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Lorcan

I huddled next to the fireplace in what had once been the dining room. The wet and cold seeped into my bones, but I didn’t try to shake them off. I didn’t want to. I felt nothing except the void that ate at my insides. The wind howled through the broken walls, its icy fingers clawing at me.

I leaned my head back against the wall. Briar must have done the same because her scent clung to the stone. The soft fragrance of her shampoo, her perfume, tore my heart in two, reminding me of what I’d had and thrown away. But it soothed a corner of me, reminding me I was getting closer to her.

The room offered little protection from the elements. Water dripped from the floorboards above, slipping through the cracks like tiny arrows reaching for my heart. I closed my eyes. Even if I had dry wood and matches, I don’t know that a fire would burn with the gusts that permeated the room.

The fires that had warmed this hearth were more than physical.

The friendships that deepened around it, the alliances made—to be invited to Lyons Hold was a gesture of genuine friendship; accepting was an unspoken commitment.

The last time I had been here, the sconces had flickered with candlelight, warming the walls.

Lady Isobel’s smile had lit up the room as she and Harrowmont celebrated.

Laughter filled the air, along with the scents of roasted meat and honeyed wine.

Now, all that remained were dust and ghosts.

She had just learned she was pregnant. She radiated joy, as any expectant mother did. Harrowmont reflected that joy in every way possible, and the thought of being a father was one of the best he could have. If only I had seen what that pregnancy would mean—what it would do.

The men, including Ashdowne, clapped the expectant father on the shoulder and offered their congratulations on a job well done.

Now, if only she would produce a son. The ladies gathered around Isobel, hiding their smiles behind their fans as they whispered the news, something not meant for polite society.

“Lorcan,” she said, bouncing toward me, hands extended, her smile radiant. “You must let me take you on a tour of the nursery.”

I sipped my whiskey. “The nursery? You already have it planned?”

“Of course,” she beamed. “I’ve wanted this for so long, and Aldric and I are so pleased.”

I chuckled and dropped my voice to a playful whisper. “Are you sure this is something you’re supposed to be discussing with me?”

She shook her head. “Now, Lorcan, you and I both know you’re old enough to understand all this.”

I tilted my head. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

She gave me a sly smile. “Do you think I haven’t noticed? That I don’t know?”

She pulled back and lowered her voice. “Your portraits are all the same. And you haven’t been very clever with your names. They always follow the same order. Kieran. Cormac. Lorcan. Aiden. Conall. And then it repeats. Even the royals aren’t that predictable with their names.”

A chill that had nothing to do with the night crawled up my spine. She had noticed too much. I tilted my head and managed a wide, brittle smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She giggled. “I am sure that you do. But your secret is safe with me. I want nothing to keep it.”

Her name floated through the air.

“Excuse me. Let me see what Aldric needs, but then I’ll be back.” She walked to her husband’s side.

I knew right then that I would need to keep an eye on her. But I wasn’t the only one watching her.

I turned, catching Ashdowne staring after her. Walking up beside him, I stared into the amber liquid in my glass. “She’s spoken for, Ashdowne. She’s not for you.”

He groaned deep in his chest. “But she smells so wonderful. Her blood… I can’t get it out of my mind. To taste her properly just once…” His voice was thick with hunger, his pupils blown wide. The way he said it—like she was nothing but a meal—made my hands itch to strike him.

I forced the air from my lungs. “You must resist. She should have no part of this life. Look at her and Harrowmont. They’re perfect for each other. Happy. In love. Something our kind rarely gets.”

Ashdowne smirked—an evil thing. “Perhaps I’ll take her anyway.

Again and again—until she trembles beneath me, whispering for mercy as I drink from her, right at that glorious little button at her core, where she’s most delicate.

I wonder how long before her sobs of pain turn to moans of pleasure…

before her traitorous body breaks as I suckle the blood from her.

And then I’ll fuck her—slowly, deliberately—until every vow she made to that mortal melts into breathless invitations.

Tell me—what do you think her tears taste like?

What do her screams sound like as torment becomes rapture?

Or how does she feel when her sweet, fragile body surrenders to ecstasy it never asked for? ”

My grip tightened around my glass, my hand shaking.

A deep, controlled breath was all that kept me from ripping his throat out then and there.

I had to get my progeny out of England. Until I could, I would remain at his side—ration his access to my blood so he could only move at night.

“That is not why I gave you the gift I did.”

“Maybe you should have thought about what it would do to me. I wouldn’t be a beast without your blood in my veins.

” His eyes lit up as he raised his glass and walked away from me toward the happy couple.

“Harrowmont, we’re having a stag hunt at my place next weekend. You and your lovely bride should come.”

A sharp gust of wind yanked me from my thoughts, the cold biting deep. In her grief after her husband’s death, Isobel lost the baby. She never spoke of it again, but their deaths had stolen the light from her eyes. And Ashdowne never stopped his pursuit.

After that day, my world felt lost as well. Over time, my friends… my family… Briar. They were all gone. Not because they wanted to leave, but because I had pushed them away.

I dug the heels of my palms into my eyes, my fingers gripping my hair. I wanted her in my arms. To hold her. Keep her safe. A scream tore from my throat, an unbearable pain clawing inside my chest.

A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck, and my heart raced as my gums throbbed. I curled my lips around my teeth, willing my fangs to recede. The hunger was rising, and the only blood I wanted was hers.

I couldn’t let go. Not now. Not like this.

I pressed my head back against the wall, forcing myself to breathe.

Her scent still lingered in the air, ghostlike but present, wrapping around me, my sentence and salvation wrapped together.

Any other time, I would have pushed it away, buried it under discipline and denial. But now? I needed it.

I needed her —the memory of her—to pull me back. To remind me of who I was, and what I would never forgive myself for becoming.

The rain fell in sheets, hammering against the remains of the room.

The wind howled, forcing tiny needles of icy water into my skin, the scent of brine and earth mingling with Briar.

I breathed in her scent again, my wet clothing clinging to my skin, willing the water for a premonition of what came next, but nothing appeared.

I inhaled deeply, her scent curling into my nostrils. My heart lurched as memories of her flooded through me.

The curve of her body… The way she—

I pushed the thought away. A growl rumbled low in my throat.

No. I couldn’t think about that. Not now.

But fatigue clung to me, loosening the grip I had on my self-control.

Images of her, my desires of what we could be, slipped through the cracks—her lips on mine, the sweet taste of her tongue as I chased it with my own.

I could see it clearly. I sat on the bed, naked, my cock already hard from the sight of her. She kneeled between my legs, sitting back on her heels, her bare breasts brushing against my chest. My hands rested on her hips, fingers trailing over the lace of her panties.

A moan rolled deep in her chest. “I need you, Lorcan.”

I could feel her breath on my lips as she spoke, which sent more blood rushing to my already swollen cock. “And what if I tell you no?”

She pulled back, her eyes flying open. “You would never…”

“Wouldn’t I, wildflower?” I took her lips with my own, rough and commanding.

I laced my fingers into her hair, pulling her away from me with a yelp from her that made my cock twitch.

I exhaled slowly, relishing that sound. I forced her eyes to meet mine.

“Wouldn’t I tell you no so that I could play?

Just so I could see how wet I can make that sweet, delicious cunt of mine? ”

Owning her cunt wasn’t about control, but about giving her more than she could ever ask for, yet never more than she could handle. How far could I push her before she broke apart in bliss?

Her face twisted, and her gaze dropped. I tightened my grasp until she looked at me again.

“Oh yes, wildflower.” I ran a finger between her naked breasts, up her throat, and pinched her chin. “That cunt belongs to me now, and I will use it whenever and however I desire.”

She swallowed hard. A nervous flicker passed through her gaze. I kissed her gently, letting go of her chin and hair. “I promise you this: it will always bring you pleasure.”

I wanted her surrender so I could guide her to ecstasy more than anything, for her to embrace her darkest desires with eagerness instead of shame, to take her to heights she would never find on her own, heights I could help her reach if she trusted me to respond to the subconscious cues her body gave me when she wanted more, even if she couldn’t voice it herself.

She tilted her head. “And if it doesn’t?”