Page 122

Those were embers compared to the inferno I felt now. He stroked, and I wanted more. My thighs ached and widened for him. His palm was hard against my center, rubbing exactly where I needed more. I was helpless from the contact. I ground my hips against him, desperate for the friction that would bring on more pleasure. It was so close, so tempting, driving every thought away but the hunger I felt for him—

He broke the kiss and stilled his hand.

“What?” Raphael snarled.

I flinched at the tone. But he jerked his head back and glared at something, and I realized it wasn’t directed at me. I maneuvered around his broad frame to see Amalthea.

She wore a different shade of red than the bright crimson I and the other humans did, a slightly darker shade with a purple tinge. It was an elegant affair. Her neck was exposed, but the dress was cut high, leaving her more covered than most. Her single eye flickered to me, something unreadable in it.

“It’s time, Your Majesty,” she said simply.

No.

No, I needed more time. Needed to think through this decision.

You’re blinded by lust, a cynical part of me hissed.You’d put your body’s desire over your true kingdom? Knowing what he is, what they are?

It’s more than lust, another part argued. The tender words weren’t lies. The way he looked at me, right before I kissed him, half-stunned and then so satisfied against me, so coaxing.He wasn’t just another monster.

The thought wasn’t strong enough to overpower the memories of the bodies. My nightmares since childhood.But that’s their nature. They can’t change, they can’t help it.

My internal debate was cut too short as Raphael pulled away. Even though the alcove sheltered me from the worst of the outside chill, it found me immediately, like an aquamancer had formed ice shackles around me. My skirts fell back down, rumpled, and I did my best to smooth them out as though the biggest problem I had was appearing unkempt in front of the court.

Raphael gave me a regretful look. The normally composed king looked, for once, disheveled himself. His cloak was off-center, from me yanking the chain. His lips swollen and slightly darkened from the cosmetics Thea had placed on me. I froze my features to hide my own feelings.

I’d have given anything in that moment to go back to two minutes ago, when nothing had mattered but the pleasure between us.

Pleasure I’d never feel again. Not that way.

“I would take you away right now,” he murmured as I slid my palm into his offered hand. “But of all nights, this is our sacred one. For the king not to take blood would be seen as heretical. It would be to spit in Anagenni’s face.” He composed himself, rolling his shoulders back.

“I understand.” There was nothing more to say. My time had run out.

We reentered the ballroom. I wanted to vomit. The scent of copper—blood—tinged the air. There were no goblets of blood, not for the vampires. Instead, a quick scan of the crowd revealed the source. Wrists and necks alike were perforated with bite marks. One man had marks on either side of his neck; a woman’s wore twin red bracelets of dried blood. I stopped looking closely after that, my field of view going blurry until there was only Raphael, leading me forward, his broad shoulders covered in black lace and red jewels.

He wore red jewels. I would wear blood.

Blood and blood and blood.

He stopped in the center of the ballroom and addressed the crowd.

“People of Damerel.” He didn’t need to bellow for his voice to be heard through the ballroom. No one so much as dared whisper while the king was speaking. “The time has come again to honor Anagenni with our most sacred rite, the taking of blood. Tonight, we all drink from the vein, and only the vein. Tonight, we show our power, and honor the goddess-guided hierarchy Anagenni instilled.”

He moved behind me. Two words, so soft I wasn’t sure I heard them, were breathed against my hair. Then Raphael bent his head. His hair tickled the back of my neck. His fingers held my wrists—my pulse points—at my side. I stiffened in his embrace. Hundreds of eyes on us, on this moment. Somewhere, I was certain, Titus watched with bated breath. Guilt welled in me. I was about to commit the ultimate betrayal. I had justified the logic over and over in my head, but I was nothing more than a scared rat, caught in a trap, waiting for my neck to be snapped.

Two sharp points grazed the column of my throat.

He was going to—

I was going to—

“No!”

The room froze at my cry.

“I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure who I said it to. “I can’t do this.”

Chapter Forty-Seven