Page 49 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)

“You can’t release me,” he continued, his tone measured but edged with a quiet ferocity.

“I will stay here. I will pretend I am still broken.” His fingers ghosted over my pulse, his touch both a caress and a warning.

“You will go to my men. Tell them what happened. They will believe you. Tell them to surround the building. They must be anywhere and everywhere. They will blend in.”

A dark smirk curved his lips, the barest flicker of amusement breaking through the calculated coldness. “I will come to the masquerade. You can be certain of this.”

His hands slid down my arms, teasing, possessive, before settling at my waist. His grip was light—deceptively so—but there was no mistaking the control in his touch.

“Put poison in their food and drink,” he murmured, his voice a dark caress against my ear. “But be careful, my love. I couldn’t bear it if harm came to you.”

The warning shivered through me, a stark reminder of our fine line. The stakes were high; every detail of our plan was crucial to its success. One wrong move, one misstep, and we would be the ones to fall.

Amir’s hands lingered at my sides, grounding me. “Stay away from Mathias,” he added, his tone dropping lower. “Women are his weakness. We must ensure this ball is filled with other beautiful women to distract him. He likes to play with them.”

His words were strategic, but beneath them lay something unspoken. Perhaps concern, or simply the calculated care of a man who knew that misdirection was key to survival.

Then, almost imperceptibly, his expression softened. “Although none will be as captivating as you, my love.”

The warmth in his voice was fleeting, quickly replaced by the cold focus of a man prepared for war.

“Stay as Lord Winston’s obedient betrothed.”

The weight of it settled over me. We were stepping into something irreversible, weaving a web of deception that, if tangled, could be the death of us both. The walls of this society were closing in, and we had only one chance to bring them down from within.

I swallowed, steadying myself before I met his gaze. “Amir,” I whispered, my voice hushed. “There’s one thing I still need from you.”

His eyes darkened slightly, assessing me, reading the unwavering determination behind my words.

“I need your blood to complete the poison.”

The request lingered between us like a whispered oath, a dark covenant binding us in ways neither dared to name. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. Instead, he extended his arm with practiced grace, the flickering torchlight casting jagged shadows across the lines of his face.

My pulse quickened.

I glanced around the dim dungeon, my breath shallow, until my gaze landed on a jagged shard of stone jutting from the crumbling wall—crude but lethal enough.

I wrenched it free, the rough edges scraping against my palm. The sting barely registered. My focus was locked on him, on the unwavering trust in his gaze and the quiet dominance in the way he watched me—waiting.

The cold, unyielding stone pressed against his skin as I dragged it down in a shallow cut. His breath hitched. A single, ragged intake—so brief it was almost imperceptible—but I felt the tension that coiled in the air between us.

Crimson welled against his swarthy complexion, blooming in a slow, hypnotic trickle.

My fingers slid between the curves of my breasts, grazing flushed skin as I retrieved the glass vial nestled there.

I pulled it free, its warmth proof it had been resting against me for far too long.

Holding it beneath his wound, I watched, transfixed, as each drop of his essence fell into the vial, swirling like liquid rubies.

Something visceral stirred in me. I should have looked away and been clinical and methodical, but I wasn’t. I was entranced. I was mesmerized by the way his life bled for me willingly, as if he’d surrendered something deeper than flesh—something twisted, sacred, and utterly his.

Once I had his blood, I corked the vial and tucked it back between my breasts.

My gaze drifted to Amir’s hand—his blood still trickling, dark and warm.

Desire curled in my belly. Slowly, I lifted his hand to my lips, breath trembling, heart pounding, as I pressed a kiss to the wound before letting my tongue taste him.

The metallic tang of iron flooded my mouth, rich and intoxicating.

His blood—hot, vital—seeped into me, igniting something deep, something raw.

It spread through my veins like fire, like power, a wicked hunger unfurling in its wake.

I shuddered, my entire body alight with something dark and insatiable, something heedless of consequence.

A deep, guttural sound escaped him—a growl, a warning, a surrender.

His eyes burned, wild and untamed, locking onto mine with an intensity that frightened and thrilled me.

It was as if an otherworldly force had taken hold of us, binding us in a feverish madness where desire and destruction were indistinguishable.

His scent—sweat, leather, raw need—wrapped around me, pulling me into his gravity like a moth to a flame.

And when his lips crashed onto mine, it was violent, desperate, unrelenting.

There was no gentleness, no hesitation—only hunger, only need.

His mouth claimed me, his tongue tangling with mine in a battle as fierce as the fire raging between us.

I gasped into him, my hands clawing at his chest, at his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing more.

He pushed me back against the cold stone, his hands rough and insistent, pushing my skirt higher, fingers burning against my bare skin.

My hands fumbled at the laces of his breeches, trembling with urgency.

The ache between my thighs was unbearable, maddening—I didn’t just want him; I needed him, like air in my lungs, like the blood that had just passed between my lips.

His body pressed against mine, hard, and hot.

Through the thin barrier of clothes, I could feel him—every rigid, aching inch.

My breath hitched as his hands gripped my hips, bruising, possessive, demanding.

My fingers found him, wrapped around him, feeling the pulse of his need, the way it mirrored my own.

His forehead pressed against mine, his breath ragged, his control slipping like sand through his fingers. “Do you feel this?” he grated, his voice rough, guttural, laced with torment and pure, unfiltered lust. “This is what you do to me.”

Then, with a swift, commanding motion, he lifted me, his hands gripping me with bruising possession. My back hit the cold stone wall, but I barely registered it—because in the next breath, he drove into me.

A raw, animalistic groan tore from my throat. “Amir?—”

Never before had I felt so unchained, so free. Something vital and untamed had awakened inside me, something I couldn’t explain—something I didn’t want to explain. I could only surrender, wrapping my legs around him, pulling him deeper, gasping as he filled me.

“More,” I whispered, my nails raking down his back, desperate, greedy. “Don’t stop.”

A dark, approving sound rumbled from his chest, low and feral, vibrating through me like a violent storm.

His fingers dug into my hips, holding me as he thrust again and again, each movement brutal and demanding.

I gasped at the intensity, the way he stretched me, the way he claimed me.

I felt split apart, overwhelmed—yet I still wanted more.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice a razor’s edge of dominance.

I did.

His eyes were ablaze, wild with something that bordered on madness, his pupils blown wide with unrelenting hunger.

The flickering torchlight cast shadows over his sweat-slicked skin, over the tension rippling through every muscle in his body.

He looked like a god of war, a conqueror—and I was his spoils.

And I wanted to be conquered.

His pace turned savage, relentless, each movement a savage demand that sent pleasure crashing through me like a raging tide. Every nerve in my body seared, the fire growing hotter, devouring me whole.

The world outside this moment ceased to exist.

There was no time. No morality. No reason.

Only this. Only him. Only us.

“Elizabeth,” Amir hissed before capturing my lips in a bruising, possessive kiss. His teeth scraped against my bottom lip, dragging a whimper from my throat as he owned my mouth the same way he owned my body.

“Amir,” I groaned when I came up for air, my head tilting back against the cold stone. I needed him. I needed the way he filled me, stretched me, and drove me to madness with every brutal thrust.

The intoxicating symphony of heat and desire between us was unstoppable, unbreakable.

I raked my nails down his shoulders, my fingers digging into his skin, leaving fire trails in their wake. His head snapped back, a low, guttural growl rumbling from deep in his chest. The raw, unrestrained sound sent another bolt of heat coursing through me, the kind that devoured, wrecked, ruined.

We were tangled in a maelstrom of passion—dark, desperate, delicious. Each movement pulled me deeper into the storm, into the abyss of him, where only pleasure existed. His thrusts turned merciless—faster, harder, deeper. Every stroke was a claim, a demand, a silent vow that said I was his.

And gods help me—I never wanted to belong to anyone else.

The pleasure built, winding tight, a blistering, unbearable crescendo. His name tore from my lips in a breathless, broken plea. He was ruthless, and I was helpless against the force of him, against the overwhelming pleasure that shattered me.

We unraveled together.

My body clenched around him, my climax ripping through me like wildfire, stealing the breath from my lungs.

Amir followed, his body stiffening before he let out a deep, throaty groan—a sound of pure, unbridled satisfaction—as he buried himself inside me, spilling his pleasure into me like he never wanted to let me go.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. We were wrecked. Breathless. Bound by something neither of us could name.

And then I felt it—the filth beneath me, the decay of the dungeon around us, the stench of death clinging to the air. How had we found love in a place so tainted by despair?

But love we had found. Dark. Twisted. Unstoppable.

“Elizabeth,” he growled, his voice still rough with lingering desire, still edged with that untamed, animalistic hunger. It reverberated through the stone chamber, through me.

“Together, we will conquer the world, and you and I will be free.”

I met his gaze, my lips curling into something sinful, something knowing. “I can’t wait,” I murmured.

The scent of blood clung to the air, thick and suffocating, mingling with the damp rot of the dungeon. The dead bodies strewn across the stone floor were a silent testament to our fight—a macabre declaration that we had stepped beyond the point of hesitation.

There was no turning back.

Mathias, Lord Winston, and my father were likely toasting their victories in some candlelit tavern, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath their feet. They had no idea what was coming.

Amir and I rose in unison, the eerie stillness settling like a final benediction.

“Well?” I asked, casting my gaze over the carnage as I straightened my skirts, my fingers still slick with the night’s work.

Amir merely shrugged. “Warriors do as they must.”

With effortless strength, he reached down and seized the arm of a lifeless man, dragging him toward the dungeon’s darkest recesses. His movements were practiced. This was not the first time Amir had hidden bodies in the shadows, and it would not be the last.

I stepped over the corpse of the woman who had been with Lord Winston, a flicker of something jagged twisting in my chest. Pity? Regret? No. Those emotions were as dead as the bodies at our feet.

Side by side, Amir and I worked in silence, concealing the evidence, stuffing them beneath the rotting husks of the countless Timebornes who had been tortured here before them. The weight of our victory pressed down on me, suffocating, exhilarating.

I had no idea if our plan would succeed.

I had never done anything like this before.

But I would not falter. I would not fail.

Not Amir. Not my mother’s dying breath.

Not the promise I made to scorch my father’s wicked society to the ground.

I had already stepped into the abyss.

Now, I would set it on fire.