by Jill Myles
“Are you still frightened, Seri?”
She gave a small shake of her head, her fists uncurling to spread her hands over his naked chest. It was hard and firm underneath her fingers, covered with a dozen old scars that she wanted to ask about. Strange that she’d never thought of him as a warrior, but he bore many marks of battle. “It’s not that—” she began, but he ended her protests with another slow, drugging kiss.
When they broke the kiss this time, she opened her eyes to look into his. The pale gray eyes had gone dark, and they focused on her with an intensity that made her toes curl. She saw his lips part to speak, and she knew he’d ask about her fears again, so she cut off his words with a kiss of her own, biting down on his lip in a gentle imitation of the gesture that had won her over.
He gave a ragged groan, so unlike him and his reserved ways, and in one fluid motion, picked her up and carried her to the bed. Her arms flew around his neck in surprise, but she didn’t let go when he laid her down. She needed the contact, the reassurance that he was there. And while she had kissed Rilen many times before, and they had made all kinds of marriage plans, it had never seemed to be on the same level as this, as what she did now. There was only Graeme, with his pale skin and dark hair and burning gray eyes in her world.
He kissed her again and she sank into that kiss, all the while conscious of his hands running over her body, caressing her skin. In the glow of their auras, they seemed to be perfectly matched—her brown, small limbs against his larger, paler body. Graeme seemed to know instinctively where to touch her, that the brush of his fingertips along the tip of her breast would send shockwaves down her body, that the hard scrape of his teeth against the same tender spot would nearly lift her off the bedcovers with pleasure. Time flew past and there was only their tangle of limbs in the bed, and he’d somehow become undressed and his body covered hers, and she didn’t mind, and the feel of him on top of her body was surely the most delicious thing she’d ever felt—better than the finest foods in the lush Vidara Castle kitchens—and the taste of him was better than anything she could imagine.
And when she writhed underneath him, looking for an unnameable release and he parted her legs and plunged into her body, the pain was intense, but somehow good, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer to her, and they moved together, lost in the drugged senses of passion, and she spiraled out of control, panting his name in soft cries that she didn’t even recognize as herself.
Graeme was relentless as he pounded into her soft flesh, his fingers locked in a death grip on her hips, his face stern and tight as she stared into his, but she knew—oh, she knew—behind that carefully controlled, beautiful demeanor, he raged inside like her, and he was close to spiraling out of control like she was.
And when she cried out for the second time and went limp, he fell on top of her, still tense and moving inside of her. Seri wrapped her slick arms around his neck, pulling him closer and in for a kiss, but he didn’t meet her mouth. Instead, he plunged harder into her, pressing desperate kisses around her collarbone while his aura grew brighter and brighter. She closed her eyes and arched against him, giving herself to him, wanting him to feel the same shattering release she did.
And because her eyes were closed, the piercing, sweet pain in her neck came as a surprise, one that made her gasp in shock and claw at his back as his teeth punctured her skin. “Graeme?” she said, her hands clenched around his shoulders.
But then he shuddered inside her, coming at last, and he began to suck at her neck, and it threw her into the throes of another endless burst of frightening pleasure, this one more intense than the last. She lost consciousness, the feel of him deep inside her body, his mouth on her neck, sucking her lifeblood as he came and groaned her name, and their auras grew so bright she thought the sun had surely come to rest in their arms.
Chapter Eight
Seri’s first waking thought was that the old legends had been right and that filled her with dread.
Her next thought was that she’d slept through Rilen’s escape attempt.
She jerked upright, her eyes flying open. The room was in darkness still, and not even a sliver of light shone from underneath the curtains, which meant that nightfall approached. A warm body lay sprawled in the covers next to her and reached for her when she sat upright.
Oh no. This was all wrong. Terribly wrong. Seri bolted out of the bed, flashes of memory dragging through her sleep-dazed mind. Graeme’s body over hers, their slick limbs twined together, the aura surrounding them, and then, overriding all other thoughts, the memory of the piercing pain in her neck as he came inside her.
Seri’s hand flew to her neck and felt the skin there. It was tender, broken. A frightened sob escaped her throat and she staggered to one of the nearby tables, searching for a candle, anything to provide light to show her what he’d done.
“Is everything all right?” The prince’s voice cut through the room, cold and solicitous as ever. It was hard to imagine he was the one who’d held her so passionately last night. “Come back to bed.” She felt him reach for her from the far side of the bed.
“Don’t touch me!” Her voice came across as louder and more brittle than she wanted in the darkness, and her fingers snagged on a nearby candle. There was an ornately decorated flint next to it, and she struck it several times before lighting the wick, then took the candle across the room where she remembered seeing a mirror the night before. Across the room, she heard Graeme get out of bed, but she didn’t pause.
The flickering, shadowy reflection in the mirror revealed what she had suspected. On the long, golden column of her throat, two pinprick wounds shone red, haloed by dark bruises. She set the candle down on the nearby table and touched her throat, unease sweeping through her.
Graeme’s arm slid over her shoulders, and she saw his pale form behind her in the mirror, his hair tousled and mussed, a distressingly appealing look in his sleepy gray eyes. His mouth rested against her hair in a possessive gesture, then pulled away. “You didn’t know?”
She disentangled herself from him, backing away. “What do you mean, didn’t know?” A hard, delirious laugh erupted from her. “Didn’t know that you were a monster?” Her laugh choked and died in her throat. Oh god, all the stories she’d scoffed at were true. “Is… are…” Her thoughts flew back to the awkward dinner she’d interrupted, where no one had eaten but her, and the rest of the nobles had watched her with some interest and revulsion all at once.
“Have you heard of the Athoni nobility referred to as ‘the Blood’?” He watched her with a guarded look on his face, the cool, calm mien of the prince returning, shutting her out. She remembered the look in those eyes last night and wanted to weep with the sadness of it. It was all gone, all gone now.
The bite on her neck throbbed with heat, and when she touched it, the bothered, hot feeling stretched all the way through her body as though it were tied to the erotic experience last night. She snatched her hand away as if burned and glanced back to Graeme. His eyes had settled on her neck as well, losing some of their distant look, and she felt the swell of lust in his body transfer to hers through this strange bond. So this was why the women wore such high collars among the Athonites. Just the sight of her bitten neck was enough to send Graeme back into the depths of lust.
“The Blood have ruled the Athoni lands since the dawn of time,” Graeme said, his voice emotionless. “Once, we were normal men. We ate like regular men, we lived like regular men, and we died like regular men.” He paused, contemplating his words. “There was a ruler back then, a king of Athon, back when Athon was little more than a group of sheep herders like your own people, and the land was cobbled into hundreds of small kingdoms. This king had a daughter rumored to be the most beautiful woman in seven lands, and many wanted to marry her. Especially the king of Praava, who was a cruel and terrible man, but he had much power and strength. The king of Athon wanted his daughter to marry this man, but she refused. She insisted that she
wanted to go into the service of the Goddess Keelin.”
He put his hand out for hers, and without thought, she placed it in his hand, letting him lead her back to the bed to sit down, focused on his story. His voice was soothing, if cold, and it was normal, what she was used to from him, and it comforted.
“The king did not want his daughter to go into the service of the goddess. If she did that, she was of no use to him. But the daughter would not listen to reason, and on the eve of her wedding, she planned to run away. Her father caught her and was so angry that he took a knife and stabbed her twenty-five times. Then he went out and had the priests waiting to meet her executed.”
“The goddess was furious that the king would destroy her own, so she cursed him and his line. Since he had destroyed his own daughter, she would not give him any more. His line would only make sons. They would be cursed to live at night and shun the day, and to live off the blood of others.”
He picked up her hand and flipped it over, then kissed the palm. She could feel desire surging through him, hot and heavy, and it affected her as well. Seri wanted to pull her hand from his, to run away, to cry, but she was mesmerized by the heat from his body and the feelings it gave to hers.
“Ever since that time,” Graeme said, his lips moving against her palm, then wrist, his eyes focused on her skin, “the Blood has been forced to drink from others for survival. We are forced to live at night, for the sunlight weakens us. And always, always, sons are born to our line.” He kissed her wrist again, sending shivers through her body despite his frightening words, and she knew it was the strange bond they shared, for his aura flared every time he touched her skin. He moved farther up her arm, kissing the soft skin of her elbow, then sliding upward.
“Once every few generations, the goddess grants a blessing to our kind. A betrothed is chosen by the gods, a woman who can bear daughters to the Blood. She is his Eterna, his forever-mate, and he need never drink from another to satisfy his never-ending thirst. And their daughters will be Eterna as well.”
Her hand ripped out of his at that, and she looked at him with betrayed eyes. “So I am to breed daughters for you so they will suffer the same fate as their mother? To be married to a monster?”
His gaze grew stony. “The gods have decreed it. You belong to me.”
She turned away from him, looking into the darkness. “And I am to have no control over anything in my life? Except that which you grant me?”
She heard him sigh behind her. “What is the answer you wish to hear from me? I cannot change what has happened, nor would I have wished it for myself. But it is here, and we must deal with it.”
But she stared into the shadows and said nothing.
He reached for her again, an unspoken question, a testing of the waters. She could feel his body pulse with desire, still new and unbroken, and her own responded, her aura flaring into light.
And when his body sank into hers again, she welcomed it, even though she didn’t want to, because that strange bond between them made her crave him even if she hated it. Made her long for the hot warmth of his skin against hers and the scrape of teeth against her neck that terrified her even as it made her body rock with the powerful emotions between them.
And when it was over and they lay back in bed again, Seri wrapped in the arms of the Prince of the Blood, an unnatural creature the gods had seen fit to bond her to, she allowed herself to cry silently for betraying her people and not being strong enough to stand up to the sensations that his touch evoked in her.
~~* * * ~~
Hours later, Seri opened her eyes. She sat up in bed, rubbing at her face and wondering what had awakened her. The drapes at the windows were pulled back and moonlight flooded into the room. Several candles were lit at the far end of the massive chamber, and it was there that Graeme stood. He’d pulled a long-sleeved shirt over his pale torso and hitched his pants around his hips, barely glancing at Seri.
A heavy knock came at the door, reminding Seri why she’d awoken, and she pulled the covers over her nude body. Graeme opened the door and a flood of people entered, carrying the decorative lanterns so popular in the court and the blessing-bowls used by the priests. The lofty chamber was filled with light.
The entourage approached the bed and Seri retreated backward, pulling the coverlets up to her chin and looking at Graeme with a betrayed expression. He stood to one side as his personal servant approached with a robe for him, allowing the man to dress him as if this were any other day and he had not married the night before.
This went beyond humiliation. Seri glared at the priests who surrounded the bed. “What do you want with me?”
The head priest—the kindly, gray-haired man who had held her arm the night before—colored a little and glanced at the prince. “Princesse, we only wish to examine you. It is customary for a betrothal.” When she did not move, he cleared his throat. “We need to verify that the prince has consummated the relationship, Princesse. It is important to the evening’s ceremonies.”
Mortified, Seri looked at Graeme in disgust, clutching the blankets closer about her body. “And you say my people are barbarians.”
The clergy looked more embarrassed than before. “Princesse, we only wish to examine your neck, no more.”
What had happened last night between herself and Graeme had been painfully intimate. To have to show someone proof of that seemed somehow wrong. But when everyone merely sat and watched her, she forced herself to lower the blankets and pull back her hair, revealing the incriminating bite marks to the men at the bedside.
There was a low murmur of approval. The men did not comment on the state of her neck itself, but she caught the flash of a few hopeful smiles. “Thank you, Princesse,” the priest said with a small bow. “We are done here.”
Eventually the troop made their way back out of the room, speaking in an excited hush and ignoring Seri completely. Graeme lingered for a moment, looking thoughtfully over at the bed as if he wished to say something and was prevented by good manners. After a moment, a servant rushed in with a message for him, and he turned and left.
Seri was left alone in the strange bedroom, lost amid a sea of covers that still carried the strange perfume of the night before, an ache in her heart.
She had failed this all rather miserably.
A hand knocked at the door, and Idalla entered the room with a quick curtsy, clearly excited to see her mistress. “Are you ready to awaken, Princesse?”
She actually wanted nothing more than to hide in bed all day, to pull the covers over her eyes and never have to think about the prince or the sneering Athoni court ever again. Or the hurt in Rilen’s eyes when he found out she had been too cowardly, too caught up with her own problems, to do as he asked. With a reluctant sigh, Seri pulled herself out of bed, leaving the comfort behind. It wasn’t in her to hide from the world anyway, as much as she would have liked.
When Seri arose and shrugged on a dressing gown, Idalla sprang into action. Vya and Kiane were called into the room, and one worked on preparing her a bath while the other pulled out clothing for Seri to wear for the evening’s court.
Seri sank into the warm bathwater, allowing it to soothe the unfamiliar aches in her body from her wedding night, which made her blush just to think about. Kiane waited nearby, handing Seri soaps and washcloths as necessary. She found she couldn’t concentrate on the girl’s soft chatter about Seri’s duties for the day, but rather her thoughts flew back to Rilen over and over again. Was he still waiting for her? Had he realized what had happened last night? Had he waited all through the day and grown angry when she didn’t appear? Would he understand what she had gone through?
A cold feeling settled in her chest and she lowered into the water with misery. No, Rilen wouldn’t understand. He’d be furious with her, furious that she’d ruined his plans and now found herself married to the prince—who was an unnatural monster—and at the mercy of the Athonites they hated so much.
Kiane offered Seri a towel whe
n she stood and helped her dry off. “Is there anything else I can assist you with, Princesse?” The girl’s high, sweet voice broke through Seri’s muddled thoughts and inspiration struck.
She clasped the hands of the servant and glanced around the room. Idalla was still gone to the kitchens in search of the sticky buns Seri was so fond of, and Vya had gone to Seri’s chambers to retrieve a “suitable” gown for her mistress. It was just herself and Kiane in the room.
“Will you do me a favor, Kiane?” Seri asked, squeezing the girl’s hands. “It’s very important to me.”
Hope shone in Kiane’s face. “Oh yes, Princesse. Anything you ask.”
“I need you to go down to my village and find a man named Rilen.”
Just as quickly, the girl’s look turned to fear. Her hands tightened in Seri’s. “Into… the Vidari village, mistress? But…” She hesitated, unwilling to offend Seri. “They hate our kind, mistress.”
Seri shook her head. “They will not hurt you. Look for a man called Rilen. Ask for him—everyone will know who he is. Tell him that you carry a message from Seri.”
Kiane’s face was pale but she nodded her agreement. “Will you write the letter and give it to me, mistress?”
A light flush colored Seri’s face, heating her cheeks. “I do not know how to write. You will have to carry the message for me and speak it to him. Tell him…” She paused, thinking. What could she say to Rilen that would make this all right? “Tell him that I was unable to use one of his gifts as planned, but the other…” She paused again, her mouth dry as she thought of the dagger. “Tell him I still have the other and plan to use it.”
Kiane repeated the words back to Seri. “I will tell him, mistress.”
