Page 4 of Bitten & Burned

His groan was rough, torn from somewhere deep, and he stayed there for a beat, buried to the hilt like he needed the anchor before he moved again.

His eyes caught mine, sharp even under the haze.

His tongue swept over his bottom lip, the barest ghost of a smile twitching there.

He was doing his favorite thing: fucking me like he couldn’t breathe without it.

The glow from the lanterns washed over his pale skin, painting him in gold and shadow.

“Fast… slow…” His voice was already fraying. “Tell me.”

“You’re good at figuring things out,” I gasped, threading my fingers through his now-messy chestnut hair. “So… what do I want?”

His breath hitched, a flash of amusement cutting through the fire. “Cryptic little witch.”

The words sank into my bones before I could stop them.

His hands closed over my hips, hauling me close, rolling and shifting us until I was straddling him.

Now I could set the pace—but his touch never loosened.

His lips grazed my ear, and I shivered, sinking into the feel of him moving inside me, into the way he could make my body obey without ever saying the word.

“Beautiful…” The word was nearly a growl. “Take what you want, Witchling.”

I did—rocking harder, faster, until he groaned into my neck.

“Fuck, Rowena…” His voice was nothing but gravel now. “Been thinking about this. So tight. Warm.” His mouth brushed my jaw. “Mine.”

The single word rattled through me harder than any thrust.

“Keep talking like that, Vael,” I murmured. “I’ll never leave.”

He stilled—just for a beat—eyes dark as if he’d heard the truth under my tease. “…Promise?”

The word clung to me, heavy and wanting. I tilted my head, baring my throat before I could second-guess it.

His fangs grazed my shoulder, testing, before sinking in with a deep, unhurried bite. The shock of it made me gasp, the pleasure-pain curling hot and sharp through my nerves.

The instant my blood touched his tongue, something in him changed.

Blood was scripture to vampires, curse and covenant alike, and the way he drank from me made the sigil’s hum falter, as if it too was listening.

His breath hitched against my skin; his grip on my hips tightened until I felt the strength in every line of him.

He drew me up, then pressed me down onto him again—measured and deliberate.

Each motion forced him deeper, keeping me exactly where he wanted me.

I could feel him harden further inside me, the slow, controlled thrusts turning into a rhythm that was no less precise for its intensity. He wasn’t losing control. He was using it, every ounce of focus narrowed to the place where our bodies met, to the sound of my breath catching in time with his.

When he lifted his head, his mouth was wet with my blood, lips glistening where it mixed with the arousal he’d already coaxed from me earlier.

He dragged them slowly up the curve of my throat, smearing the warmth of it across my skin, his breath hot and uneven.

His grip on my hips was unyielding, dragging me down onto him over and over in that steady, maddening rhythm he knew would keep me right on the edge.

The pressure wound tighter, hotter, until I felt stretched to the breaking point.

“You going to come for me again?” His voice was low and deliberate, each word sinking under my skin. “Going to soak my cock until I can’t think straight?”

The breath that left me was half answer, half desperate plea.

A slow, wicked smile curved his lips. “Greedy little thing… I can feel you milking me already.” His thumb stroked over the curve of my hip like he had all the time in the world. “Go on. Take it. Take every inch and make a mess on me.”

The words hit as hard as the thrusts—each one deeper, rougher, timed to keep me chasing the edge. My nails dug into his shoulders, clinging as the coil inside me tightened and snapped, my body seizing around him in pulsing waves.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his control breaking as I clenched around him. “Fuck… just like that. My perfect girl, riding me, taking me like you were born for it.”

The measured thrusts turned sharp and fast, his breath shattering into a guttural sound as he drove up into me. Heat burst between us, each pulse dragging another aftershock from my own climax until we were both shaking, both held in place by his hands locking me to him.

He didn’t let go until the last tremor faded. Not until he’d made sure I’d wrung every drop out of him. As our breathing collectively slowed, his hands loosened their grip on me, fingers stroking my hips softly as I came back into my own skin. He pressed a breathless kiss to my forehead.

Only then did his gaze flick down to my scarred leg under his palm. “How’s your leg?”

I exhaled softly. “Sore, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“Good.” His brow furrowed. “Well… not good that it’s sore. It’s good that you can handle it.” He smoothed his palm along my thigh as if testing the truth of my answer, his touch lingering like he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

“I suppose,” I mused, shifting in his lap. “I think I need to go see Dr. Drummond again. I’ll have to send him a Pulse as soon as possible so he’ll know to expect me…”

The ripple that went through him was instant—subtle, but unmistakable.

“…Of course, I’ll have to walk down the lane and a few lanes south to use the Receptacle on Ironwood and Bellflower if I don't want to wait in line for the entire night at the one just outside the building… gods, that walk alone makes me wonder if it’s worth it.”

His hand stilled, the warmth of it anchoring me even as his shoulders straightened. The change in him wasn’t cold, but watchful, the kind of alertness that made my pulse skip. He sat back enough to meet my eyes, still close, still touching.

“Yes, I suppose you should,” he muttered. The way he said it wasn’t hostile, per se, but it wasn’t said with the warm fondness I’d heard earlier, either. I could tell his sudden change in mood wasn’t due to the walk to the Pulse Receptacle either.

I searched his gaze briefly. “Come on, Vael. What’s wrong with checking in?” I asked. “I thought you liked him!”

“It’s not about liking or disliking, Rowena.

” Vael’s voice was calm—measured—though a hint of sharpness edged through.

“I know Silas is your former mentor and a talented cursebreaker in his own right, but whenever you see him, the wound improves for a few weeks at most, then you’re back where you started.

Sometimes worse. Feels like a pattern. Why, you only just saw him two days ago and, already, you have to return. ”

I could feel the edge he was trying to hide—the simmering frustration just under the surface.

“There’s no pattern, except that this curse is unlike anything any of us have seen. He’s trying his best. Just like you. Just like me.”

“Trying one’s best is no miracle. I can take the pain from you by biting your thigh and making you moan my name. If that’s not miraculous, nothing he does could be.”

I pressed my lips together angrily, pushing up and off him. He hissed at the loss and reached for me. But I slipped away and stood to get dressed. My clothing was on the chair nearby where I’d left it the morning before.

“Vael Vexley, you are, without a doubt, the most stubborn horse’s ass to ever grace Verdune’s soil.” If stubbornness were a virtue, the priests of Kathos would have painted his likeness on half the chapel walls in Sol.

I found my slip shorts first and pulled them on. Followed closely by my blouse.

Vael stood, fastened his trousers, and crossed over to me, trying to pull me into his arms. I shrugged him off and grabbed my corset instead. It was still laced from when I’d removed it the night before—far too tight to put back on, which meant it had to be released first.

The thought of doing it myself without magic killed the last burst of my irritation.

He sighed, stepped in behind me, and took it from my hands. “Here,” he murmured, fingers finding the knots, working them lax with practiced care.

Once the laces were sufficiently loose, I slipped the corset on and fastened the busk. He was already there, gathering them again. The brush of his knuckles against my back sent a shiver up my spine, no matter how much I wanted to stay angry.

“Ready?” he asked, voice low near my ear. I despised how quickly I would melt for that voice.

I nodded, and he pulled—firm, steady—drawing the garment tight around me. My breath hitched despite myself.

“I’m worried about you, Rowena,” he said finally. “If that makes me an ass, then I’m an ass.”

I picked up one of my stockings, scanning the floor for the other, only to find it dangling from Vael’s outstretched hand. I snatched it from him without thanks.

“I know you’re an ass, Vael. I know you worry.

I have fears too.” I sat on the chair, rolling the first stocking up my leg, then the second.

“I’m scared because it’s been six months since this thing appeared, and nothing shrinks it.

Nothing gets me closer to removing it altogether.

All we ever find are balms.” Balm after balm, poultices of Solian herbs, Norlese frost-salts, even ritual smoke on Camaday mornings—none had done more than dull the edges.

I smoothed the stocking seam and glanced up at him. “I need a panacea.”

My skirt had slid off the chair when I sat. I scooped it up and stepped into it, shimmying the fabric into place.

Vael started shrugging on his waistcoat. “Well, I’ll hand it to Silas, that amulet has been the most… useful thing we’ve found.”

I touched the jewelry in question—a long silver chain with a polished, emerald-cut piece of bloodstone.

Silas had carved it from a larger stone in his office, saying that bloodstone held trace amounts of ancient blood.

Probably the reason most of Camarae’s followers used them in their worship of the goddess.