Page 36

WINNOW

A handful of days pass, and Gideon and I develop a routine, where he wakes up long before I do, in the wee hours of the morning to start his day of work, and I sleep in.

So accustomed to rising early with all the demands of holding the duchy, lingering in bed is a rare event I relish.

However, coupled with a lingering tiredness that I fear is already the first inkling of needing blood, it dampens the joy of it.

I always make sure that by the time noon rolls around—about eight hours after Gideon gets up for work, I have his favourite sandwich ready for him.

Each passing day has felt like a guillotine, making a stuttering approach to my throat, further exasperated by the fact that food has become less and less satiating.

We’ve taken to reading together in the evenings, sometimes taking turns as he strokes my hair and my skin until I’m drenched between my thighs.

The fact that I know I can’t tell him yet about who or what I am, much less ask him to let me drink his blood, or accept me as his soulbound, is the only thing stopping me from quite literally begging him to fuck me.

Or give into the ever intensifying impulse I have to introduce my throat to his cock.

Gideon, too, seems to be holding himself back as well, and admittedly, I’m mildly afraid to ask why.

And to make matters worse, I’m well aware that no amount of sandwich-making and pleasant company is going to be enough to prove my value to him, especially without him knowing about or, presumably, feeling the tether between us as intensely as I do.

Lorne’s words return to me again, making my gut churn.

““Your royal blood means nothing if that’s all you have to give. So what else do you have to offer me, girl? A pretty cunt?”

Gods damn it.

I refuse to let Lorne haunt me any longer.

And not merely because I yearn to give to Gideon in ways that have absolutely nothing to do with the lingering need to prove my worth.

That need is overshadowed by something so much greater.

I want to make Gideon happy. I want to show him, in every possible way I can, just how much I appreciate him.

I want him to feel my gratitude for him.

I want him to feel seen and supported in every way that I never have.

For days now, I’ve watched him rise before dawn, pouring every piece of himself into this land.

And now me.

But who pours into him?

Who fills the cup of a man who never stops giving?

It’s a plight I’m all too familiar with.

It’s only been a handful of days, but he’s my soulbound —and I want to give him everything I am.

I just hope it’s enough to make him willing to bleed for me.