Page 18

Whose Blood?

Beth couldn’t breathe.

She stood right behind Sinrik, fisting his jacket in both hands as instructed so as not to slip on the ramp.

Her pulse jumped with her gasp when the door hissed open and began to lower.

“Ready Swampy?” Sinrik barely asked.

“Yes,” she whispered, nodding. “I’m so nervous.”

He took a step and she followed, careful not to step on his heels. The baby gave a big kick to her ribs as a gust of winter air stole her breath. Oh God, it was happening. Bishop was out there, waiting for her. He had things to tell her and wanted to wait to do it in person. It had her nauseated with fear and worry of what it might be. Him being angry for what she did being the top fear.

Her first step on land, she released Sinrik and searched the darkness. Her heart lurched at seeing him. She gasped on half a sob, her legs frozen as he came toward her, dressed exactly like he was the first night she’d ever laid eyes on him. Her breaths came faster as he hurried toward her, his pace unstoppable. Finally, her legs unlocked and she shot out toward him.

The distance between them disappeared, his face getting clearer, raw and intense. A sob tore from her as he swooped in with perfection, his hand locking onto the back of her neck as he covered her mouth with his. She gasped as he kissed her, fisting her fingers in leather, his lips crushed against hers like they were the only thing keeping him grounded, like the taste of her confirmed reality.

A low sound rumbled in his chest, a deep, fractured exhale as he pulled up with a ragged, “Merci Dieu, merci Dieu,” right in her mouth as he kissed her.

Beth choked on a sob, knees weak as she pressed as close as she could, needing more, needing everything.

He broke the kiss, breathing heavily with his forehead on hers, holding her to him. His chest rose hard as he let go another ragged exhale and, “Merci, Dieu.”

Beth’s heart ached. “This is real,” she whispered, voice breaking.

His eyes locked on hers and her breath froze at seeing one of them oddly bright before it roamed over her face. “I’m a little different,” he whispered, diving for her mouth again with a groan. Then he lifted her.

Beth’s breath caught as he cradled her in his arms and pulled her against his chest like she weighed nothing. Her gasps stuttered into a cry and she buried her face in his neck, fingers clenching his silky thick hair. “God, you smell like heaven.” She pressed her mouth against his skin, sucking and tasting the scent of smoke and mint. “I missed you so much. I’m so sorry. I love you, I love you so much.”

****

The boat drifted smoothly over the dark water, the soft hum of the motor the only sound beneath the night. Three boats like theirs followed behind them, one holding the kings, the other carrying the apprentices. Beth didn’t know which boat Sinrik was on and she felt a pang of guilt for just leaving him without a word.

Spook drove their boat and she vaguely wondered who drove the other two. She hadn’t seen anybody but Bishop. And right now, she was still cradled in his lap, feeling so safe, so whole as he pressed his lips constantly on some part of her. He had her hand on his mouth, and she loved the feel of his perfect, full lips, letting her fingers explore his face. It was so smooth, like he’d shaved really close. His lips pressed on her forehead now and every half minute he whispered thank you God in French, bringing fresh tears to her eyes.

Her breath hitched as his hand slid slowly over her stomach, his palm broad and warm, fingers splaying just enough to feel. He exhaled against her ear. “How is our son?” His voice was low, rough, intimate. A quiet rasp against her skin that sent heat wrapping her spine.

“I think he’s good,” she whispered back.

His fingers moved along her neck, feeling, touching. Almost seeking. His mouth moved along her jaw with soft kisses, his pace erotically slow. At her ear, he murmured, “I’m so fucking hungry for you.”

Sharp heat pounced right on her clit at the hot shake in his breath.

He hummed low in approval, his fingers turning firm along her jaw before forcing her mouth to his and stabbing his tongue in deep.

“Oh God,” she gasped when he eased off, his fingers touching her lips now in that curious, learning way.

“You’re strong. Healthy. Perfect,” he murmured at her ear. “But tired.”

Beth barely swallowed, her pulse like a bird in her chest. “I’ll rest when you do.”

Bishop huffed a quiet laugh, nibbling gently at her jaw. “Still stubborn.” His touch returned to her belly, fingers flexing gently, feeling every inch. “Mow fees pah-fay,” he muttered softly, raising his gaze to hers.

She smiled slowly. “And what does that mean?”

He meshed his lips to hers. “My perfect son. Just like his Mah-Mah.”

She grabbed his face and pulled his mouth to hers, pressing their lips tightly before pulling back. “I love you so much.”

****

The heavy oak door clicked shut. Bishop pressed his palm against it for half a second, exhaling slowly.

Finally alone.

The room was quiet and dimly lit by a single oil lamp that made the wood and leather of the Creole King’s office glow. But his eyes were on her.

Standing a few feet away, eyes still damp, lips still swollen from his kisses. His new body had many perks he approved of with her. His perceptions were dimensional in ways that fed him down to his soul.

Every bit of him ached to touch her again. Remap every inch of her.

He turned the lock with a slow, deliberate twist then made his way slowly to her, watching her pulse and breaths quicken, her pupils widen.

She stood against the desk as he began removing her clothes, a slow unwrapping of his treasure. She allowed him to do as he pleased, and he kissed gently along her mouth to show his appreciation.

With every piece of clothing removed, his blood and breath thickened.

He realized another change. His old self would have connected with everything about her already. Now, it was layered information. A slow dissection. A savoring. Her heartbeat, her blood composition, the heat variance in her skin. It was an erotic rush. Before, it was a bombardment of knowing too much too fast. This was... incredibly delicious. It made him learn every bit of her the way he wanted to. Slowly. Entirely.

And judging by her arousal, it doubled as an outrageous form of pleasure-edging.

His fingers slid under the hem of her shirt, pressing into warm skin, feeling every dip and curve before he lifted it over her head and removed it.

“Bishop,” Beth panted as he locked his eyes on her fucking tits overflowing black lace. It felt like an assault. Made him want to retaliate. Punish.

His chest rose slow and deep as he traced under the swell of her breasts. He raised his gaze to hers and leaned in. Lips inches from hers, he moved his thumbs over her nipples, catching her gasps.

He angled his head, fire moving through his veins and cock till his breaths shuddered with a hunger deeper than anything he’d ever felt. A hunger that matched his new abilities and their appetites.

He lowered his head, dragging his mouth over the slope of her neck, parting his lips and tasting. Salt and heat. He flicked his tongue over her pulse next. The slow savoring drove her to claw at his skin, demanding with those decadent mewls.

Her desperate fight moved to his jeans, clawing to get them open. He pulled back, locking his gaze on her while sliding out of his coat. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and paused.

“What?” she gasped, her hooded eyes raising to his.

“I’m different here.”

Her brows drew together as he let her lift his shirt. Midway up, she froze and her gasp felt like a snap in his spine.

“I did what I had to,” he muttered.

She lowered the shirt, her arousal replaced with agony and confusion. “What… kind of accident was this?”

He took her face in his hands and gently pulled her mouth to his. “A minor explosion.”

She shoved him back, looking at his face. “Minor? Tell me everything! Now!” she gasped, chest heaving.

He had to smile. Her righteous fury for him seemed to be some kind of rocket booster and her persuasive gifts were utterly ineffective. Other than he could feel them, little fists, futilely banging against an iron door.

“Don’t smile at me!” she cried, cute offense mixing with her worry.

“Telling you those details wouldn’t be good for the baby,” he said, leaning in for her lips.

She gave a light huff, but let him kiss her.

He yanked the lace down on her breasts and devoured her mouth when she gasped then moaned, “That’s playing dirty.”

“So fucking dirty,” he agreed on her mouth while gripping her full tits. “So fucking beautiful.” He kneaded the perfection then lowered, taking half her breast into his mouth with a starved groan.

Her fingers sank into his hair, the rake of her nails lighting his fucking world up. He straightened and removed his shirt, getting her mouth and gasps on him immediately.

His breaths rushed out ragged as he held her head, watching her tongue drag across his nipple. She pulled back, stroking the hardened expanse of his chest, fingering the flesh seamlessly merged with the bioceramic reinforcements. It formed an unbreakable lattice, dense yet eerily smooth. Like armor forged from living tissue. “Does it hurt?” she whispered, the ghostly gleam of crystalline shifting subtly with his breaths.

“No,” he said, covering her hands with his, moving them over his pecs, then lower over the carbide infused calcium just beneath the surface. “It’s weightless… unyielding.” He’d engineered himself for destruction. Her weapon. Her shield.

Her hands were at his jeans again. This time he helped her. He hadn’t seen himself, but he felt the difference in his cock. The layer of biopolymer encasing him wasn’t for protection but pleasure. All hers. It mimicked the heat and texture of flesh with a sentient responsiveness calibrated to her body alone. Pressure, movement, amplified sensation. All while ensuring she took every inch of him with perfect ease. No, it wasn’t just built for her pleasure—it was built to ruin her for anything else.

She took soft hold of his length in both hands, creating an instant river of burning ecstasy in his veins. “Fuck,” he gasped, his head dropping back as he covered her hands with his, squeezing tighter, moving her slowly over the length.

“I need you,” she pled, desperate.

He surfaced through the euphoria, his gaze hooded as he stared at her. He moved his hands along her open legs, keeping their eyes locked, letting her guide him to what was fucking his.

He reached behind her and pushed whatever was on the desk out of his way then worked his hands under her hips while looking between them. The sight of himself poised at her entrance brought a rush of chemical explosions that turned him on, literally. His canines throbbed with a deep rumble in his chest, ready to take his angel on a ride she’d never recover from.

He pushed inside her, slow, merciless, stretching her open in a way that parted her mouth with a silent cry. His hands tightened under her hips, keeping her exactly where he wanted as he watched the way her body took him, inch by burning inch.

“All fucking mine,” he rasped, the possessiveness vibrating in his cock.

She clawed at his wrists, tipping her head back as she arched. “Yes,” she gasped, her breath breaking as he sank deeper. His thickness glided in with an unbearable ease that made her legs shake.

He had done this. Built himself for her. Reforged his body down to the molecule to fit her like a second skin, make her feel every inch of him, every pulse. And he was feeling every part of her in return—how tight she was, how wet, how her walls clenched and pulled, desperate for more.

“Look at me,” he growled, his fingers digging into her hips as he held himself buried inside her.

Her lids slowly lifted, her breaths labored, pupils wide.

“There she is,” he whispered, pulling out just enough to make her whimper before thrusting slow and deep, watching the part of her lips, the tremble in her body. He set the rhythm—long, deep strokes, his cock dragging against every nerve, every pleasure point.

The air felt electric as heat built inside him to nearly scorching.

He leaned in, she leaned back.

He braced his hands on the desk, filling her completely, his breath ragged from the tight clench of her silk.

“Bishop,” she choked, her voice breaking on a sob of pleasure.

She lit his arms on fire with the rake of her nails, the assault reaching the base of his canines. He took her mouth in a kiss, deep and consuming as his next thrust.

Her cry snapped from her chest as his fangs grazed her lips, his hunger pouring into her in ragged growls.

He was at the very edge of his control now.

“You ready for me?” The whispered warning was dark. Primal.

“Please.”

The desperate plea snapped his restraint. He gripped her hip and the back of her neck, taking her with ruthless hunger. It was an erotic symphony. The sounds of their bodies colliding, her broken cries, his ragged grunts, the slick, obscene way he slammed into her, deeper, harder.

Her orgasm rose before him and he splayed his fingers over her ass, pressing her in tight. Her thick flesh gave under his grip as he forced her clit against his body with filthy, sharp drags till her legs trembled around him.

Her shatter came, a scream breaking against his skin, her body convulsing, milking him in uncontrollable waves. At the cry of his name, his head dropped and he plunged his fangs into her, locking their bodies together.

The rush of her blood flooded his mouth—hot, electric, alive. His venom surged, a claiming, a seal, binding her deeper to him, his upgrades writing itself into the marrow of their bones.

Everything seized inside him when he hit a foreign thread laced in her essence.

Kill instincts curled around it and quarantined it with surgical precision as he studied the threat.

It wasn’t hers. It wasn’t his. It wasn’t their son’s.

He silenced the sharp, instinctive snarl pushing in his chest, keeping Beth locked in the aftershocks of their pleasure while he dissected its signature down to the molecular level.

He carefully withdrew his fangs, licking and kissing at the wound as Beth sobbed against him, still trembling from pleasure. He softened instantly, arms locking around her, soothing her as his lips brushed over her damp skin. He traced kisses from her temple to her jaw till her breath evened out, fingers tangling in his hair.

He kissed reverently at the shell of her ear. “Whose blood did you have?”

Her entire body went still.

He pulled up right as a single, shattered breath left her, followed by another. She curled into him, pressing her forehead against his chest.

“I… I didn’t know what was happening,” she choked, voice thick with guilt. “I was just suddenly—needing it. I don’t know why. I hated myself, I felt so dirty—”

He gripped her chin and tilted her face up, kissing her lips. “There is nothing to forgive, Ma petite ange,” he swore.

Her lips trembled. “But I—”

“If you needed it, then you did the right thing.” He caught her tear with his thumb, wiping it away while damn sure there was far more to it than she seemed to know.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, sobbing. “I love you. You know how much I love you.”

He gripped her head tightly to him. “I do know,” he whispered, petting and stroking her everywhere. “I know it with all that I am.”

His mind returned to the blood in quarantine, knowing before verifying. Sinrik.

His own blood twisted around it, stripping it, ready to reforge it into something new. Something Sinrik would never see coming.