Page 37 of Blood & Bedlam

His fingers dig into my ass, tilting me up to him, granting him obscene access to every inch of me. His cologne fills my nostrils, the sounds of his lips and tongue fucking me into oblivion fill my ears, but it’s the hand he skates up to wrench the hem of my neckline down that sends me spiraling. I’m walking a tightrope between the supernatural and the real world, but with every pass of his tongue and tweak of his fingers, Vladimir threatens to pull me under.

His hand clasps around my neck, arresting my air, and I cry out, arching into his kiss as his teeth bite down gently on my clit. The stars above cloud my vision, the grip on my ass relenting just in time for Vladimir to slip a thick, long finger inside of me—talon-free, thank god. It presses against me, stroking inside out while his mouth works and my vision tunnels in with darkness until there is only the stars above me, the sensations flowing through me. I’m right on the cusp when I hear him grunting words of praise against my skin, kissing a trail over my inner thigh. His tongue cleans up the moisture that’s collected over my flesh, and I’m close, so fucking close, that barely a breath could send me over the cliff.

“Mine.”

The word is punctuated by a slice of pain and an explosion of pressure. Vladimir’s teeth sink into the vein on my inner thigh and I’m soaking his hand, ripping fistfuls of his hair from his scalp as my back bows. This is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, a connection deeper than I’ve ever thought possible. He drinks from me in great pulls, until it’s all-consuming. He takes great care not to waste a drop.

Another orgasm tears through me and I float on the high of it, the euphoria of his venom in my system. He bites deeper, a savage sound ripping from his chest, and just a twinge of pain cutting through the pleasure. Inhuman sounds tear from his lips against me, and the nails on my neck elongate, spilling their own blood. I’m wrenched in and out of consciousness in erratic bursts, and a distant voice warns me he’s taking too much.

“Vlad,” I choke, but the grip on my throat tightens, causing me to stutter his name. I push at his head weakly, my fingers going limp, as the sky fades to black. There’s a warmth inside of me that’s rapidly cooling, flashes of something old and deep beckoning me inward. Stars burst behind my eyes when I come again, but there’s a dull pulse to the moment, a rolling wave on the sea as sensation leaves my body. My hands fall limply to his shoulders, too weak to push him off me, the cloud of my vision rupturing into nothingness.

There’s snow on the ground, the remnants of winter fading into spring. In the distance, I see Vladimir’s battalions, making their way to the mountain pass. My lips are sore from his kisses, my body bruised from how tightly we held on to one another in the dark of night, both knowing the possibility of his death is likely, both knowing this may be our only goodbye. I feel it then, the crushing weight of despair, hollowing me out from the inside with wicked sharp clarity.

I was not supposed to love him. It was not supposed to be this way, to hurt so much. I was sent here to make him bow under the weight of my father’s kingdom, to use any means necessary to call him to heel, but instead Vladimir turned me from my legacy with his kindness, with his good heart and sharp tongue. My legs shake beneath me, and I crumble against the arched window, watching him take all the humanity inside of me with him. A wail leaves my lips, but I stuff a shaking fist against my mouth to stifle it.

I allow myself only a few more moments to fall apart before I force my body to rise. I swipe the tears from my cheeks, clearing my blurred vision, and throw my shoulders back in defiance. The letters I sent to my family have gone unanswered, the pleas fallen on deaf ears too afraid to stand up to my father’s power. I glance down at the villagers in the city below and feel a sense of responsibility over them like I’ve never known.

As my Lady’s maids dress me, the tendrils of a plan form in my mind. Vladimir fights to save his people and his beloved home and I am his wife. His queen. I will protect them in his absence, as I will protect him. The letter hidden in my paints from my father’s advisors has given me a timeline of his plan.

In a fortnight, they will ascend on Wallachia. They will annihilate Vladmir’s forces, using magic unlike anything that has been seen before. I am expected to receive a smaller occupying force and surrender the city to my father, just as was foreseen, cementing our line of power. Everything should be as he has commanded.

Except it will not. I have my own magic, and I will use it to protect Wallachia. I will not betray the man I love, I will armor him from the destruction of my father’s greed, even if it costs me everything.

Warm liquid floods my mouth, cascades down my throat in a main line of power and electric energy. My eyes fly wide, air punching through my lungs. I suck in a ragged breath. I’m flat on my back, the stone beneath me hard as Vladimir’s panicked eyes search mine. There is blood on his lips, his chin, a waterfall of red down his throat, painting his fingers and hair from where he no doubt wrung the strands.

“Fates, thank fuck,” he exhales, his accent thick and deeper than I’ve ever heard in the real world. His wrist presses against my lips, the steady flow of blood filling up my mouth with each second.

“Drink, please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I should have stopped sooner.” Vladimir’s pained expression is one of despair and self-loathing, but the energy that’s flowing through me has my mind refocusing. I lap at his self-inflicted puncture wounds, and to my surprise they seal beneath my tongue nearly instantly. His hands are on my face, turning to assess my neck, fingers shaking against my skin.

“Vladimir,” I whisper gently, but he flinches and looks away, unable to meet my gaze. He’s spiraling, whether that’s over what he just witnessed in my memory or the fact that he almost killed me, I don’t quite know. He pulls back, scooting across the stone floor until his back is up against the balcony railing. His suit is wrecked, eyes as wild as a cornered animal, and the shake of his hands is visual as he cards his bloodied fingers through his tousled hair again and again.

“We shouldn’t have—see, this is exactly why,” he babbles. The calm, cool demeanor I’m used to has vanished. Instead, I see a man rocked with terror. I push up on my elbows, then more, until I’m sitting on my knees. My body aches, but as I trace over the bloody skin, I don’t seem to be hurt.

Vladimir’s blood took care of any injuries I had.

“Hey, hey,” I soothe, crawling slowly toward him. He shakes his head, averting his gaze, rattled to the core, just as I should be.

But I’m not scared. I don’t know why, it doesn’t make any sense, but I know I need to get to him. To feel his body and know he’s real. I’m reeling from the memory of the pain that bolted through my body, watching him ride off to war, knowing that I never saw him alive again. The two parts of my soul are no longer at war, but instead united in their need for affection. For his touch. Slowly, I slide between his spread legs, gently cup his face. His eyes are pale, shining with tears, and blood is streaking down his cheeks, but the swell of emotions inside me sings when those wrecked eyes meet mine.

“Diavolul meu,” I tease. The Romanian falls from my lips like it’s always belonged there. My devil. “Look at me,” I urge, pulling his chin down. Reluctantly, his eyes find mine and in them I see all the constellations in the heavens reflected back to me.

“I couldn’t stop,” he whispers. It’s the most broken and defeated sound I’ve ever heard.

“You did. You did stop. I’m right here. Flesh and blood. You stopped.” I grab his hand, bring it to my chest so he can feel my heart beating strong.

“Did you see?” I ask, because I need to know. A curt nod, and the tightening of his jaw falters my resolve.

“I betrayed you,” I admit, because I did. I was sent to lure him, and though I need to learn more, I’ve seen enough to know I’d been his downfall. Lost him his kingdom.

“No. No. You saved them. Whatever you did, however you did it … you saved Wallachia. You died protecting them.” The conviction in his voice pulls me back from the edge of my own shame spiral, and when his hand moves from my chest to cup my neck, I let myself fall into his touch.

“What a pair we make,” he jokes with a half laugh. I let him pull me against him, feel his body sigh when my weight hits his chest. We’re a mess covered in blood and honeysuckle wine, but his arms are warm as they bracket me tight. I rest my nose into the crook of his neck, and it’s his scent that carries me into sleep. We’ve got more questions than answers, but one thing is for certain. There is no life, in this or the past, that I haven’t loved Vladimir, Prince of Wallachia.

Reine

CHAPTER 19

“None of this looks familiar.” I sigh and set down the books in my hand. Dozens of old tomes, family trees, newspaper clippings are scattered over Vlad’s desk and floor, and I’m parked right in the middle with a migraine. “This is useless and I hate it.” Frustration bubbles up inside of me, and I feel him then, poking down the connection, checking in on me.