forget what we’re talking about. “Remember, I told you?”
I scrunch my brow.
“If you are to die, then it will be by my hand and my hand alone.” He places a kiss on my mouth. “I meant it, and I would sooner cut my own heart out than harm you.”
My pulse jumps as I lay my head back down in the space between his arm and shoulder.
His words echo the look in his eyes from moments ago. It feels less and less like a silly promise between two almost-friends and more like a vow of something that could irrevocably break me if I dared to give into it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alaric
Clara sighs contentedly in her sleep, scooting closer when I shift. Since the day Elizabeth turned me, I never had any desire to claim a human, let alone to mark one, yet, somehow, Clara has managed to change that.
I glide my hand over the smooth skin of her back and close my eyes.
A knock on the door is irritatingly loud. I debate ignoring it altogether when whoever it is knocks again.
I disentangle myself from Clara’s limbs, get up, and quickly dress. Sliding open the drawer of the night table, I pull out the returned dagger.
Elizabeth might have “given me permission” to attend the reclaiming, but I’d had no plans to until I felt the weight of it in my hand. Clara’s message had been clear. She’d given up and had no plans to defend herself against a potential new master.
Carefully, I place the dagger atop the pillow next to her.
Another knock sounds, louder this time. Clara wakes with a scowl on her face. She tilts her head as she takes me in, frowning when she spots the weapon next to her. She props herself up on her elbows and looks from me to the dagger and back.
On impulse, I lean forward and place a kiss to the top of her head. “This belongs to you.”
She smiles, sleep tugging on the expression.
Another knock on the door breaks the moment. I turn away, hurry toward the door. Jerking it open, I’m ready to scold the servant on the other side but by words catch on my tongue. A vampire stands, chin held high and a single delicate brow arched. Her lips press into a tight line as her rich brown eyes scan me from head to toe. She’s a few years older than Clara, though not by much. The power radiating off her is weak.
“Our queen has requested your presence. She would not like to be kept waiting.”
Elizabeth. I clench my jaw so hard I’m lucky my teeth don’t crack under the force. I push down my anger. Instead of a reply, I offer a nod of acknowledgment. This is a simple message. I can’t fathom why a lesser vampire would be the one to deliver it instead of one of the many human servants.
“May I come in?” Her question catches me off guard, but before I can refuse, she glides past me, stopping in the center of the antechamber. She stares at t
he closed doors to the bedroom and says, “I’m here to see Clara.”
There’s no reason I can see for an unknown vampire to see Clara, especially not without my presence.
She lifts her chin and scents the air. Her eyes narrow, and if I didn’t know better, the look on her face is disapproving. Who is this lesser vampire who thinks she has the right to judge me?
Possibilities why this vampire is here, boldly entering my rooms, rush through my mind. One possible reason stands out—Elizabeth sent her to kill Clara as my punishment for defying her in front of the court, not caring that I would kill her.
If this woman so much as touches a hair on Clara’s head, I will end her life.
Before either of us can say another word, the bedroom doors open, and Clara steps out. She’s dressed in her usual attire: suede leggings and a fitted shirt, though she remains barefoot.
In a blink, I stand before her. Gripping her shoulders with both hands, I say, “I must leave you now. I’ve been summoned.”
Her brows crease.
I slide my hands down her arms, feeling the dagger strapped to her left forearm, and look back over my shoulder at the lesser vampire. Clara leans to the side, her gaze following mine.
She jerks back out of my grasp and gapes, wide-eyed. “What are you doing here?”
The venom in her voice is unexpected. There’s no fear, only anger.
“I have come to talk with you, dear. It has been long enough.”
Clara knows this vampire. But when—or how—would she have met her and developed such strong feelings toward her? The look on her face is far deeper than simple annoyance. There is something personal between them.
“We have nothing to talk about. You were alive all these years and never once bothered to see how Kitty and I were doing.”
Her sister?
I close the distance between Clara, taking her hand. I look into the lesser vampire’s face. Really look. She shares the same shade of brown hair, the same rich, brown eyes with flecks of amber. This woman’s features are sharper, harsher, but they could be sisters. Everything clicks into place, and I understand. This woman is Clara’s mother, claimed years ago.
I pull Clara to the side and guide her chin to face me. The fact that her mother is alive has to come as a shock. The only emotion I can sense coming from her is anger.
“Would you like me to remove her? I can post a guard at the door.”
She sucks in a breath and holds it for a long moment, eyeing the woman. Releasing her breath, she shakes her head, not taking her narrowed gaze off the vampire. “No, I can handle this.”
I release her. I must go now. Defying Elizabeth further at this point will make things worse. Reluctantly, I move away, trusting Clara to know if she can handle the situation on her own, and knowing she is armed.
They stand face to face. Clara fists her hands on her hips, her knuckles white from the strain, and levels a glare at the woman who seems unfazed by her hostility.
Cherno glides down from their spot in the rafters and lands on my shoulder.
As I close the door behind me, the vampire’s voice drifts out. “I wanted a better life than your father could ever hope to provide, so I agreed to the claiming—not that I had any choice. How can you blame me? Look at you now—marked by a vampire.”
I wince. That conversation will not go well if that’s how she plans to approach Clara.
She wasn’t surprised to see her mother alive. I frown, realizing only now how much I’ve missed in the time we’ve been separated. In everything that’s happened since arriving at Nightwich, we’ve had little time to talk. She has gone through so much, and I know very little about any of it. Her mother is proof enough of that.
That is something that will need to be remedied later.
“I have nothing to say to a woman who abandons her family as if they mean nothing.” There’s a hitch in Clara’s voice.
The door closes with a soft click, shutting out the rest of their conversation.
I rush through the halls, having delayed longer than Elizabeth will deem acceptable. A sinking sensation fills my veins as I approach the open, ornate door.
A servant busies himself with straightening up and wiping imaginary spots from the glasses on the long table against the wall.
Stepping one foot inside then the other, I enter. The human turns and dips his head, keeping his gaze locked on the floor. He motions for me to sit on the sofa. Cherno inches closer to my collar as I take my place.
“Her majesty will be out momentarily,” the servant says.
Then, he scurries to grab a goblet and brings it to me. Empty. I’m about to speak up when he lifts his hand over the rim.
With a flick of his hand, he slices his wrist, cutting deep. Blood pours into the cup, but my eyes linger on the mesh of pale scars that cover his forearm. There are many. It’s clear that he’s been in Elizabeth’s service for a long time. This human is the one she chooses to serve her important guests.
Every inch of him moves and works as if his mind was compelled out of him, but there’s an awareness to his eyes that says he is still his own man, that he chooses to serve the queen.
When the glass is half full, the man draws back and fills another. Once that, too, is half-filled, he wraps his wrist in quick, efficient moves. Then, he bows, turns on his heel, and walks out of the door.
Minutes pass, and I sip the blood even though I don’t need to feed. I took more blood than necessary from Clara last night. Refusing to drink would be an insult, and I don’t wish to push my luck again so soon.
This is the first of the many games I will be forced to play before this meeting is over.
Clara’s blood will be replenished already now that she has my final mark. I will never take her blood like that again, even if the mark allows me to do so daily. She is not a food source, and I would never want her to feel as if she were.
I finish the last of the blood and set the cup down on the side table.
Elizabeth is making me wait. She would never summon me without being ready. She’s testing my patience, seeing how far she can push before I push back. I could wait here all day if I had to, but I decide that this game has gone on long enough.
Rising to my feet, I make my way toward the door as if to leave.
“Leaving so soon, Alaric?” Elizabeth croons.
Keeping my expression placid, I turn to her. She was watching me the entire time.
Elizabeth wears a glittering black dress similar in style to the one Clara wore last night. She is mocking me with it.
“I am sorry to keep you waiting.”
Elizabeth glides over to the selection of glasses and an assortment of drinks, ignoring the human’s blood prepared for her. She plucks an empty glass and pours in a red liquid, too thin to be blood. The warm scent of the fermented fruit tells me it’s wine.
She has never consumed anything other than blood in the past or, at the very least, mixed with blood.
This attempt at seeming more human to me isn’t fooling anyone. It’s a wasted effort. She must see that because, after a single sip, she taps her nails against the side of the glass, taking me in from head to toe.
“That was quite the stunt you pulled last night,” she says, moving closer with every step. “I am surprised you would risk those outside of the court knowing you would rather mark a murderer instead of doling out the justice we deserve.”
“Don’t pretend you give a shit about Rosalie’s death. You’re glad to be rid of her. You always made sure I knew she was a disgrace.” I bite out the words between clenched teeth. My jaw aches with the effort to hold back the snarl threatening to break loose. “The ability to save her was the only way I would ever let you turn me into this.”
She tilts her head and drags her teeth over her bottom lip. The movement ends with her fangs bared. “I didn’t know you had it in you to defy me like that.”
“I don’t know why you refuse to understand. I am playing by your rules and taking every
right you have bestowed on us all. You’ve tried for years to persuade me to participate in your asinine claiming ritual, and now that I have, I will not allow anyone to take the human I had every right to claim and mark. Not even you.”
She tilts her head to the side. “But, she wasn’t marked.”
“She is now.”
Elizabeth reaches up and cups my cheek, smiling fondly, but the expression quickly turns into a glower. She runs a sharpened nail down the side of my face with a slow, deliberate stroke. She presses harder and deeper until the scent of my own blood is thick on the air.
I don’t flinch. Already, the skin knits back together.
She brings her hand to her face, blood coating her finger and dripping down the back of her hand. Elizabeth lifts her cup without breaking eye contact, dipping her finger into the wine, stirring it around. She brings her finger to her mouth and sucks.
With a Cheshire grin, she takes a sip. “Mmm, that’s better,” she says, moving away from me. She tips the cup up and drains it. Her tongue darts out and licks at a stray drop from the corner of her mouth. “Your plan won’t work.”
“I don’t have a plan,” I say as she sets her glass down hard on the side table, next to the rapidly cooling chalice of blood. “But even by your laws, I have done nothing I was not entitled to. I gave her the final mark before another reclaimed her.”
Elizabeth crosses her arms under her chest, rolling her eyes. With the fire in the hearth on her other side, the edges of her profile glow orange and red.
“I will let you keep your silly human if…” she trails off, giving me a sidelong glance. “You agree to finally be mine and take your place as crown prince.”
I laugh, harsh and humorless, before I can think to stop it. Elizabeth whirls, snarling. Cherno leaps off my shoulder and takes to the air. He spirals erratically around the room and settles on top of an empty, gilded birdcage near the bedroom door.
Looking her dead in the eye, I say, “I will never be yours.”
