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CHAPTER NINETEEN

PYRAH

When I pull back, his cock slides from my mouth with a wet pop, the sound wonderfully obscene. A drop of his seed pearls at the tip. Without thinking, I dart forward and lick him clean.

My eyes fly open with surprise. The taste of him explodes on my tongue—dark, rich, and bittersweet.

"You taste…delicious." I murmur. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Rook chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. His thumb strokes my cheek. “Some believe an incubus’s seed is an aphrodisiac."

"Is it?"

His eyes, embers in the firelight, search mine. "You tell me."

“Yes.” My own heartbeat pounds between my legs. I want him to fill my mouth. To drown me in that rich bittersweet taste.

Before he can speak, I pull him closer. My hand wraps around him, guiding him to my lips. Greedily, I suck. Like I’m parched and only this, only he , can quench my thirst.

I lavish attention on him with my tongue, exploring every ridge of his demonic cock. His blunt spikes seem especially sensitive. Whenever I lick them, his hips jerk and he struggles to remain quiet. I'm amazed by how close this strong demon has come to whimpering.

He closes his eyes, his face tight with exquisite agony. His hips buck, his hand twisting in my hair, pulling me closer, deeper. His taste intensifies, darker, richer. A wave of heat washes over me, pooling between my legs. My own body trembles, mirroring his.

His shadow wings snap open wide, twitching in time with his cock, and his tail lashes behind him.

“Pyrah,” he gasps. “I can't?—”

He comes with a shuddering cry. It’s a raw, vulnerable sound.

His seed floods my mouth, hot and thick and so, so rich.

I swallow, the taste exploding on my tongue.

He keeps pulsing, spasms racking his body, each one sending another surge of his essence into me.

I drink him down, every last drop, savoring him, until the final tremor fades and he's utterly spent.

He falls to his knees, his eyes closed, his mouth slack. His chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath. He looks…undone. There’s a raw vulnerability in his expression that pulls at something deep inside me. I have never seen him like this. So open. So exposed.

I reach out to him, my fingers tracing his jaw. He flinches at my touch, his eyes fluttering open. He says nothing and makes no sound. He just stares into my eyes. Understanding drifts down inside me.

He’s not just undone by pleasure. He’s undone by me .

I stroke his cheek again, marveling at how he leans into my touch. His silver skin glistens with sweat, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Those fierce red eyes that once frightened me now hold such raw emotion.

"Rook?" My voice comes out as a whisper.

His shadow wings and tail have vanished. Gone is the predatory tension that usually coils through his muscles. He's let his guard down completely.

"No one has ever..." He swallows hard, his words trailing off. His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. "I don't let anyone..."

I know what he means. The Gray Prince, the fearsome monster hunter, never allows himself to be vulnerable. He's always the one in control, the one doing the taking. But here, now, he's given that control to me.

My heart aches for him. I lean forward, pressing my forehead to his. His breath mingles with mine, warm and unsteady.

"Thank you," I whisper. "For trusting me."

A shudder runs through him. His arms wrap around me, pulling me close against his body. He buries his face in my neck. I hold him tighter, understanding the magnitude of what he's given me.

This isn't just pleasure—it's surrender. Complete and absolute.

"Never felt like this before." Rook's voice cracks, rough and raw. His chest rises and falls against mine, heart thundering beneath his ribs. "Not with anyone."

The admission strikes deep in my chest. His vulnerability, freely given, makes my heart ache. I stroke the nape of his neck, my fingers threading through his hair.

He draws back, those ember eyes searching my face. "Do you need—" His hand slides down to my waist. "Let me take care of you."

"Rook," I say softly. “Wait.”

I can't help thinking about his comment before. It was transactional. I don't want to remind him of that, to make him feel obligated to repay me somehow. I want him to know that he's worth all this and more.

His eyes search my face, brows drawing together in confusion. The vulnerability from moments ago shifts into something more uncertain. I recognize that look—he doesn't understand why I'm refusing his touch.

"Pyrah." His voice is rough, hesitant. "I'm not asking to feed. I want to please you.”

“You don't owe me anything.”

"This isn't about owing or repaying," he continues, voice dropping lower. "This is about wanting. And gods, do I want you."

My breath catches. The raw honesty in his voice makes my heart skip. The intensity of his gaze pins me in place.

“I'm still bleeding,” I protest.

He laughs, a wonderfully dark sound. "I'm an incubus. It takes far more than a bit of blood to frighten me away from what I want.”

I frown, pondering his earlier words. "Are you sure?" I swallow hard. "You don't need to feed?"

His eyes darken. "Not yet."

The pause before his answer makes my chest tighten. His jaw clenches, a tendon jumping, a subtle tell I have learned to read. The predator in him stirs beneath the surface.

"How often?" I ask. "How often must an incubus feed to survive?"

Rook's grip on my wrist tightens, then loosens. His thumb strokes across my pulse point. "It varies."

"Tell me the truth." I wait for him to meet my eyes. "How often do you need the devouring kiss?"

His jaw clenches. The shadows around us seem to deepen, perhaps responding to his tension. His silence speaks volumes.

"You fed from me that night in the forest," I say.

"Two days ago," he admits.

"Are you hungry now?"

When he speaks, it's so quiet I almost don't hear him. "No."

I'm not sure he's telling the truth. He would lie to me if he thought it would save me. "When will you need to devour me again?"

"I can survive for days without feeding." Something in his tone catches my attention. A slight hesitation, perhaps.

"Is it longer because you're only half-incubus?"

He shakes his head, hiding behind his long hair. "I don't know. There's no guidebook for cambions."

"How long have you gone without feeding before?"

His whole body stiffens. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken pain. Whatever memory I have stirred, it left deep scars.

"Rook?" I touch his shoulder.

His muscles bunch beneath my fingers. When he finally meets my gaze again, the vulnerability in his eyes makes my chest ache.

"You don't have to tell me," I whisper, though curiosity nibbles inside me. What happened to him? What forced him to go without feeding for so long it left this raw wound in his soul?

He inspects my face as if looking for judgment or disgust. Finding neither, he lets out a shaky breath.

"I was eighteen." Rook's voice sounds hoarse. "Father discovered what I was. What I had inherited from my mother."

A tremor runs through his body—not of pleasure but of pain.

"He said he would make a man of me." Rook's jaw clenches. "Locked me in one of his favorite brothels. Told the whores to tempt me but ordered me not to touch them."

My stomach turns. How cruel, forcing a young incubus to resist his very nature. "How long?"

"Days." His voice cracks. "He paid them to dance for me. To touch themselves. To beg me to take them." His shoulders hunch, as if he's trying to make himself smaller. "I never... I didn't want any of it. Didn't agree to it."

The vulnerability in his eyes breaks my heart. King Everhart may be dead, but his cruelty lives on in the scars he left on his son. I want nothing more than to burn his corpse to ash.

"The hunger..." Rook shudders. "By the fifth day, I couldn't think straight. Could barely remember my own name. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. My whole body felt numb."

“Rook,” I whisper, wanting to comfort him, not sure what he needs at this moment.

"Father said it would toughen me up." He grimaces. "Make me resist the demon blood in my veins."

I can't stop the horror creeping through me as Rook continues his story, his voice hollow and distant.

"I broke on the seventh day," he says. "The hunger... It consumed everything I was. I wasn't myself anymore. Just a monster."

“What happened?” I whisper.

"I fed from all of them." He speaks without a trace of emotion in his voice. "Every last woman in that brothel. I couldn't stop myself. The hunger was too strong."

"Did you hurt them?"

He shakes his head. "I left them weak, drained. But alive. And then..." His jaw clenches. "Father found me there, surrounded by unconscious women. He laughed . Clapped me on the shoulder as if I'd done something to make him proud. Said I was finally a real man now.”

I fight back the rage building in my chest. “He was wrong.”

"I never want to be that monster again," Rook says. "Never want to lose control like that."

“It wasn’t your fault.”

He bows his head. "Sometimes my hunger takes over. Even when I don't want to feed, even when I would rather starve..." His voice cracks. "My body betrays me."

“What happened at the brothel was your father's cruelty, not yours. You tried not to hurt them.”

“That's why consent matters so much to me now. Why I need to hear the words. Need to know it's freely given." He lifts his head and meets my gaze. "But even then, even when they say yes...sometimes I wonder if I truly have a choice myself."

I stare at him as the weight of his words hits me. The hunger that drives him isn't just about pleasure or sustenance. It's a chain that binds him, forcing him to act even when he doesn't want to.

"Like my father's punishments," he continues, voice rough. "The beatings. The humiliation. I never had a choice then, either." He pushes his hair from his eyes, his hands trembling. "Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be free."

“You will,” I say. “You are .”

“No.” His hands cradle my face, his claws so gentle. "I need you to understand something, Pyrah. I must have my own choice in this."

My heart clenches. "What do you mean?"

"I have to leave." His thumb strokes my cheek. "Not forever. Just long enough to find the soulstone in the castle. It will bring us equilibrium. Kelrial. I won't put you in danger any longer. I won't be such a slave to my hunger.”

Kelrial. The ancient Umbric word for balance strikes deep in my chest. I think I understand what he means—the soulstone might give him true freedom of choice.

He pulls me into his arms, the warmth of him surrounding me. "I'm sorry," he murmurs into my hair. "I don't want to leave you."

Fear claws at my heart at the thought of him invading the castle alone. I breathe in his scent of woodsmoke and pine sap, trying to calm myself down.

"Please be careful,” I say. “Come back to me safely."

"I will."

"When will you leave?"

He strokes the back of my head with his hand. “Not yet." His voice falls to a whisper. "Tonight."