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Wren is asleep in her own bed, her face relaxed and looking peaceful at last. It’s been a week since she learned the truth of her father, that we both learned she is his intended next sacrifice.
That I’d vowed to protect her and claimed her as my mate.
After Eris discovered the celestial blade she claims is hers, the incident had Oberon in arms about the gallery and the security. Fortunately, Wren was able to talk him down from pulling the project altogether since it would make our plan more tedious to accomplish.
My mate—for there is no doubt for me now that is what she is—struggled to sleep the night before. Today, she will see her father face to face for the first time since discovering his rotten truth. I’d spent quite a long time exhausting her so she’d finally sleep. She has a vital part to accomplish today. She must convince Oberon to hire the Nightshade vampires to provide supernatural security.
Our hope is that the antagonistic break-ins Malachi orchestrated will make Oberon willing to hire us. Multiple times over the last week, Malachi had ordered our foot soldiers to break in and cause minor disturbances. Nothing bad enough to warrant the police force, though each time the current security guards called for them, Ambrose’s power ensured they never investigated. Considering our forces are under strict orders to not steal a single thing, but make a show of their supernatural abilities, there isn’t much for the police to investigate anyways.
B&Es as guerrilla warfare. According to the heightened stress filling every contact Oberon makes with Wren, it’s working as expected. After last night, when two young shifters tailed the human security guards on their patrol, the company finally pulled out of their contract with Oberon despite his threats of litigation. According to the email he’s just sent to Wren, he’s demanding a meeting with her in two hours. When she doesn’t respond in the next twenty minutes, he’ll be calling her.
A man like him should know how dangerous it is to become so predictable.
She shifts, pushing the comforter down and stretching an arm across the bed where I’d lain with her. I don’t need much sleep, especially not with how often I’m feeding from her. My veins hum with power, my muscles coiling with energy, ready to be unleashed. I haven’t fed so frequently for decades, perhaps even a century. And never from a single person.
Other vampires may choose to have a regular blood donor, like Ambrose before he met Eloise, but I’ve never cared for the intimacy such an arrangement naturally has. Now that I’ve supped on Wren’s liquid nectar, I detest the idea of ever drinking from another. Her agreement to be turned was in the throes of pleasure and pain, but I cannot stop thinking about it. If I turn Wren, she will be truly mine forever. Mine to torment and torture. Mine to please and possess.
Before her, I could never believe one woman could satisfy my cravings for eternity. Now, if I cannot have her, life will hold no pleasure.
I slide my hand into my pocket, fingering the capped scalpel there. I’ve a desperate need to mark her as mine. She shifts again, her strawberry blonde curls fanning out over her satin pillow cases, one curl falling across her face and making her scrunch her nose in a way that makes my chest constrict. With my other hand, I press the heel of my palm against my sternum as if possible to ease the ache.
Could I have been wrong about myself my entire second life? Can I truly feel emotions like genuine care for something other than selfish reasons?
Stepping from the doorway, her bedroom reflects the vibrancy of life Oberon has groomed her to dim so that he may shine brighter. Even without his crimes against me, I would desire to punish him. He’s a master at cruelty in ways that I can almost respect, if it were directed towards anyone else. It takes a master to cultivate such an overwhelming need to please in someone without damaging their devotion to you by continuous mistreatment.
Her room is not overly spacious, the large windows along one wall letting in the early rays of dawn. The second time I’d come here, I inspected each window to ensure the security of my mate. The security may be better here than at the gallery, but they aren’t infallible considering they’ve yet to detect my many comings and goings.
The soft morning light only adds to the soothing light gray of her walls, turning her room into an abstract garden of watercolors waiting to bloom. Sheer, blush-toned curtains glow with the dawn and it’s the same exact shade as the flush of arousal across her chest. Fangs elongating and chest aching with a primal instinct to claim, I ghost across the room to her bed where she lies.
Her colorful, eclectic collection of pillows are still strewn across the floor from the evening before, leaving Wren pillowed in a cloud of white. A vestal image, my own goddess of spring waiting to enjoy the defilement of darkness.
Easing the comforter off of her so slowly she doesn’t stir, my cock fills at her nudity. She is fine boned and fragile looking, yet there is steel in her bones and her hands reveal the years of work she’s spent mastering her chosen instrument. My little bird has had jesses keeping her from the sky and once her father is gone, I will see her soar.
With a touch, I guide her to roll onto her back. She lets out a pleased little hum as I run my fingertips down her throat and between her breasts to just below her navel. I admire my work, her body bruised and scabbed from my insatiable appetite for the last week. One day I will use a blade to carve a piece of art worthy of her beauty into her skin.
Right now, though, I give into a need much more basic. I coax her legs to spread, breathing in the scent of her sex, her pleasure mingled with the scent of my seed. Once she’d known the odds of pregnancy, she requested I don’t use condoms. The chance, however miniscule, that I could breed her has taken her pleasure to even greater heights.
I slide the scalpel from my pocket, thumbing off the blade protector, and lean down to press a kiss to the nearly healed bruise I’d first ever marked her with. Then I grip her thigh and bring the blade to her skin. The moment a red bead wells under the blade, Wren wakes with a gasp.
“Lan?” she asks, her voice husky with sleep. My grip on her leg prevents her from moving as I work. In further evidence why she is the perfect mate for me, she doesn’t demand I stop or pull away. Instead, my little bird eases up to watch me with curiosity. “What are you doing?”
Darting my gaze to hers then back to her thigh, which is growing more wet with blood, I start to carve the second part. These cuts are the deepest I’ve given her and I have every intention of a scar remaining.
“I’m marking you, Little Bird,” I explain as I continue the embellished P just below and beside the L. “You’re mine and I never want you to forget it.”
Fresh arousal wets her folds and I catch her rolling her lips while watching my hands with desire-filled eyes. She endures my carving without sound. When I’m done and set the blade aside, a small whimper escapes her. I wipe my hand across her thigh, smearing her blood across her skin before inserting two fingers into her pussy without warning.
Wren’s head drops back against the pillows, her mouth open in a gasp as I pump her slowly. We’re quiet, not breaking the stillness of the sleeping world around us. When her pussy flutters around my fingers, signaling her approaching orgasm, I move. I cover the top of her pussy with my mouth, my fangs sinking deep into her soft mound.
My mate’s orgasm ruptures around my fingers and I continue pumping her through it, sucking on her folds and swallowing down the mix of her slick and blood. I curl my fingers within her, not letting up as her body begins to jerk and buck against my mouth’s onslaught on her oversensitive nerves, my eyes watching her face the entire time.
When she’s finally begging for me to stop, I rear up and move to straddle her waist. Her small hands collide with mine as we release my aching cock from my pants. Her green eyes are eager as I fist her hair and yank her face towards my head, her lips parting.
“Eager little slut this morning,” I grind out, gripping the base of my cock and running the head over her lips tauntingly. “Beg for it.”
Wren’s tongue stretches out and I hiss as she licks the underside, reprimanding her with a twist of her hair. She meets my eyes, the hunger there a mirror of my own.
“Please, Daddy,” she begs so sweetly. “Fuck my mouth with your cock.”
