Page 60 of Revenant

Just when I think that’s all she’ll say, she continues, looking down as she scuffs the toe of her shoe against the worn floorboards, gripping the book tightly.

“My aunt isn’t warm,” she says. “She took me in because she had to. I’m not her blood, but she was close with my mother. There wasn’t anyone else. But she made it clear from the beginning that her life had been set up a certain way, and I didn’t fit into it. She kept everything on a schedule. Meals, chores, curfew. There wasn’t room for grief or questions or anything that didn’t make sense to her. If I cried, she told me to pull myself together. If I asked about my parents, she said talking about it wouldn’t bring them back.”

She exhales, meeting my eyes, and I have to battle the sudden urge to reach for her.

“She wasn’t cruel. She just didn’t know how to deal with a kid who’d lost everything. So she focused on rules. Structure. Silence. I learned to stay out of the way. I spent most of my time in my room or at school. We moved yearly, and eventually I stopped asking to meet up with friends, to spend time together…I stopped asking for anything really. It was easier for both of us if I just let her be. When I got the acceptance letter to Veilcrest, she didn’t even read the whole thing before telling me it was the right choice.” She gives a small laugh, hiding how uncomfortable she is with a forced smile. “She drove me to the airport and drove off before the sliding doors even opened.”

There’s a beat of silence, both of us absorbing her confession. “I–I’m sorry, I don’t know why I just trauma dumped on you.” She laughs it off like it’s stupid, but she’s shutting down. About to hide back into her shell because she thinks she’s being a burden.

Truth is, there isn’t anything she could tell me that would scare me away.

“You never have to apologize to me.” I step into her space, gripping her face with both hands, trying to convince myself being this close to her isn’t a bad idea. Her eyes move between mine and my fangs pulse with need. The steady thrum of her heart echoes in my ears, wiping out any coherent thought. Before I can talk myself out of it, my lips crash into hers.

19: Elias

Fuck it. Pulling her firmly against me, I slide my hands beneath the back of her thighs and lift her in one smooth motion. A startled “Oh—” escapes her, but the sound never fully forms. I catch it with my mouth as I set her down on the nearby table, keeping my grip on her legs as I step between them. Christ, I want to bury myself in her, make her past vanish until all that exists is this moment with me.

Alicent’s hand slides up my chest, curling around the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair with a kind of desperate certainty that tells me she wants this too.

She catches my bottom lip between her teeth, the small sting pulls an inaudible sound out of my chest before I can stop it. My hands tighten on her hips without thinking, fingers pressing firmly into the curve of her waist as I rock into her.

Her pulse flutters beneath the delicate skin of her throat, each beat echoing in my ears with impossible clarity. It pulls at something deep in my chest, something older than reason.

Lifting my hand, I cup her jaw. My thumb brushes along the edge of her cheek as I tilt her head slowly to the side. Control. The thought barely forms before I’m already leaning down.

My mouth hovers above the soft skin beneath her ear and I press a slow kiss there, reveling in the way her shoulders rise with anticipation. I trail lower, letting my lips follow the curve of her throat with unhurried precision. Her scent fills my lungs, coaxing a part of me I’ve spent years burying.

Her legs close around my waist, the movement pulling me flush against her and instinctively my eyes close for a moment. She tilts her head back farther, offering more of her throat, and the simple gesture strips away what little restraint I have left.

“Don’t move,” I command with a desperate plea.

She listens and that is all the permission my control needs to break. My fangs sink into the hollow dip above her collarbone and the moment the skin gives beneath them, it’s the kind of sweetness that sinks into my bones. Overwhelming my senses. The taste floods my mouth and every muscle in my body goes rigid. For a heartbeat, I forget the grimoire, the curse, the guys, even myself. All I feel is her. All I need is her.

Her body jolts in my arms, but I keep her steady, one arm tightening around her back while the other moves to her chest. Cupping the soft swell of her breast, my fingers circle her nipple, pinching it through the soft material of Bastian’s shirt.

Her uneven breath trembles against my ear as her head falls forward. The shift draws a low moan from me while I continue to drink, my hold on her tightening without thought.

When I finally bring myself to stop, the effort causes my chest to tighten from the loss. I pull back just enough to see her face, my gaze dropping to the narrow line of red left behind where my mouth has been. Pressing my thumb to my lower lip, I wipe away what remains there while watching her expression closely.

Her breathing settles as she straightens, each inhale slower than the last. Then her hands move. She catches the hem of my shirt and drags it upward, the fabric pulling tight across my chest as she lifts it.

Stripping her down is instinctive, the fabric falling away in seconds. She’s poised before me, her red hair tumbling over her chest, shadowing the pale pink of her nipples, freckles scattered over the soft planes of her body. The patch of hair between her legs tempts me, a perfect invitation. “Open your legs, kitten.” I growl. “Now.”

She scurries to obey, no argument or stubborn defiance—the brat we have all come to know is nowhere in sight. Every inch of her trembles with need, from the curl of her toes to the spread of her thighs. Naked and taut, her pussy glistens, the pink folds begging me to please her.

“Good girl.” Slowly, I bring my hand to her wet center, pressing two fingers inside her. Her head tilts back, eyes drawn to the ornate chandelier above, its wrought iron frame twisting into intricate gothic patterns. Dozens of candle holders reach outward like skeletal fingers, unlit, their wax dripped and hardened over time, each flourish mirrored in the depth of her crystal blue gaze. Her chest rises with ragged breaths, nipples straining as goosebumps scatter across her skin, shivering in time with the subtle movements of my fingers.

Alicent’s hips move against me without thinking, small, desperate presses. Her every curve, every tremble, calls to the hunger coiled deep within me. I trace slow circles over her clit with my thumb, feeling her body react as she clenches around my fingers. I push a little deeper, and her thighs instinctively press together, a worthless attempt to hold back the wave building inside her. “Tightening up won’t help you, kitten.”

Her baby blues flash defiance, and my pulse quickens. “Maybe you should do something about it, E,” she murmurs, dragging my nickname out with that teasing smirk that makes my control crack. I yank my fingers free, flipping her onto her stomach in one swift motion, so her feet press against the floor, her chest flush against the table, and her ass rises perfectly into the air.

“You really have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“Oh, I think I do,” she murmurs.

“You’re saying that very confidently for someone in this position.”

“Mm.” A quiet huff of amusement leaves her. “You don’t seem to mind.”