Page 4 of Blood Legacy (Eternal Descent (MistHallow Academy) #1)

4

DANTE

The hallway of MistHallow’s top floor residence hall is silent at this hour. Day students are in bed already, and night students are in class. The magickal lamps that line the walls seem to have dimmed their glow as though respecting the need for discretion. I stand motionless outside her door, listening.

Inside, I hear the soft rustling of movement, confirming my suspicion. Gaida Aragon is in her bedroom.

I didn’t see her leave the Blood Bar, which means a personal escort from the Headmaster himself.

I lean against the wall opposite her door, considering this. The stone is cold against my back, but I barely register the sensation.

I’ve been at MistHallow Academy for precisely seven days. Long enough to learn the rhythms of the place, to identify key players, to begin mapping the complex web of powers and alliances that define any institution of magickal learning.

My family transferred me here from L’Académie des Ombres in southern France to learn Dark Magick. It is one of two Academies in the world that have this on their curriculum. It is exclusive, sought after. Dangerous.

The fact that Gaida Aragon, the daughter of the most powerful vampire family in existence, is here hadn’t escaped my notice. It makes me think my family’s motives were twofold.

I narrow my eyes and weigh my options. The intelligent choice would be to retreat and wait for a less volatile moment to engage with Gaida. Our encounter at the Blood Bar was merely introductory, a testing of the waters. There will be other opportunities, carefully orchestrated ones where Blackthorn’s interference is less likely.

But I find myself reluctant to leave.

The DuLoc bloodline has maintained its purity for seven centuries through strategic matches and careful planning. We are calculators of advantage, players of the long game. My presence at MistHallow is becoming clearer by the day. This is the latest move in a generational strategy.

Nice of them to tell me, but then they never have been ones to be open and direct. Insidious and sly is more their style.

The image of Gaida dancing above me lingers in my mind. The weight of her shoe on my cock as she rested her foot on the barstool. The silken texture of her ankle beneath my fingers. The flash of defiance in her eyes when Blackthorn entered the bar. There was something intoxicating about her recklessness, something that called to a part of me I typically keep tightly contained.

She is politically strategic and hot as fuck. If it’s my family’s wish to pursue her, for once, I’m not about to argue.

Before I can form another thought, the door swings open.

Gaida Aragon stands in front of me, completely naked.

Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders, framing a face that manages to look both annoyed and imperious despite her lack of attire. Her body is a masterpiece of vampire genetics—pale, flawless skin stretched over lean muscle and perfect curves. The diamond anklet I noticed earlier glints in the light, the only adornment on her body.

My gaze travels unhurriedly from her bare feet upward, taking in every centimetre of exposed skin with deliberate appreciation, lingering on her shaven pussy that makes my mouth water. When our eyes finally meet, I find her watching me with an expression caught between amusement and impatience.

“Don’t just stand there,” she says, turning around to saunter away, showing off her perfect arse.

I raise an eyebrow, maintaining my composure despite the unexpected scenario. Pushing off from the wall, I cross the threshold and close the door quietly, and then stay where I am. This is a slightly dangerous game. There is something going on between her and the Headmaster. Whatever that is remains to be seen, but I have inside information that tells me it’s deep. Trespassing on his territory is probably not the most responsible thing I will do this year, but then again, responsibility isn’t exactly my forte.

Her suite, which looks similar to mine, is exactly what one would expect from a vampire of her standing—luxurious without being ostentatious. A four-poster bed dominates the space, draped in crimson silk sheets that complement the antique furniture. Books and scrolls are scattered across a mahogany desk, suggesting genuine academic interests beneath her rebellious exterior.

“So Blackthorn transported you directly to your bedroom,” I observe, staying where I am, suddenly unsure what her intentions are here. Is she using me because she is pissed off with Blackthorn? “Quite the personal touch from the Headmaster.”

She snorts as she crosses to a wardrobe and pulls out a black silk robe. “He was making a point.”

“What point might that be?”

“That he has power and isn’t afraid to use it.” She shrugs into the robe but leaves it untied, the edges barely meeting over her tits with their peaked pink nipples, which would look good with my dick sliding between them. “That he can control where I am and what I do.”

I turn to face her fully, curious about the dynamics at play. “And does he? Control you?”

Something dangerous flashes in her eyes. “No one controls me.”

“Not even Aurelius Aragon?” I ask, referencing her notorious father, just to see her reaction. “I find that rather hard to believe.”

She moves toward me with sleek elegance, stopping close enough that I can smell the lingering scent of expensive perfume beneath the faint traces of Blood Beer and mint mouthwash.

“You don’t know me, Dante DuLoc,” she says, her voice dropping to a silken whisper. “Don’t presume to understand my relationship with my father or anyone else.”

I smile, not at all intimidated by her display. We’re both purebloods, both born to ancient families with power that ordinary vampires can only dream of. This puts us on equal footing, a rarity for both of us. We are two of three our age. It’s a strange and unique dynamic.

“I don’t presume anything,” I reply, my voice equally soft. “But I am curious about what game you’re playing with Blackthorn.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “What makes you think I’m playing a game?”

“Because I recognise a strategic move when I see one.” I take a step closer, eliminating what little space remains between us so her nipples brush against my tee. “The question is whether you’re the player or the piece being moved across the board.”

She laughs, the sound both musical and sharp as she stands her ground. “Oh, I’m definitely the player.”

“Are you?” I reach out, tracing a single finger along the edge of her robe where it falls open. Her skin is warm beneath my touch, warmer than most vampires. It’s a trait of purebloods—we run hot, our ancient blood carrying more life than our turned counterparts. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like Blackthorn just made a decisive move by removing you from the Blood Bar.”

Her smile fades slightly. “A temporary setback.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

Something shifts in her expression—a calculation, a reassessment. She steps back, creating distance between us.

“Why are you here, Dante?” she asks, tying her robe closed.

I stand perfectly still, watching her through narrowed eyes. The question hangs between us. Why am I here? Is it because of the magnetic pull I felt at the Blood Bar? My family’s potential interest in an alliance with the Aragons? Or something simpler—base attraction to a beautiful, powerful woman who seems determined to play with fire?

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” I say finally, offering a partial truth. “Blackthorn looked displeased.”

She scoffs, moving to perch on the edge of her bed. “Displeased is his default setting.”

“With you specifically, or with everyone?”

“Both.” She runs a hand through her long dark hair, the movement causing her robe to slip slightly, revealing the curve of one breast. “But especially with me lately.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I refuse to be just another obedient student in his precious academy.” There’s fire in her words, a defiance that seems deeply personal. “He thinks his rules apply to everyone equally.”

“Don’t they?”

Her blue eyes lock with mine. “Not to me.”

I study her carefully, piecing together what I’ve observed and what I know of vampire politics. “You’re deliberately provoking him.”

It’s not a question, and she doesn’t treat it as one. Instead, she smiles, slow and dangerous. “Perhaps.”

“Why?”

She leans back on her hands, the position pushing her chest forward slightly, a calculated move that doesn’t escape my notice. The silk of her robe shifts, revealing more skin than it conceals.

“Because he interests me,” she says simply, as though discussing the weather rather than what appears to be a dangerous fixation on one of the most powerful vampires in existence. “Because he is a real man who doesn’t give a toss who my father is or who I am. He will fight for me. When he finally admits he wants me.”

Studying her response, I’m taken slightly aback. “That’s brutally honest. It’s playing with fire, Gaida. Blackthorn isn’t just any vampire. He’s ancient, powerful, and, by all accounts, dangerous when provoked.”

“I know exactly what he is.” Her smile turns knowing. “That’s precisely what makes him worthwhile.”

I sit beside her on the bed, close enough that our thighs touch. “And where do I fit into this game of yours?”

She turns to face me, her blue eyes calculating. “This isn’t a game. I’m not playing. I want him. And where you fit in depends on you. Are you looking to play, Dante DuLoc? Or are you just another vampire boy sent by Daddy to forge alliances with the Aragon princess?”

Her directness is refreshing. Most people dance around such political realities, cloaking them in pleasantries and pretence. Gaida Aragon, it seems, has no patience for such games.

“My father didn’t send me here specifically for you,” I admit, deciding that honesty might be the best way forward. “In fact, he didn’t mention you at all. I’m here for something else. Something that had better be worth my while because I was quite happy where I was.”

“And where was that?”

“L’Académie des Ombres in southern France.”

“Ohh, fancy. Do you speak French?”

“I do.”

“Did you have a girlfriend?” Her sly question is backed up by a devious expression.

“Does it matter? I’m here now.”

“Ouch. Hope she knows you’re a player.”

I laugh darkly. “I don’t have a girlfriend. Like you, I find women my own age dull, boring and catty.”

“So you like them older.”

“No,” I say honestly, surprising her and me both. “I just haven’t found the right one.” Until now. Too bad she is determined to burn her hands clean off by messing with Blackthorn.

“So what do you want, Dante DuLoc?” she asks.

“What I want,” I say, keeping my voice low, “is to understand what makes Gaida Aragon tick. Because in seven days at MistHallow, I’ve seen you dismiss every advance, ignore every invitation, isolate yourself from everyone and generally act like you’re above it all. Yet tonight, you danced on a bar and let me touch you.”

“Maybe I was bored,” she says with a shrug that’s too casual to be genuine.

“Or maybe,” I continue, “you’re using me to make Blackthorn jealous.”

Her eyes narrow fractionally, and I know I’ve hit a nerve.

“That’s a bold accusation.”

“Am I wrong?”

She stands abruptly, moving to the window where snow continues to fall outside. The silhouette of her body is visible through the thin silk robe, outlined by the moonlight filtering through the glass.

“Yes. You’re wrong. I had no idea he would show up to drag me back here. I should’ve known. He knows shit. But I felt your eyes on me, and I liked it.”

The moment hangs between us.

“So where does that leave us?” I ask.

She turns back toward me, her face half-shadowed.

“That depends,” she says, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You haven’t given me an answer yet. What do you want from this, Dante? A political alliance? A quick fuck? Or something else entirely?”

“I don’t know yet. You are a wildcard, and you are clearly infatuated with a vampire that is out of your league?—”

She is in front of me in a flash of speed, slapping me so hard that her nails scratch my cheek. “Fuck you,” she hisses as I stare at her in amusement.

“Hit a nerve?”

Gaida stands over me, fury blazing in her eyes. The delicate silk of her robe has slipped further, revealing the curve of one breast and the smooth plane of her stomach. Her chest rises and falls rapidly with each angry breath.

“You know nothing about me or what I want,” she hisses, her voice low and dangerous. “And you certainly know nothing about what league I’m in.”

I touch my cheek where her nails scratched me, feeling the sting and the warm trickle of blood. The scent of it fills the air between us—rich, potent with ancient lineage. Without breaking eye contact, I bring my fingers to my lips and taste my blood.

Her eyes dart straight to my mouth, and her arousal floods my senses.

“On the contrary,” I say, moving my hand to cup her pussy over the silk gently before I squeeze her. “I know exactly what you are, Gaida Aragon. A pureblood princess playing with forces beyond your control because you’re bored with the predictability of your privileged existence.”

Her eyes flash dangerously, pupils dilating with anger, even as she catches her breath from my touch. “Get out.”

“That was half-hearted, at best,” I murmur, finding her clit with my thumb and circling it through the soft fabric.

“You’re crossing a line,” she warns, but her voice has lost its edge, replaced by a breathiness that betrays her arousal.

“Am I?” I continue the gentle circular motion, watching her expression shift from anger to something more complex. “You invited me in while naked. You’ve been flirting with danger all night. I’m simply following your lead.”

A shudder runs through her body as my thumb finds a particularly sensitive spot. Her hands, which moments ago were balled into fists, now rest on my shoulders, not pushing me away, but not quite pulling me closer either.

“This isn’t about you,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know.” I meet her gaze steadily. “It’s about him. But he’s not here, is he?”

Something flickers in her eyes. Disappointment, perhaps, or resignation. She knows I’m right, and that knowledge seems to deflate some of her earlier fire.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispers.

I don’t answer her. Instead, I slip my fingers through the gap in her robe to slide them over her slippery clit.

She lets out a low whimper.

“Close your eyes, Gaida,” I murmur, playing into her fantasy just for the hell of it. “Pretend it’s him.”

“Fuck,” she pants. “Don’t.”

“Do it,” I order. “Feel his touch through me. Show me how turned on you are by him touching you. Show me how much you want him.”

Her eyes flutter closed, her breath quickening as I continue my gentle exploration. Her juices coat my fingers as I slide them between her folds, finding her entrance and circling it teasingly.

“You want his hands on you like this,” I murmur, my voice deliberately lower, rougher. “His fingers inside you.”

A soft moan escapes her lips as I push one finger inside her, then another. Her pussy clenches around me, hot and tight. The scent of her arousal fills the air, intoxicating in its intensity.

“Tell me what you want from him,” I command softly, twisting my fingers. “Tell me your fantasies, Gaida.”

Her hips move against my hand, seeking more friction, more pressure. Her control slips with each stroke of my fingers.

“I want him to lose control,” she whispers, her voice breathy and vulnerable in a way I suspect few have ever heard. “I want to see what’s beneath all that perfect composure. I want him to want me so badly that he forgets all the reasons he shouldn’t.”

I increase the pace of my finger-fuck, adding my thumb to circle her clit. Her hands tighten on my shoulders, her vampire claws digging in through my shirt as she lets her real self loose.

“And what would you do if he did?” I ask, genuinely curious now. “If the great Luke Blackthorn finally gave in to what you both clearly want?”

Her eyes snap open, blue irises nearly swallowed by dilated pupils. There’s something fierce and primal in her gaze that makes my cock throb painfully against my jeans.

“I’d devour him,” she whispers, her voice raw with honesty. “I’d take everything he’s willing to give and demand more.”

The confession hangs between us, charged with an intensity that makes the air feel heavy. My fingers continue their relentless rhythm inside her, feeling her inner walls tighten with each stroke.

“Show me,” I challenge, my voice dropping to a growl. “Show me how you’d take what you want.”

Something shifts in her expression. It’s a decision made, a boundary crossed. With vampire speed, she pushes me back onto the bed and seamlessly straddles me. Her robe falls completely open, revealing her perfect body in the moonlight.

Her hands tear at my shirt, ripping the fabric as though it were paper. The sound of tearing cloth echoes in the quiet room as she exposes my chest. Her claws rake down my torso, drawing thin lines of blood that she immediately leans down to lick with a hungry moan.

“Is this what you want?” she purrs, grinding her wet heat against the bulge in my jeans. “To be my substitute? My placeholder until I get what I really want?”

The honesty is breathtaking and brutal in its clarity. Most would be offended, but I find her directness mesmerising. I grab her hips, digging my fingers into her soft flesh as I thrust upward against her.

“Maybe I want to see what he’s missing,” I growl, watching her eyes dilate further at my words. “Maybe I want to know what it’s like to have Gaida Aragon lose control.”

She laughs, the sound dark and sensual as she reaches between us to unbuckle my belt. “Who says I’m the one who’s going to lose control?”

Her fingers make quick work of my jeans, opening them to free my cock. She wraps her hand around it, stroking it as she positions herself above me.

“Last chance to back out,” she whispers, hovering with the tip of my cock just brushing her entrance. “Once we cross this line, there’s no going back.”

I look up at her, at the wild beauty of her with her hair falling around her shoulders and her robe hanging open. There’s something almost greedy in her expression, a hunger that transcends simple lust.

“I’m not backing out,” I say, gripping her hips tighter. “But I’m not his substitute either.” I take over control and thrust deep inside her, making her gasp.

Her head falls back, exposing the elegant column of her throat, her pulse visible beneath pale skin. The sight of it makes my fangs ache to extend, to pierce that delicate flesh and taste what ancient blood flows beneath.

“Gods,” she breathes, adjusting to the feel of me inside her. Her pussy clutches me, hot and tight and perfect.

I grip her hips harder, guiding her into a slow rhythm that quickly becomes more urgent. Each movement sends pleasure coursing through me, sharp and intense. The silk of her robe pools around us like spilt ink, dark against her exquisite pale skin.

“Look at me,” I demand, wanting to see her eyes, to know if she’s truly here with me or lost in fantasy.

Her gaze locks with mine, blue eyes blazing with desire. She moves faster, taking control of our pace, her hands braced against my chest as she rides me with increasing abandon, her claws sinking into my flesh, making me bleed.

“Is this what you imagined?” I ask, thrusting up to meet her. “Is this how you pictured it with him?”

“Yes,” she pants. “Fuck, yes.” Her climax hits her hard, and I chuckle darkly as her cunt grips my cock possessively.

Her body shudders above me, vampire strength making the bed creak beneath us. I grip her hips and flip her onto her back, never breaking our connection. The silk tangles beneath her as I brace myself above her, driving deeper, harder.

“If you’re using me,” I growl against her ear, “I’m going to make damn sure you remember who was actually inside you.”

Her eyes widen, pupils wide with pleasure as I change the angle, rubbing against her g-spot so she trembles again on the brink of an orgasm. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer.

“Dante,” she moans, and something primal in me responds to hearing my name on her lips.

I capture her mouth with mine, our first kiss ironically coming after I’m already buried inside her. Her lips are soft but demanding, her tongue meeting mine with equal force. Her taste is incredible, and she has an incredible sweetness mixed with the copper tang of my blood as it catches on her fangs.

Her hands slide up my back, nails scoring my skin as I increase my pace. Each thrust drives us both higher, the tension building between us like a gathering storm.

“Is this still about him?” I challenge, gripping her thigh and lifting it higher to drive even deeper.

Her back arches beautifully, her perfect tits bouncing with each thrust. “Always,” she pants. “It’s always about him.”

“Then I’m not fucking you hard enough.”