Blood Flows Deep (Ryze #1)
Page 24
I smirk as she and Crius joins us. Ian, he seems happy enough to greet, but Cy?
I use my drink to hide my big ass smile.
Wondering where Ismini is, and really hoping she and her R’mann haven’t decided to unnecessarily consecrate another place, I leave the group to go look for her.
I make it out into the hall.
Cold bombards me. It’s not the first time. It’s been happening since I woke up. Vedlyl didn’t tell me why I’ve developed this new symptom, but it’s starting to annoy the shit out of me.
Does he think I’m stupid? That I wouldn’t put two and two together and realize on my own what’s happening to me?
I lean against the wall. A few breaths. That’s what it usually takes for this feeling to recede.
This time, though, it isn’t really going away, and the pain in my veins throbs harder.
Of course I know what this all means. And it’s so fucking unfair. So fucking wrong. How could this be chosen for me against my will?
It was chosen for Ismini.
Yeah, but just because it worked out for her doesn’t mean it’s going to work out for me. Not with the way my luck usually runs.
The male I belong to is supposed to also belong to me. Without that little magic ingredient, a Fieren can’t be avoided.
I step further into the hallway and keep going until I reach the opposite wall and lean my back against it.
His presence is in my veins, fucking with me. Teasing me. It’s almost as if he’s here, but I know that’s impossible. He would’ve made himself known to his friends, right?
So then why does it feel like he’s—
Oh, holy shit.
I’m pretty sure my jaw just unhinged.
I can’t move.
My heart twists with fury and need.
I can’t look away from the giant storming toward me.
He is here.
No denying it. His presence has me on the verge of hyperventilating. I want to smack myself for the obvious reaction I’m having to him.
But I can’t stop it.
One look at him and I’m shaking, wet, hungry deep in my core.
In all black, he’s nearly frightening. His eyes flash between blue-and-gray and red-and-black, and his cheekbones seem more prominent than before.
He materializes right in front of me. Two giants fists slam into the wall by my head.
I gasp, jumping in surprise.
“Why are you wearing that dress?”
“Huh?” My eyes are locked with his and unable to move.
Zeniel leans toward me, his face too fucking beautiful and vicious. The sight of his jaw twitching makes me clench everywhere.
Horrified, I feel a rush of wetness leave me. His nostrils slightly flare.
He can smell how wet I am. He knows what he’s doing to me.
Gorgeous bastard.
A growl rumbles out of him. In a flash, he presses his big body against mine. His hand grabs my jaw.
His touch registers—what’s left of my denial is killed in an instant. A force that can only be the R’mannev barrels to life. I barely lock down on the urge to jump on him and rape him.
“Answer me. They’re all fucking looking at you. I see them. Why are you wearing it? Are you trying to drive me crazy? Or other men?” He gets even more up in my personal space.
His eyes turn completely black while red lines appear across his cheeks and move higher. The lines merge with the black ones that seem to leak out of his eyes.
Mavrak.
He’s. Freaking. Perfect.
The most sexual thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.
It doesn’t even register in my mind that Mavrak’s eyes are supposed to be red and black, not full-on black.
“Fuck . . . you,” I gasp, furious and so horny I can barely think.
He’s gone for weeks, leaving me yearning for him, and he has the nerve to storm in here and pretend he’s jealous?
Two distinct tones rumble in my ear. “Oh, I plan on making you do so.”
About the Author
N. Isabelle Blanco was born in Queens, NY (USA). At the age of three, due to an odd fascination with studying her mother’s handwriting, she began to read and write. By the time she’d reached kindergarten, she had an extensive vocabulary and her obsession with words began to bleed into every aspect of her life.
N. Isabelle Blanco spends her days working as an author, web programmer, marketer, and graphic designer. That is when she isn’t handling her “spawn”, as she calls her son, and brainstorming with him about his future career as a comic book illustrator.
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