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ALARIC

I s she…flirting with me? I know she’s quite drunk and that’s the reason she’s acting this way, but I can’t deny that I like it. She’d swayed as we’d walked through the camp, almost as if she were dancing to music that only she could hear. The movement of her hips made my cock and fangs both throb. I’d felt her gaze on me throughout the evening, and some ridiculous, ego-driven part of me had been delighted by that fact, by the fact that she’d been watching me all night, not the friend she’d been spending time with, the one she’d been sitting awfully close to by the fire and touching so casually. The jealousy that had speared through me at the sight had been sharp and jagged, but I’d prepared myself before we’d gone to the fire, knowing what I might see. Even still, keeping my temper reined in while keeping the calm facade had taken every ounce of my training and control.

But she’d been staring at me , a voice whispers through my mind. Me . Not Ravenswood. And the way she’d been staring, the way her heart had raced and her breath had shallowed as our eyes met through those flames…

I stare at her now as we stand near the fireplace. She gives me a look that’s half flirtatious, half challenging, and I almost smile, my lips quirking up ever so slightly on one side. Feeling lighter than I have in too long to recall, simply being near her easing my soul in ways I never expected, I decide to play along.

“Let’s find out.” I beckon her to follow me and her heartbeat speeds up, thundering and mocking in my ears. “Your heart, Keeva,” I groan.

“As if I can control it,” she retorts from behind my back and I can all but hear her rolling her eyes. I do smile now, listening to her stumbling a bit to keep up with my long strides. “Fucking vampires,” she grumbles, and I’m fairly certain she doesn’t realize that she’s said it out loud. I stifle a laugh as we enter her dining room.

I point to one of the chairs.

“Sit,” I command. She gives me a crooked grin and a mock salute before waltzing to the table, humming quietly. I rummage around in the large cabinet for a cup and turn to find her perched on top of the table instead of sitting in the chair, swinging her legs and leaning back on her hands. She’s running her fingers through her hair as it tumbles down her back in crimson waves. I don’t know why her hair is so attractive to me, but I can’t keep my eyes off it, constantly imagining what it might feel like to tangle my fingers through the strands. Her cheeks are flushed from the ale and the color does little to help thwart my desires.

She seems so at ease and comfortable now, more so than I’ve ever seen her. It’s…nice. I like seeing her this way, all tension and pretenses and expectations gone. Is this how she was before all of this Consort business, when she was home and happy with her family? Part of my mind wonders if she could ever be this way here—without the help of copious amounts of ale, that is. Could she ever be truly happy here, with me? No, I remind myself. Not with me. That’s impossible. But here, as my Consort. I want her to be. I need her to be. But I honestly don’t know how to make that happen. I have no experience keeping the company of women for anything other than a night or two in my bed, let alone with dealing with a human.

I push the thoughts away and approach with a crystal goblet. She gives me a sly grin.

“Ach, yer in for a treat, High General. I am good and sloshed.” My lips twitch and damn if her brogue isn’t adorable. Drunk or angry, she said, but I can’t help but wonder if it comes out any other time, perhaps when she’s screaming in pleasure…

She holds out her wrist, pulling me from my thoughts, and I take it. I watch the blood pumping through her delicate veins, my fangs lengthening and throbbing. It’s been almost a full month since I’ve had her blood fresh from her body and the anticipation of it now makes a small shudder run up my spine. I gently rub my thumb across her skin, slow, soft circles that make something begin to shift in the air around us. I know I’m playing a very dangerous game, but I can’t seem to stop. I use my nail to slice a quick gash in her skin and she gasps quietly.

“Did it hurt?” I ask softly.

“No,” she says, a little breathless. “I…” She holds my gaze for a moment more and then looks away. “No, I barely felt it.” I quirk a brow, knowing she’d intended to say something else. Was she gasping at my touch before I cut her? I can tell she’s feeling…something but the bond isn’t strong enough yet for me to decipher her emotions clearly, just a faint impression of something . Her pulse is racing, her blood pumping into the cup, but that could be for myriad reasons. Fear. Disgust. Hatred.

But…I don’t think it’s for any of those reasons. I think it’s for something else entirely. Not that it fucking matters , I remind myself.

The urge to dip my head and take her wrist between my lips is nearly overwhelming. I swallow hard and inhale deeply, the scent of her blood hitting me like Revenant’s cudgel to the chest. Gods.

I sit the goblet aside and examine the wound. As I’d suspected, the accelerated healing from our blood exchange at the Choosing has faded. Yet the binding affected her while I was gone, made her uncomfortable. Interesting. I pierce the pad of my thumb with a fang, a small bead of blood welling.

“What are you doing?” she asks as I swipe my thumb over the cut.

“The quick healing you’ve been experiencing from the binding during the Choosing has faded. A bit of my blood over the wound will have the same effect and will keep you from walking around with bandages on your arms constantly.”

“Oh,” she whispers and when I raise my eyes from her arm, I realize how close I’ve somehow moved to her. Our bodies are nearly touching, her thigh only a hairsbreadth away from mine, our faces so close that I can see every fleck of gold in her eyes, every nearly invisible freckle on her nose. She holds my gaze and I can feel the danger in the air around us, like a prowling beast circling us, just waiting to pounce. But I don’t look away and neither does she.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she raises her other hand and presses it softly to my chest. I shudder, my eyes sliding closed. That simple touch is enough to make my body burn and my soul ache. She slides it upwards, my breaths making my chest heave beneath her fingers. When they reach the place where my shirt gaps and she touches my bare skin, I nearly lose control. Even so, I don’t move when she leans forward, her lips so close to mine that I can feel her soft exhales skating over my skin.

“Alaric,” she whispers, and the sound is enough to send me to my knees. My fangs sharpen, my body tensing—to strike? Fuck . It’s enough to break the trance I’ve been in, fear for her suddenly coursing through my body at the thought of hurting her. My eyes flash open and I step away so quickly she nearly tumbles off of the table.

She blinks as if coming out of a dream and quickly drops her hand into her lap. Her cheeks heat and I can tell she’s embarrassed. I don’t know what to say or do, so I clear my throat and turn away, snatching the goblet from the table.

“Let’s test your theory, shall we?” I say, hoping my voice is as even as I’m willing it to be. I drink, her blood coating my tongue and sending fire through my veins. I keep my back to her as I wander around the room, running my fingers over the carved cabinetry. I hear her yawn behind me, her heart rate slowing from the wild drumming a few moments ago. I force my body to calm as well, to forget what had just happened. Or what had almost happened, rather.

I take another sip from the goblet and I almost laugh—I can indeed taste the ale in her blood, and it sends a pleasurable hum through my body. I turn to tell her the results of our little experiment, but she’s curled on top of the table like a cat, fast asleep. I huff out a small laugh and shake my head at how quickly she could be pulled under. Then again, I know great amounts of alcohol have that effect on humans.

I move closer and watch her for a few moments. She has her hands pillowed beneath her cheek, almost like a child, and her lips are parted as her breaths grow slow and even. I’m not sure how long I watch her, simply enjoying being near her, the soft sounds of her breathing soothing an ache in my chest that I never even knew was there until now, until she eased it. I give myself these few moments to lean into the mating bond, to feel the connection between us, the power and joy and feeling of rightness washing through me. I can see all too clearly how easy it would be to become used to this, to let myself fall into her completely and be truly happy, perhaps for the first time in my long life. But I cannot. Enough.

I shudder and pull my gaze away, glancing around.

What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Leave her to sleep on a table all night? Track down her Keeper to handle the situation? That seems more trouble than it’s worth, knowing damn well that she’s off with Malcom. At least one of us will enjoy this evening with company , I think sourly. Even the thought of summoning a companion for the night makes me feel sick. So, I’m apparently doomed to be celibate for the rest of my fucking life. I pinch the bridge of my nose, forcing the annoyance away, focusing on one problem at a time. And right now, my problem is that Dahlia is asleep on a fucking table and I can’t leave her here all night.

I sigh and steel myself before I hook one arm beneath her knees, the other across her back, and lift her easily from the table. Gods, it’s as if she’s made of feathers, perhaps even air. So damned fragile, so easily breakable . I clench my jaw, remembering how close I’d come earlier to doing something reprehensible, something that could have killed her so fucking easily.

She doesn’t wake, but stirs a bit, turning to lean her cheek against my chest. I freeze for a heartbeat, not daring to move or breathe or think. The feeling of her in my arms, of her leaning into me so trustingly, it’s nearly too much, but not nearly enough at the same time.

“Fuck me,” I grate quietly. Why are the gods punishing me so? I’ve given my entire life to protecting others, to keeping the continent safe from those monsters, and this is how I’m repaid? With a mate I can never touch or claim? To be so close to her and yet never close enough, always having to keep myself away. It’s fucking bullshit.

I move swiftly down the hall to her bed chamber. I settle her atop the mattress and quickly unlace and remove her boots. I refuse to let myself even think about removing anything else and instead maneuver her beneath the thick blankets fully clothed. I’m just pulling away when her hand brushes mine.

“Alaric,” she whispers. The word hits me just as hard now as it had earlier.

“Yes, Keeva?” I say, voice low and embarrassingly rough.

She doesn’t answer, just gives a small “ mmm ” and sighs contentedly, a soft smile playing on her lips. Still asleep, I realize. Is she dreaming of me?

It. Doesn’t. Fucking. Matter. I step away and quickly retreat to my wing.

Retreat.

The High Fucking General of the vampiric army, the most feared warlord in all of history, retreated from a drunk human muttering in her sleep. I slam my door shut so hard the wood creaks and the hinges shake. I lean against it heavily, rubbing the heels of my hands against my eyes.

“I am good and fucked,” I whisper to no one.