Lust By Blood: A M/M Historical Romance (Vicious Vampires Book 3)

by Vivienne Cox

  It was terrifying and thrilling in turns, to tell the truth, but not something they could afford to bicker over now. It was not something he could afford to vacillate over. He took to removing his jacket, draping it over the arm of the sofa.

  “Ignatius, you– absolute buffoon–” For once, Lucian sounded speechless.

  Ignatius smiled to himself, and unfastened the links on a cuff. “What kind of servant would I be were I not able to provide for every desire?”

  “Don’t be imbecilic!”

  “I’m offended.” He set it aside, and rolled up his sleeve. “I know you prefer the throat, but those marks are considerably more difficult to hide on short notice.”

  “Short notice…” Lucian trailed off, and then fixed him with a stare. “You’ve thought of this before.”

  Occasionally, he didn’t say. Instead, he pressed the blade to his arm before Lucian could protest further, and let the swell of blood bead up along the cut. Lucian sucked in a sharp breath. More times than you could imagine, Your Highness.

  “I trust you,” he said simply, and stepped forward to offer his bleeding wrist. “Trust me.”

  “This is… utter lunacy.” And still his eyes lingered on the blood welling along the cut on his arm. It was beginning to drip into Ignatius’s awaiting hand. It wouldn’t do to get gore on the Caede’s vintage carpets, after all. “This is…” Lucian’s jaw tightened, and then he flung out a hand. “Come. Reckless fool.” He took his wrist, pulling him in. “Sit, be comfortable.”

  Ignatius chuckled. Nervous despite his best intentions, he folded himself down onto the sofa next to Lucian. “Take care of me, Highness?”

  “I won’t hurt you.” Lucian’s fingers lingered around his wrist, and then lifted to his mouth to lick at the blood staining his fingertips. “You need not worry.”

  “I’m not,” he said automatically.

  Lucian licked the last of the blood away from a lengthened fingernail, and then raised Ignatius’s wrist instead. He looked… contemplative. And thirsty, always endlessly thirsty. Ignatius hated he could do nothing more for him, in that regard. “I would never hurt you,” Lucian said shortly, and continued, “but I need to still bite.”

  “I know.” His voice did not tremble. The tremors in his fingers, however…

  “I won’t hurt you,” Lucian, repeated– swore– and gathered him to his side to feed.

  3

  Chapter 3

  “Ignatius.”

  From somewhere, Lucian was speaking to him. He knew his voice in a way that was like breathing, simple and easy. Necessity. Low and insistent and, perhaps, even faintly amused. Even in this state, drifting and drowsy, Ignatius could make out every intonation of his voice. Especially when Lucian was saying his name.

  But to more important matters: why was Lucian waking him up– why was he sleeping on the job, even? That wouldn’t do. Ignatius had to persuade himself out of the dreamland he was caught up in, to shake off the cobwebs and return to his prince.

  “Huh?” he blurted, trying to take stock of his body enough to open his eyes. Unusually tired. What was he doing again?

  “Honestly.”

  Finally, he managed. Lucian’s form was blurry as he peered up towards him.

  “You would think I was aiming to drink you dry,” Lucian said, and Ignatius fumbled with his spectacles once they were handed over.

  Right. He’d offered himself over as a bite when the crowds had grown too tempting for Lucian. He was… well, he remembered now. The process of looking over to where he had first slit and then allowed Lucian to bite his arm was momentous, but there was no blood to be found on his arm any longer, anyway. There was an expertly wrapped wound, and Ignatius wondered vaguely how long he’d been unconscious.

  Lucian answered before he could ask. “You’ve only been unconscious moments. The whole event can be rather soporific, I failed to mention.”

  He was slumped halfway across Lucian’s chest. Clearing his throat, Ignatius carefully seated himself upright and spoke. “Is it soporific or… did you merely put me to sleep…?” he joked, and quirked a tiny smile.

  It hadn’t been unpleasant. Far from, as much as he remembered, but he was… so drowsy.

  “Fine, I put you to sleep.” Lucian reached over, fingers working to roll down Ignatius’s upturned sleeve. “Your fear is intoxicating.”

  He frowned. “I’m not…”

  “Afraid of me, you’ve mentioned a handful of times.” Lucian looked better. Pleased, even, relaxed and far too amused with the proceedings. “But it was your first time being bled. No amount of preparation stalls the fear.” He had the cufflinks fastened before Ignatius could even begin to protest. The prince, taking care of him.

  “I’m sorry,” he managed faintly, and flexed his fingers once Lucian had moved his hands away.

  “I’d be more concerned if you were not frightened. How do you feel?”

  “I’m fine.” An instantaneous response, but he was. The exhaustion was wearing off in gradual increments, and there was little pain coming from the injuries to his arm. His cut had probably hurt worse than the actual bite. “And you, Highness?”

  Lucian laughed. He actually laughed, a rare feat in itself, and Ignatius could only stare. “I’ve been given blood, naturally I’m fine. Fed from you, and we both managed to live to tell the tale,” he said, and was joking, and Ignatius wondered if he was still asleep.

  “You’ll be unsteady on your feet for a while longer.” Lucian stood, smoothing his hands down his jacket. “I’ll fetch you something to eat.”

  “You needn’t burden–” he started, but Lucian didn’t allow the words to finish leaving his mouth.

  “You’re not a burden,” he said, and the brief touch of cool skin against Ignatius’s cheek was his parting gift as Lucian ghosted out of the room.

  “Brother.”

  Ignatius cast a measured glance towards Allissa, curiosity carefully hidden away beneath composure as the princess stared at her brother. Twice Ignatius had been witness to the fire and fury of Lady Allissa; he had no intentions to make it a third, if he could help.

  But her expression softened, turning to mere exasperation rather than true irritation. “I merely meant him for insurance, not actual bloodletting,” she said, voice teasing, and Ignatius’s neck warmed beneath his collar.

  “I was insured not biting someone unwilling,” Lucian said. He leaned over, dropping a kiss into her hair. “That was the point, was it not, little sister?”

  “And Ignatius was willing?” she asked, turning her gaze on him.

  She was still teasing, and Ignatius flushed further. “As I am ever for my prince, Lady Luna.”

  “Far too willing,” Lucian murmured, and Ignatius coughed.

  “Yes, well, I– ahem. I’ll tend to your bags, if you’re settled?”

  Lucian dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and Ignatius went, resisting the urge to put his face in his hands as he did. Rarely was he prone to embarrassment regarding his relationship with the prince of Holstein, but then… it was also proving difficult to forget the feeling of Lucian’s hands against his arm, nearly reverent, and the rush of sensation that had come when his fangs had slid into his skin. For the few moments before Lucian had put him under, it had been bliss. Euphoria, even, the feeling of giving himself over completely to the man he had grown to love in some sort of way over the past two decades– and the some sort of way was dreadfully obvious, exemplified in how Ignatius would only let himself revisit the feeding during the warmest parts of the day, when he knew there was no chance of Lucian rising and requesting him in the mid-afternoon sunlight.

  It was all very… sensual, he supposed, and that thought drew the blush from the rest of his face to the very tips of his ears.

  “Mister Hanstrom, are you quite well? You look very flush.”

  “I’m fine!” He would apologize later for snapping at his fellow footman, but as it were, he merely set to unbuckling the luggage. “It’s imperative w
e return these to His Highness’s room as soon as possible,” he continued briskly, and the servant nodded.

  “Of course. Allow me to assist.”

  Making a conscious effort to soften his tone, Ignatius gave the man a small smile. “Thank you, Aux.” Letting his emotions get the better of him was no good. He had a duty to see through; he could not allow this to affect his performance. Further, he would only make life more miserable for himself if he didn’t find a way to take the edge off.

  What a terrible, terrible turn of phrase. Ignatius grimaced, and saw his way back with Lucian’s things.

  Perhaps, it would have been made further easier were it not for the fact, in the following weeks, Lucian’s eyes seemed to trail him more closely than usual. Or perhaps, just perhaps, Ignatius was goading himself into believing that, although he couldn’t stop the stutter of his heart whenever he caught the prince watching him from afar. Like a piece of meat, something in his head remarked, and he refused to listen to that. The part of his mind that was still conditioned by society– even after building a life here, even after achieving his standing– Lucian, not in a bloodlust state, wouldn’t hurt him. Not more than he intended him to, anyway.

  “Did the speech go well then, Highness?”

  “Of course.” Lucian pulled the cravat away from his neck. Ignatius dutifully caught it before it could hit the ground. “Thanks in no small part to your suggestions.”

  “Ah… I think Lady Allissa’s the one who deserves the praise.” He helped in removing Lucian’s jacket, and slung it over his arm. “She worked through most of the revisions.”

  “You’ve both a way with words.”

  “So do you.”

  A tiny huff, fingers pressing the pocket watch into Ignatius’s hand. “Quaint, Ignatius. Just put this away.”

  “Of course, sire.”

  A familiar pattern, working in silence as Lucian prepared for the day. The night spent away from the prince for formalities he wasn’t privy to– oh, Ignatius knew, and had assisted on the speech Lucian was to give, but he hadn’t been allowed into the meeting– and retiring to his quarters for the sunlight hours. It was companionable, and the peace treaties between clans seemed to have gone well. Ignatius was glad. He wouldn’t say as much out loud, but he knew that Lucian had been struggling under the weight of his position within those peace talks.

  “Will that be all then, Lucian?” he asked, eventually turning away from the discarded items to address the prince.

  He was already sprawled across the lounge, changed into a regency shirt and well-worn trousers. A yawn relayed the exhaustion from the day, and then Lucian tilted his head. “Perhaps,” he said, as his hair fell into his face.

  Ignatius frowned. “Perhaps?” He looked at him for a moment longer, and then made a vague noise of recognition. “Right. I’ll see what I can manage with the blood supply, although we’re not due for–”

  “There’s always you.”

  The interruption drew him to a full stop, words stalling in his throat. Ignatius paused to push down the anxiety and– much to his guilt– the longing. Pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth, he kept his voice carefully impassive when he responded. “Are you suggesting I become a donor?”

  “You’re already a donor.”

  He may yet grind his teeth into dust. “A permanent donor.” The worry wasn’t the threat to his safety, but something about the fervor that was building up inside of him at the very thought. It seemed… selfish, in a way. A thing he shouldn’t entertain, as it wasn’t to his benefit to feel the way the feeding had made him feel– but it was to Lucian’s benefit, he reminded himself. It was not pleasure, it was… necessity. Was it not?

  “If you’d be interested.”

  “Do you want me?”

  “Of course,” Lucian replied. Oh. “Are you willing?”

  But who was he trying to fool? It was an easy decision. “Always,” he swore.

  He still hesitated on the spot after, uncertain of how this… arrangement was to go. The blood donors that came and went from the Holstein mansion, both for Lucian and Luna and the remaining staff, were not friends. They were… clinical. Already his friendship with the family complicated matters, how did it change from here?

  “Once again,” Lucian said, and Ignatius nearly startled to find the prince in front of him, “you are overthinking. Nothing need change. Your position remains intact, with only the occasional additional duty.”

  Simple. Easy as breathing. “Fair enough,” he murmured. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and then thought again, gently tugging them away from his ears instead. He tucked them safely into his pocket, and quirked an eyebrow at the prince. “Will you sedate me again?”

  “I’d rather not. It saps my energy.”

  “And defeats the purpose,” Ignatius murmured. “Very well.”

  “You run no risk of transformation unless you consume my blood.” Lucian’s hand was a heavy weight on his shoulder. Gentle, but…monumental.

  Ignatius was very cognizant that his prince could kill him in a heartbeat. A pulse, a beat, and then Ignatius leaned ever so slightly into the touch of Lucian’s hand. “I am quite aware.”

  “And I’ll take no more than I sense you can give. I will stop long before you faint.” “I have no qualms over that, sire.”

  “Are you certain? I need not to… pressure you into this. There are other donors scheduled–”

  “No,” he said stubbornly, and leaned that much more into the press of Lucian’s weight. “Never that, Lucian. I offer myself of my own volition, of that you can be assured.” He hesitated, seeking the words. Ones he hoped were not misconstrued and ones he found himself pondering over if he would mind if they were. “I am ever yours, both in duty and desire,” he said softly, and nodded once. There was no question. He would do it in a heartbeat even if he didn’t… enjoy the effect. (But he did.) There was no reason for Lucian to worry, now or ever, because that too would hold constant.

  “… you are far too loyal, Ignatius,” Lucian said softly. A moment of silence, of speculation or analyzation. The prince’s voice wondrous, and then a careful touch to Ignatius’s jaw to further expose his neck. “Sometimes I wonder,” he murmured, and fangs slid into Ignatius’s throat before he had time to respond.

  4

  Chapter 4

  It hurt.

  There was no buffer of having cut himself prematurely this time, merely the slide of sharpened incisors into tender flesh and Ignatius couldn’t help a small wince. That asides, it was a strange feeling. Years of watching from afar as all of those surrounding him drank freely within the confines of their own home, staying a careful distance away because of his humanity. Now, allowing this was nearly stifling, an ingrained urge to stay away, to flee– and then Ignatius forced himself to relax insofar as much as he could, because it wasn’t beneficial to either him or Lucian.

  And below that? It was… exhilarating. He didn’t know if he could liken it to engaging in amorous congress– no, he couldn’t, in fact, seeing as how he had nothing in that department to compare to. The rush, he imagined, was much the same. The euphoria. The feel-good sensation that turned pain to pleasure in a muted sense, the one that trickled over his body like so much warm water after a winter’s night in Holstein. The feeling of being of even more of use than ever before, that the boundaries between him and Lucian were well and truly gone in this regard. The feeling of the blood leaving his body and the temperature of the prince’s skin in comparison to the breath against his neck. Well and truly united.

  Perhaps, in that sense, it was not dissimilar to sex.

  It wasn’t the blood loss that was making him feel weak. The situation and encompassing sensation nearly sent him tumbling to the ground, and Ignatius reached up to grip at Lucian’s arm to keep himself afloat. But it seemed it startled Lucian out of the bite, as he immediately lifted his head. Silver strands falling into his face and blood running from his lips; Ignatius’s breath caught i
n his throat and Lucian cleared his throat to speak.

  “A problem?”

  He hadn’t pulled away far, not enough. Not near enough to be continuing this conversation while in such close quarters; Lucian’s hand was still at his jaw, and Ignatius’s on the prince’s arm. It was wholly improper. Ignatius swallowed, and parted his lips to speak. “No, my apologies. It’s just– a lot.”

  “It is,” Lucian agreed vaguely. He was staring in a way that ought to have been frightening. Uncomfortable. But it wasn’t. Gods, it wasn’t. “It can be,” Lucian said, and then leaned in to kiss him.

  It was– shocking. Moreso because Lucian still had blood on his mouth and tasted of it; his fangs had retracted but Ignatius had the startling reality of tasting his own blood against his lips. It was macabre. It should have been horrible, and it was, in a way. But that was muted, overridden by the emotion that was building up inside of him and threatening to break free– how many times had he put aside his wandering thoughts, how he had tried to convince himself that he was not smitten with Lucian Nox Florence– not any more than he needed to be for the sake of his position, anyway–

  Perhaps he had passed out. Perhaps he was dreaming. And still Ignatius couldn’t kiss him back, frozen to the spot for a long, long moment. Too many years of engrained propriety and burying his feelings deep within his heart. Refusing to accept them.

  And then he pulled back, spluttering from the taste of blood, unable to hold in the shock any longer. “Lucian–!”

  “I–” Lucian dropped his hands. Ignatius wanted to smooth away the furrow between his eyebrows, but settled with wiping his own mouth instead. “Excuse me,” the prince continued slowly. “I had thought… but perhaps I misread…” His eyes dropped all too pointedly and Ignatius felt the mortification coil into his body, splashing a blush across his skin. His body was traitorous; even if Lucian could not see the extent of it, he would surely have felt it with their closeness. Not to forget the innate ability to smell. If vampires could smell fear, then they surely could smell arousal as well.