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eight

C elandine stared up at Troi. She could already see a hint of fangs between his lips. His veil spells, their only armor against Rixor, hung by a thread from Troi’s bloodlust. Her heart began to pound—from fear or desire, she knew not which.

She firmed her hold on his hand and subtly took the lead in their dance, guiding him toward the garden doors. She smiled like a flirt for their audience to see and whispered, “I know every nook and cranny of my manor. I’ll take us somewhere safe where you can feed.”

“Feast,” he said. “We call it the Feast.”

She drifted to a stop and tucked her arm in his, strolling with him out into the gardens. “Now is hardly the time to debate Hesperine semantics.”

“It matters.” His voice had gone husky. “Your blood is a gift, not fodder. The Drink is only the sharing of blood. The Feast is the sharing of blood and bodies. Which one do you want tonight, Celandine?”

She suddenly felt as if she would go up in flames, despite the pleasant night air and the spray of a nearby fountain. She started to reply, rounding the splashing basin, but fell silent at the sight of the man coming toward them.

Kaion had arrived early.

He walked along the garden path with his hands tucked in the bell sleeves of his flame-red robes. He paused and gave them a pleasant smile. “Good evening.”

She would never forget that calm voice from her trial, when he had put her through the humiliating tests that had exposed her magic and doomed her.

But the face he showed the world had fallen as he had watched the gates of the Temple of Chera shut between them.

That day, she had seen the sick satisfaction in his eyes.

“You must be our visitors from Clementia whom everyone is talking about,” Kaion said.

How long had he been lurking in the gardens and picking up gossip? Could he have noticed any of the magic she and Troi had used tonight?

Troi rested a hand on hers. Her fingers were digging into his arm, she realized. “Indeed,” he said. “I regret we did not make your acquaintance in the ballroom, Honored Master.”

The fire mage dipped his head. “I am Kaion of the Aithourian Circle, here on behalf of the Order of Anthros to speak the summer blessing over Prince Rixor’s feast.”

Here to further their schemes, more like. Celandine kept her courtly expression frozen on her face through the mundane pleasantries that served as a thin veneer over everyone’s ulterior motives.

She risked a glance at Troi’s mouth. No sign of his fangs now. How much longer could he keep up this much magic in front of Kaion? Any moment, the mage could detect his spell…or Troi’s hunger could break it.

“Darling,” Celandine said faintly, “might we sit a moment? I fear I am still feeling overheated from the great hall.”

“Of course, my dear,” Troi replied. “Let us find a bench in a cooler area of the garden.”

Kaion gave her a benevolent look. “I wish you a swift recovery, Princess Aurelia.”

As they walked on, she could feel his presence, cracking with magic, recede toward the house.

Troi wrapped an arm tightly around her waist. “I will put his eyes out before I murder him for the way he looked at you. Did he think I wouldn’t notice him undressing you with his eyes?”

“He thinks he can get away with anything he likes. It’s a miracle he kept his cock in his robes long enough to recite his vows of celibacy. You know how the Aithourian Circle is. They enforce their order on everyone else while holding themselves above the rules—”

Celandine broke off, her eyes widening at Troi’s fangs.

His veils were gone. Which meant so were the ones he had cast on her.

She spread her fan in front of her face and glanced around. Two of Rixor’s guards were only a few paces away. If they merely turned their heads, they would spot her and Troi.

She pulled Troi behind a line of hedges, but voices and suggestive laughter warned her a flirting couple was about to turn down this path. The only cover within reach was a patch of shadow between a decorative archway and the surrounding bushes.

Celandine pushed Troi into the narrow space and squeezed in with him, flattening her back against the side of the archway. His body pressed against hers from chest to thigh.

He looked down at her and bared his fangs, gazing at her throat with dilated eyes. His unveiled presence engulfed her, a hungry darkness she could drown in. She tried to breathe quietly, but her pounding heart seemed loud enough to give them away.

The half-drunk couple passed beneath the archway. Celandine slipped out of their hiding place, grabbed his hand, and made a break for the area of the gardens where guests were not permitted.

She careened to a halt at a statue of a past Aligeran princess. The heavy marching of a patrol drummed in her ears as she touched her hand to her ancestress’s outstretched palm. Nothing happened.

Celandine cursed silently and rubbed the statue’s hand. The footsteps drew closer.

With a scrape, a stone panel swung open in the wall behind the statue. She let out a sigh of relief and plunged through the hidden gate to her private garden.

She crept with Troi toward the entrance to her chambers. “Can you sense anyone nearby?”

“No. This wing is deserted.”

“Good. My gardens and rooms should be empty, since Rixor has no princess yet.”

“Yes, Celandine.” His voice sent a shiver through her. “Take me to your bedchamber.”

How strange it was to sneak under the familiar portico, through the door she had always left open on her gardens. Everything was well kept for Rixor’s future bride, but the lock still opened for her. She brought Troi into the intimate space that had once been hers.

She shoved the door shut and relocked it. In the torchlight that filtered in from the gardens, she barely saw her luxuries. She only saw Troi.

“What do you want?” he asked her again.

“Your bite,” she confessed.

He began to unfasten her high collar. He kissed each new inch of skin he exposed, his stubble teasing her skin. He was the hungry one, and yet she thought she would starve before he finally pulled her dress down around her shoulders.

He lifted her against the door with breathtaking strength. Half-trapped in her skirts, she gripped him between her legs.

“Is this all right?” he asked against her neck.

“Yes. Yes —”

At last, he penetrated her throat. As he gulped down her blood, a wave of dizziness made her head whirl, but he held her steady in his embrace. She let her head fall back against the door, giving herself over to the pleasure of his bite.

The magic in his aura deepened by the moment.

Suddenly chairs skidded across the thick carpets to block every door in the room.

Then spells descended around them, and the noise of the party outside went silent.

She felt wrapped in a dream, free from the rest of the world with a golden prince who ruled the night.

Troi lifted his head with a groan.

“Do you need more?” she gasped.

“Do you?” he replied.

She needed everything.

Not the plan, not the plan, her wiser self shouted in the back of her mind.

Change of plans, she thought, drowning out the inner warning.

She pushed against his shoulders. He released her, letting her feet slide to the floor, and backed away.

She gave him another push, this time toward the bed. His look of disappointment turned to a wicked grin. She laughed and shoved him harder. He tumbled back onto the plush layers of blankets.

She stripped off every piece of clothing she had so carefully prepared for him that night. He lay naked and decadent across her bed.

Prince Troilus did not disappoint. With a moan of appreciation, she traced a fingernail along his hipbone to watch his erection twitch. After not being allowed anywhere near a cock since she’d donned her shroud, she couldn’t have hoped for a finer specimen on which to sin.

“Come make a mockery of your vows of celibacy,” he invited.

She left her own clothes on the floor and joined him on the bed.

Cupping her breasts in her hands, she ran her fingers in slow circles over her nipples.

The uncaring gods knew she’d had precious few opportunities to enjoy her own body in the last ten years.

She reveled in it now and in how he tracked her every motion with his rapt gaze.

Wetness trickled down the inside of her thigh. He flared his nostrils, his eyes hooded with desire. Was he scenting her? Could he smell her lust? The sheer physicality of that aroused some base instinct inside her.

She ran her hands up his chest and straddled him, relishing the feel of his body under hers. He gripped her hips as she fitted herself to him. His fingers dug in, bruising, real. Every nerve in her body hummed, overwhelmed with sensations she’d thought she would never feel again.

She sank slowly down onto him, unable to hold back a whimper. He heaved a breath, his muscular chest rising and falling. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his gleaming eyes, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, could only feel his hard length stretching and filling her.

They had once been skilled and coveted lovers, but now they crashed together without artistry, grasping and rubbing, their breaths mingling in the warm confines of the bed. She rode him hard, and his muscles bunched and released under her hands as he flexed up to meet her.

All the tension inside her shattered at once, and her core convulsed around his shaft. She writhed on him, moaning like an animal. But the look in his eyes as he watched her come apart…

He gazed upon her as if she were a princess and his body was her throne.

After the long moments of her climax, she sagged over him, her limbs trembling. He was still rock hard between her legs. The tales of immortal control and stamina were true. She kept moving on him just to feel him inside her.

He lay back, one arm propped behind his head. “I could watch you forever, Celandine.”

She withdrew, then came down fast on him again to get him deep inside her.

“Take as much as you want,” he rasped, “for as long as you wish.”

She pulled her knees up and arched her back, and he tilted his hips into her new angle. Fuck, he was so good.

“No one is watching but me,” he said.

With his hypnotic voice urging her on, she put her hand where their bodies joined. She ran her fingers over her slippery clitoris and keened at the overwhelming sensation.

“That’s right, Celandine. Worship your body on me.”

She stimulated herself faster, rocking on his cock. Her eyes rolled back. But before she let herself fly, she eased off to prolong the moment. Each time she took up the rhythm again, the waves of pleasure grew more intense, the looming crest higher.

“Keep going,” he said. “You deserve more pleasure than you can hold.”

“I can’t take any more,” she cried.

“Are you ready to come, Celandine?”

“I want you to make me come.”

“I’ll turn you over and show you how good it is to have a Hesperine for a lover.”

“Yes,” she gasped.

He moved so fast his body was a blur. The world flipped. She was suddenly on her back beneath his weight, pinned by his cock and his feral gaze. The strength of his body on hers felt so good…so inescapable. She lay trembling under him with need and uncertainty.

“You are still in command,” he breathed against her breasts. “Do you understand?”

“You’ll let me go if I ask?” She needed to hear him say it.

He smoothed her hair back from her face. “Of course. My power is nothing but your instrument of pleasure tonight.”

“I want to feel your power,” she whispered.

He pinned her wrists above her head in one of his big hands. Now he went still, his body taut with tension. Like a man struggling to master himself.

He was not in command at all.

What would happen if he lost control completely?

A rush traveled through her. Better to court death with her legs wrapped around a Hesperine than to waste away in a shroud.

“I want your fangs and your cock inside me,” she demanded.

With a growl, he struck her throat. The pain was too good, the pleasure, too much. She bowed under him, and with a firm thrust, he held her down.

He clamped his other hand around her knee and pushed her leg up. Seating himself even deeper in her, he adjusted the angle of his hips. Sensation blazed through her clitoris, and she hissed.

He sucked her throat in time with his thrusts.

Every move built friction along her most sensitive nerves.

Curses ran through her mind, all the filthiest, most profane oaths she had ever heard against the gods who had denied her this divine experience.

But she was speechless, lying beneath him in utter surrender as he worked her body.

He drove her relentlessly to her peak and brought her crashing down. She screamed into the muffled shadows of his veil spells. He kept thrusting, letting out a long groan as if savoring the most exquisite delicacy.

He didn’t stop. He rode her clitoris until her climax turned into another. She bit down on his jugular while she spasmed under him.

A tremor moved through his whole, beautiful body. His fangs clamped tighter on her throat, and he surged between her legs. She watched him, felt him spiral into that moment when even an immortal could fall under a human’s power. He lost himself inside her in long, hard pulses.

He collapsed on top of her, his fangs still embedded in her neck. His grip slackened on her wrists. She freed her hands and stroked his body, along his strong shoulders, down the contours of his back, over his taut buttocks.

He lapped at her neck, then kissed his way across to the other side again. Oh, gods. He was still hungry. How much blood did it really take to revive a Hesperine after one hundred years of starvation? She was willing to find out.

“Shall I turn you over again?” he purred.

“Cover me.”

He dragged a fat pillow over and turned her onto her belly, propping her hips where he wanted her. He spread her legs wider with his strong hands. She lay splayed with a Hesperine behind her, closing in on her where she couldn’t see. Gooseflesh broke out on her skin, and her core throbbed.

Troi sank his fangs in slowly this time and began to suckle her gently.

She arched on a wave of pleasure. Her sigh turned to a gasp as the head of his cock pressed firmly into her cleft.

Her blood had already engorged him. She panted into the darkness as his thickness filled her to her limit once more.

They mated in a haze of teeth and heated skin and soft shouts within the shelter of the bed curtains. When he was done with her, she lay spooned with him, a blissful languor in her limbs.

In that moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care about the time racing by or why they had come here. She felt alive with a long-lost, fleeting feeling she couldn’t put a name to, except her own.