Page 81 of Nocturn

“Volcan is—was as close to me as a brother.”

“Another Warlord?” I breathed.

He grunted.

“I did not meet the three other Warlords until we had grown into adults, but Volcan and I grew up in the same village. As I am sure you know, we did not know we were the Warlords. We grew just as any other mortal child until our abilities awakened.”

“Is he, is . . .?” I did not finish, waiting.

“He is nothing but dust by now.”

I sucked in a breath. There had been five Warlords, not four . . . That was what the Creation Scripture spoke of.

“How did he die?”

“A redblood betrayed him,” he sneered. “His goodwill was the worst mistake he could have made.”

His gaze had drifted. He was no longer in the present.

“But how?”

“He assisted a redblood whore, saved her village from Hollows. They slaughtered him while he was weakened.”

“That explains your loathing,” I mumbled.

His head snapped down.

“I know redbloods’ true nature. Betrayers, filthy liars.” He clasped my jaw. “Little did I know how delicious a redblood could taste.” He smirked, rubbing his thumb against my jaw. “Or how well you could take my cock.”

I inhaled sharply at the lewd words.

“Wh-when did your abilities begin to falter?”

His smirk widened, and he cornered me into the bed. I fell with a yelp.

“Nor could I have known how addicting it would be to fuck you.”

He grabbed my thighs and pulled. I landed on my back, staring down at him with wide eyes. He reached under my scratchy gown and tugged the bloomers down my legs in a slow glide.

“Enough questions, curious mortal.” His knees thudded on the wood floor. He splayed my legs wide. “I need your taste on my tongue.”

“My lord,” I breathed, scandalized . . . and aching.

He yanked up the bottom of the gown, baring me for his eyes. I pushed up onto my hands, holding my breath as he dropped to feast upon my aching flesh. At the touch of his soft mouth, I melted.

He dragged his tongue up the slit. Pleasure licked over his features and his eyebrows scrunched closed. Every move and soft moan spoke of a man enjoying what he tasted.

I would have found it odd if I were not as obsessed with his release. His earthy taste and silky shaft . . .

He plunged his tongue into my entrance and ran it up to the top where I jolted from the sparks of ecstasy. What he was doing with his mouth was unraveling me. He focused on the bundle, rolling his tongue around it.

“Oh,” I gasped, my arms giving out, and I lay flat.

His hands ran up my sides, baring more skin as he slowly traveled to cup my breasts.

Rice wine allowed me to relax into his touch. To acknowledge how desperately I hungered for him—Cassiel, His Highness, the Warlord.

I reached out to touch him, but my movement was restrained by the scratchy dress. So I shoved it off the rest of the way until I was bare, tossing it to the side. I ran my palms up his arms, over the golden hair and bulging veins. I was so painfully close to the pinnacle, but he kept retracting his tongue each time I almost grabbed it.