“I need, I need…” Sobs of pleasure racked her throat.
Had she never experienced pleasure before? Did she not know what her body needed? Did she not realize she was on the verge of climax?
But the innocence in her helpless movements, the clumsiness in her jerky motions, made it clear that she didn’t. The realization shook him to his core.
He extended his thigh, parting her legs, and pressed it against her aching core.
She whimpered, grinding against him. Her actions driven purely by instinct-uncoordinated yet utterly addictive. “Oh… Ooh…”
A plaintive whine escaped her throat as she climaxed, grinding furiously. The heat of her release soaked his thigh, her scent a heady musk driving him to the brink of madness.
Then she sagged against him, and Vladya held her tenderly. Only soft mewls broke the stillness as he continued to drink.
But he really had to stop now, or he would drain her.
With sheer willpower, he forced himself to stop. Retracting his fangs, he sealed the ragged puncture marks with a swipe of his tongue. She lay limp in his arms, breathing raggedly-utterly at his mercy. The sight stirred something within him. His eyes observed her, and a growl emerged from deep within him. She was blood drunk.
Her eyes drooped, her lips slackened, and unintelligible words tumbled from her mouth. Her head rolled from side to side, lost in a euphoric haze.
A feeder getting blood-drunk wasn’t rare, but it didn’t happen all the time. It had been so long since someone had become intoxicated from his feeding.
A knock shattered the languid silence. Yaz’s head peeked through the opening. “My Lord, apologies, but I bear urgent news. Maids whisper of assassins in Blackstone, hunting the human prince. He’s rumored to be fleeing towards the southern wing.”
Vladya’s head snapped up, the lingering haze of satisfied feeding shattered. He tightened his grip on Aekeira, preventing her from slumping, while his gaze whipped around the room. “Emeriel?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Aekeira released a soft giggle, her unfocused eyes wandering above with the hazy look of confusion and utter happiness.
“High as a kite,” Vladya murmured.
Then, he scooped her up, crossed the room, and deposited her on the couch to sleep it off. Slipping into his robe, he followed Yaz out. A strange lightness filled him.
His wounds ached less, and he could feel the beginning of the healing process.
EMERIEL
Emeriel’s body screamed with exhaustion.
Every rasping breath seared his lungs, every step sent tremors through his leaden limbs. Yet he ran, propelled by the blind instinct to survive.
“Damn, wish we had kept the arrow!” an assassin’s voice grated behind him, followed by the ominous hiss of steel sliding free.
Emeriel reacted without thought, a desperate lurch to the side, barely evading the unseen blade.
So close, almost there…
He never saw the hands that seized him. One moment, he was running, the next, a vise-like grip yanked him off his feet.
His scream choked off as he dangled, kicking uselessly against the tremendous strength. A chilling laugh echoed in his ear.
“Got you at last, pretty prince,” his captor hissed, venomous glee lacing the words.
“Let me go!” Emeriel shrieked, his voice cracking. “The beast… he’ll tear you apart if you touch me! Don’t-“
“Silence, wretch! Do you really think you’re special to our feral king?” the soldier barked into Emeriel’s ear. “I will slit your throat and see how precious you are then!”
The now-familiar urge returned. A persistent rush, just like that fateful day in court. This time, Emeriel did not fight it. He surrendered.
“My beloved, I need your help. My beloved, please help me,” Emeriel’s desperate cries echoed against the cold stone walls.
His voice trembled with fear and dread. What if the beast does not answer his plea?
“What the hell is he saying?” one of them cackled.
A roar filled the air. It tore through the silence like a guttural explosion that seemed to shake the very foundations of the fortress.
“What in the name of all that’s holy…”
“Gods above…”
Frantically, the soldiers glanced around, desperate to pinpoint the source of the sound.
“Could that have been the feral?”
“Do not be a fool,” the one holding Emeriel barked. “Let us get this boy out of here before someone spots-” The crack of splintering wood cut him off. An earsplitting snarl ripped through the air, followed by a blur of movement, too fast to track.
“Ukrae preserve us,” breathed another soldier, his voice barely a whisper.
Panic rippled around them as the soldiers scattered like ants, their boots slapping against the stone floor. But the beast was a blur of muscle and fury, cutting them off with lightning speed.
It lunged, a whirlwind of claws and teeth, each strike tearing through flesh and bone. Screams echoed, mixing with the sickening scent of copper.
Emeriel’s adrenaline surged, numbing his senses. He’d come. His beloved came for him.
As the beast killed the last of its attackers, Emeriel stumbled forward, throwing himself into the beast’s blood-soaked embrace.
“Thank you,” he choked out, burying his face in the creature’s thick fur. “Thank you, my King, thank you.”
The beast paused, its rage seeming to ebb away. A gentle nudge from its massive head, accompanied by a soft, rumbling growl, conveyed a warmth that belied its fearsome anger.
“Do not die,” Emeriel whispered, his words tight with emotion. Tears welled up in his eyes. “They’re going to kill you tomorrow, and I… I cannot bear it. I refuse to believe you are as mindless as they say. I wish I could save you. I wish I could save you.”
Emeriel pulled back, his face pale. The beast lowered him to his feet but did not release its hold. Emeriel did not mind.
“I know you’re in there, somewhere. I just… don’t know how to reach you,” he murmured, his voice heavy with sorrow.
The beast rumbled again, its gaze slowly moving to Emeriel’s neck, fixing there pointedly.
Emeriel held his breath, his heart pounding. Was that some sort of… communication?
“Are you trying to tell me something?” Helplessness mingled with desperate hope. “I wish I could understand…”
And then, he felt something else.
His blood surged through his veins, and a tingling warmth followed. Emeriel yearned, with a sudden, fierce intensity, for the beast to drink from him once more. He tilted his head, baring the vulnerable curve of his neck. “Drink,” he rasped. “Please, I want you to… to drink from me again.”
It seemed the beast had been waiting for the invitation. A rough tongue lashed across his neck, followed by the sharp sting of a fang. The beast had begun to feed.
GRAND LORD VLADYA
Grand Lord Vladya stood frozen, hidden in the shadows. He watched, his hand gripping Yaz’s arm, stunned. Speechless. Unable to tear his gaze away.
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