by T. S. Ryder
She writhed underneath him, he was moving so slowly, but he was stroking her at just the right angle. His every movement was tantalizing, building up the pressure until she was sure it was going to consume her.
“Yes, please. Yes,” Avery whispered. She wanted to be as close to him as possible. She wanted him inside of her and draining her all at the same time. It was an intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain, safety and danger.
He released her wrist and she froze for a moment, unsure of what she should do next. But his hand merely moved down between them. He began to stroke her again, moving his fingers over her as his hips continued to thrust.
“Yes,” she moaned again. Her arms were around him, digging into his back, urging him on.
“Tell me when you’re close,” he said.
“I’m close,” she cried out. He had been keeping her just on the edge and now it seemed like he was going to finally push her over. She rocked against him, a fantastic pleasure taking over her body. It coursed through her veins, his every stroke building more and more pleasure with her.
“Now,” she cried out. “Bite me now.”
It happened in an instant. His teeth grazed her neck as his fingers spun and then his teeth pierced her skin at the same moment her orgasm overtook her. She screamed out the word yes as her body writhed beneath his. He held her tightly and drank eagerly. Her pounding heart sent blood gushing into his mouth and she could feel it trickling down her neck.
With a final thrust and groan, he finished, as both of their hearts slowed. He detached from her neck and lay gasping on top of her for a moment before rolling over and lying next to her.
“Are you alright?” he asked, licking the last of the blood from her neck.
“Are you kidding me?” she giggled. She was on her back, staring at the ceiling. “That was amazing.”
Chapter Seven
Alastair had been married for ten years, but he had never loved his wife and she had never loved him. He assumed that was the way relationships worked. Two people were ordered to marry by their parents and they did so. It was a duty, a job they had to do. Love had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Alastair had never loved anyone before. He had his wife, of course, and various flings throughout his youth, including the stable master’s daughter, a stunning prostitute who lived in the finest brothel in the city of Varlyn and a giggling lady in waiting. He had played with them, had his way with them, grew bored with them and then tossed them aside.
There had always been an air of “why not” with these women. They were all beautiful, willing and easy. He never had to try with them. He never had to work at pleasing them or give a second thought to treating them well. They were enchanted with his position in their society. They weren’t with Alastair Thorne—they were with the Crown Prince.
Avery was different. It wasn’t just that he wanted her in his bed, though he certainly did. He wanted all of her. Wherever he was, he wanted her there with him. He wanted to be able to open his eyes and see her before him. He never wanted to be separated from her.
She slept in his bed at night. Once, Sir Reese asked about rooms for Ms. Avery as he referred to her, but Alastair brushed him aside. She did not need her own rooms. She lived with him in his room. At night, he would crawl into bed with her, she would turn to her side and he would put his arm around her. The heat from her body and the fire would warm his cold skin until they were the same temperature.
She never denied him. If he woke in the middle of the night and kissed her, she would open her eyes and kiss him back. Morning, noon, night, she was always eager and ready for him. He put his hands all over her body and not only did she let him—but she liked it. She leaned into his touch, clinging to him.
He had a dressmaker come and lay out fine fabrics all over the room. He watched as she moved from one to the other, her mouth hanging open in amazement. There were fabrics of bright yellow, pale green, fabrics with small birds and delicate flowers stitched perfectly into them.
“Pick out any that you like,” Alastair said.
“I like them all,” she said, turning around to face him with a smile. She picked up a bolt of deep blue fabric and held it against her body.
“Then I shall buy them all,” he answered.
“You cannot,” she said. “It’s too expensive, too fine.”
He came to her, putting his arms around her and pulling her back to him. He loved nothing more than reducing the distance between them. He could feel her blood, he could smell it. He nuzzled her neck, careful to not bother the two pinprick bite marks there. He was getting better at feeding from her. He no longer lost control. Now that he knew he could have her whenever he wanted, it was easier for him to stop.
“Do you not know who I am?” he demanded in mock outrage. “I am Alastair Thorne, Crown Prince of Varlyn. These garments are nothing to me.” He commanded the dressmaker to make Avery an entire wardrobe of new clothes. Her old caravan rags were burned.
“Never again,” he whispered to her. She stood naked in front of him, her clothes a pile on the ground. “You will always wear fine clothes, I promise you,” he said.
They fell into bed together, making love on the fine bolts of fabric. Wrapping their naked bodies in the finest cloth the Kingdom had.
Avery’s nomadic life had put her in contact with many different cultures. She spoke five languages and could read three. She knew the lay of the land, the merchants and the rulers. He talked to her about everything—his worry over the Fire Islands, his plan to destroy the Mages living in The Sands and the weight of the expectations of his father and his people.
Avery did not judge him. She listened and held his head in her lap. She told him that he was a great Lord and he would go on to do great things. He could be himself around her. He didn’t need to preen or pretend. He never had to put on airs. He had never felt so relaxed and free in his entire life.
He had almost forgotten the date. It was the seventeenth of the month, the one night that he and Myrcel must spend together. In the last few weeks, he had almost forgotten he had a wife. He had been free of her annoyed expression and her disgust with him. There had been no functions where they were forced to pretend to be a happy couple. It had, in fact, been over nine days since he had last seen her.
“I will be...away tonight,” he said to Avery. She was lying naked in bed, a blanket wrapped up around her. He traced a hand down her shoulder and her chest. “But you must know how hard it is for me to leave you.”
“Then why must you?” she asked. Her grey eyes shined up at him and he could not stop himself from sitting down on the bed and pulling her close. She raked her hand across his chest and he moaned quietly.
“I love it when you do that,” he whispered, his mouth pressed against her forehead.
“If you did not have to leave I could do it all night,” Avery teased.
“Do not tempt me. I must go and do my duty,” he said.
“What duty?” she asked, pulling away from him and looking up into his face. Her eyes were wide and her expression so innocent. He didn’t want to tell her where he was going or what he had to do. She would be threatened by Myrcel and she had no need to be. Myrcel was nothing to him, she was nothing compared to Avery.
He opened his mouth and closed it and then took a deep breath before speaking slowly. “She is my wife and I must go to her as a husband goes to his wife.”
Avery’s face went pale, she pulled away. He missed her touch the moment it was gone. She looked down at the floor. It felt like his heart was being torn from his chest. This was what made Avery different. He never wanted to see her in pain. The sight of tears brimming in Avery’s eyes made him question this one thing he knew he had to do to maintain his position.
“Avery, it is a job, nothing more,” he said. He put his hand on her shoulder, but she did not lean into him as she normally would have. Her body remained stiff under his touch, like a statue.
“I understand. I should never have expected
anything different,” she said, shaking her head in an attempt to clear her tears. “I know I’m not your wife. I’m...nothing-”
“Don’t say that,” Alastair said, his voice stern. He took her chin in his hand and turned her until she looked into his eyes. “You are not nothing. You are everything to me. You are the only woman I want in my bed, but I am not a normal man. I am the Crown Prince and I have obligations that cannot be ignored.”
She nodded. He wished she would have yelled and screamed at him. He wished she would have stormed off and slammed the door behind her. But instead, she looked up at him sadly and nodded as a tear tracked down her cheek.
He left her in his bed. His steps were heavy as he walked the distance to Myrcel’s rooms. Every footstep was torture, his legs felt like they were tied to rocks. It seemed to take forever for him to traverse the long hallway.
He had never taken any joy in this. Now he hated it. He hated being pulled away from Avery, he hated that he could not spend the night with her. He hated Myrcel. At the door to her chamber, he placed his hand on the painted wood and waited for one moment. It was not too late. He could still turn around and go back to the beautiful woman who wanted him.
But he knew he could never do such a thing. He was the Crown Prince and Myrcel was his wife. If she felt she was being mistreated, she would call her father and the chaos and danger of the Fire Islands would only grow. He did not like it, but he knew he must do it.
Pushing open the door, he saw his wife waiting for him. She sighed heavily and crossed her arms as the door closed behind him.
Chapter Eight
It was like he had something he needed to make up to her. In the days after his visit to Myrcel, Alastair would not stop doting on Avery. Jewels were laid out before her. Diamond necklaces accented with rubies and sapphires, gold earrings and bracelets. All for her, he whispered into her neck.
Didn’t he understand she didn’t need any of that? She only needed him. She tried not to think about his wife down the hall, the cold, beautiful Vampire Princess who could have killed Avery in a second. She was his wife, but Avery was his everything else. She was his friend, confidant and lover. She was all of the things a wife was meant to be, but she was still not his wife.
It was enough, though just to lie in bed with him, to laugh with him and sleep beside him. She no longer had to travel with her father, she no longer had to steal or lie. There was no more leaving a city in the dead of night, running away from angry dogs or sleeping in the dirt. He had rescued her from all of that. Alastair was her salvation.
When she first felt the rumblings within her, she didn’t say anything. She was sick in the morning, her breasts were tender. But it was too soon to say. The fact that this baby would be the bastard son of the Crown Prince meant both she and it were in danger.
One afternoon, when Alastair was gone, she put her hands on her stomach, her palm flat against her flesh as a wave of nausea passed through her. “Is that you, little baby?” she asked the air. It made sense. She and Alastair had been with each other practically every night. This was the logical conclusion of those activities: a baby. She could see it in her mind. It would be a boy who would have Alastair’s dark eyes and hair. She could see him running along the ramparts, her heart swelled at the thought. A baby. She had never wanted one before. They had seemed like too much trouble and work, but that had been in her old life with her abusive father. Now, with Alastair, things could be different. She could have a real family. Or, could she?
She was lost in her thoughts thinking about her baby when suddenly the door to the room opened. Avery sat up in shock. The only person who entered without knocking was Alastair himself. But it was not her lover who looked back at her from the doorway, it was her brother.
Avery was frozen with fear. Her violent, drunk, angry brother was here. Her brother who had more than once tried to sell her away to the brothels in town. Her brother that used to take her food and make her walk alongside the caravans. In an instant, she was a little girl again. She wasn’t the mistress of the Crown Prince, but a scared child.
He was dressed like a guard, but the uniform was ill-fitting. He must have bought or stolen it from somewhere. He removed his helmet and let out a low whistle as he looked around the lavish suites.
“You’ve done well for yourself since our father’s murder,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. Slowly, her senses were coming back to her and she realized he had no power over her. All she needed to do was to scream and the guards would come running. They would capture Tristan and toss him into the deepest dungeon and he would never bother her again.
“Now, now, don’t go doing anything as foolish as calling the guards,” Tristan said. “Believe it or not, I’m here to help you, sister dear.”
“I don’t want your help,” Avery said. “I want you to leave or I’ll scream.”
“If you scream for the guards and you’ll be dead before morning, killed by the Vampire Princess herself. Trust me, Avery, you want to hear what I have to say.”
“How did you find me?” Avery asked, her voice a low whisper. Myrcel, of course it was Myrcel who was destroying her happiness. She thought of the tiny thing growing in her womb. Could she know already?
“A few of the women from the caravan turned up on the streets. They told me the Vampire Prince had taken a shine to you. I didn’t believe them, but I had to find out for myself. I play cards with some of the palace guards and one of them owed me quite a bit of money. I agreed to make it all go away if he would let me borrow his uniform. I promised not to steal or kill anyone while I was here. I had to see for myself if my idiot sister was the newest whore of the palace.”
She couldn’t stop her cheeks from flushing. A whore, is that all she was? It wasn’t right, he didn’t understand. Alistair loved her. She wasn’t some disposable thing to him. Or was she?
“Have you ever heard the prophecy of Celisa?” he continued. “She was a prophet who lived at the Temple of Four Boulders, five generations ago. She prophesied the break-up of the Varlyn and the creation of the Severed Lands. She knew everything that would happen. She knew about the betrayal by Thorne and the breaking away of the Fire Islands. No one believed her, but she was right.”
“What does this have to do with me?” Avery asked her brother. She should scream or make him leave, but his threat still hung in the air. Myrcel was the only thing that Avery feared. Avery meant nothing to her and Myrcel could kill the nomad and forget all about it by the next day.
“Celisa had another prophecy, one that you fit, dear sister.”
Avery’s heart stopped. A prophecy about her? It wasn’t possible.
“On the seventh full moon of a red year, the only daughter of a seventh son of the lands of Mygie will lie with a Vampire Prince,” he advanced on her as he quoted the prophecy. As she backed away from him, he continued. “Our father was the seventh son and you are his only daughter. Our family came from Mygie. In nine months’ time, she will bear him a son born on a moonless night. Half-human half-vampire, he will be beautiful and terrible to behold. He will conquer the world and reunite the Severed Kingdoms. He shall be the greatest King that Varlyn has ever seen. The world will shudder from his power.”
“That could be about anyone,” she said shaking her head.
“Yeah, that’s the whole point of prophecy, you idiot. Anyone can fit into it. But smart people know to take advantage of that.”
“How am I supposed to take advantage of that?”
“You don’t,” he said, leering at her. “I do.” He walked over to a golden chalice, a trophy Alastair had won. Tristan picked it up, running his hands over the embossed gold, as he held it up to the light to watch his reflection.
“I want money, gold, jewels, whatever you can get me. In return, I won’t tell the Vampire Princess that you are the only daughter the prophecy speaks of. Fortunately, not many have heard of Celise of Four Boulders. Outside of The Sands, the prophecy is not wel
l known. But word could easily be spread. Can you imagine what would happen if people knew? You would be a walking target, little sister,” her brother continued.
“I’m not pregnant,” she said. But her voice wavered. Even she could hear the lie.
“Please, look at you,” he said, disgust dripping from his voice. “Vampires don’t know what to look for, but I do. I can see the curves on you, you’re practically glowing.”
She shook her head and backed away from him, cursing her upbringing. They had been taught at an early age how to read people. They understood signs better, which profited their survival and their thievery.
“I’ll be back in two days, returning at this time. Your vampire lover will not be here and you will have enough treasure to make me happy. Trust me when I tell you that if you try and trick me, or tell your lover about what I said—word will get out. Even if I am dead or in jail, word will get out. I know what I’m doing little sister. Do not, for even one moment, think you’re smarter than I.”
He turned and left. She couldn’t quite believe it. The words of the prophecy echoed in her ears. Was it possible, could it be right? She was the only daughter of a seventh son and while she didn’t remember lying with Alastair on the full moon of the seventh month, it was more than likely they had.
She pulled out his calendar of the cycles of the moon. Yes, the timing was right. It was now almost the end of the eight month and they had definitely lain together during the seventh. She was pregnant, but not too far along.
She pressed her hands to her stomach. She still couldn’t feel anything there. It was too soon. But was it possible? Did she carry the child who would reunite the lands?
Chapter Nine
Alastair sat across from his father. They were lunching on an ocean-front balcony outside of his father’s room. The sea spray tossed his hair about. They had both fed from two female servants, cute pliant little things, proud to be fed upon by the King and the Crown Prince.
