Page 83 of The Reaping Rose

He nods, reaching out his hand, and Elorie takes it. The stir of energy between them makes it clear where they’re going. Atlas doesn’t move as the two of them disappear back into the palace, and I wish I wasn’t surrounded by Vaelier warriors so I could work out my own tension.

My gaze slips to Atlas, and I find him already watching me.

“Looks like it’s just you and me.” He winks, his hand casually resting on the pommel of his sword.

“Good.”

His eyebrow hitches in surprise. “Good?”

I step toward him, and it takes everything to cool my blood when the purple flecks of his eyes sparkle at my approach. There’s no denying Atlas is attractive. The worst of them always use it to hide their evil inside.

“Yes… good,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Because if you so much as look at me wrong, there will be no one around to stop me from driving my sword straight through your heart.”

Chapter 28

Malachi

Periwinkle.

No, violet.

Light waves crest as I tilt my head back. Magic thrums through my chest, spreading out. Saturating my pores, and yet…

I push to my elbows, glancing at the female spread over me. Her slick heat slides up and down my shaft. I should feel the tight grip. The vibrations with the bounce of her body. Her breasts jut out as she arches her back, but I feel nothing.

“Your Majesty?” Her eyebrows pinch as I grab her hips, shoving her down harder.

She catches herself on my chest with a squeak as I flip us around and drive into her deeper. But it’s not enough.

I need more.

“More,” the voice demands.

Tipping my head back, I open wide. The sting of my teeth cuts through, greater than the sight of this red-haired female wriggling beneath me. She tilts her head, baring her neck for her king, and I hate how much she wants it.

No fight.

No challenge.

I grab her wrists with ropes of magic and pin them overhead as I sink my teeth into her neck. Blood pours into my mouth, gushing down my throat in thick waves.

But I can’t drink fast enough.

I pump my hips as she starts to scream. Her body tightening with her release as her blood spills into me. Her heart pumps, flooding my mouth with another rush of blood as I drink her down. Each beat is slower than the last as I drink and drink.

And drink.

I shove forward, pumping my release into her while swallowing harder with each gulp.

“Mal—” She loses her voice.

Her fight.

Her nails, once scratching against my magic, pause. Her head lolls to the side, and I retract my teeth as blood paints her neck and chest red. I don’t bother cleaning her up as I pull out of her and tug on my pants. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Sticky blood trails down my chest.

She’s breathing, barely.

She’ll heal and come crawling—begging—for it all over again like she did the last time.