Page 148
She had told herself it was mere coincidence.
Gods.
“It wasn’t the bloodwine.”
“No.”
A terrible understanding began unfolding inside her. “You knew.”
“I suspected.” His expression hardened—not with cruelty, but with resignation. “I’ve tasted moon elf blood before.”
The words struck like a slap.
“It should burn,” she whispered.
“It does.” Lucan’s fingertips brushed his newest mark beneath her collarbone. “But yours doesn’t.”
Elarian froze.
“Not enough.”
Enough.
“What are you say—”
“Shh,” Lucan murmured.
He silenced her thoughts with a delicate kiss beneath her ear, and then another. Skin trembling as his fangs rested against her pulse, she breathed in deeply, wishing Lucan could replace every torturous thought with only bliss. Lost in his touch, she complied as his hands moved to her hips and turned her around, grip so tight that her skin burned.
“I…I cannot want this.” Her breathy voice filled the room, a soft moan following as his fangs scraped against her throat.
“Yet you do.”
Lucan’s fangs gently nipped her earlobe. The revulsion she once felt at his touch had burned away with her fever, leaving only a growing need for that which she feared most: being needed.
“Melistra forbids my blood.” Mouth dry, the words stuck in her throat. Liar, a voice whispered. You know who you are. Filth-ridden. Spawn of that which Melistra forbids most of all!
“You are no moon maiden, Elarian.”
A hand slid around her waist, pulling her close until she felt his hardness against her backside. Her hand dropped to cover his—half wanting to rip it away, half wishing he would explore further between her legs.
“L-let me go,” she whimpered.
Blood pounded in her head, sending her thoughts into disarray. The rising heat chased away Lucan’s cool touch. Another whimper escaped her wine-stained lips as her only relief vanished.
“Please, Lucan, let me go. I have done as you asked; why must you insist the game continue in private?”
“This is no game, Elarian,” he whispered in her ear.
There it was again—that breathy way he said her name that spun her out of control. Despite herself, Elarian tilted her head, exposing more of her throat to the vampire wrapped around her like a parasite. She gazed at him, trying to tell herself her blood was no different, that this would not connect them in some way that would only lead to rot and ruin. That, when faced with death by her own accursed blood, willingly accepting the embrace of another wretched creature did not make her weak; merely intelligent enough to survive.
“Lucan, I—”
Lucan’s fangs pierced her neck, his cold lips burning against her fevered skin. She jerked forward on instinct. The pain at her side eased with each flutter of her heart. Buried deep beneath centuries of training and rituals, a voice whispered, Run! But the moment her blood touched Lucan’s fangs—one cracked and repaired with a seam of gold—something inside her shifted until the voice died. In its place remained only a deep, soul-shattering sense of release.
Shadows looped around Elarian’s ankles, holding her steady as Lucan drank deeply. Blood rushed to his cock, each throb against her backside stirring her own desires for more than fangs and groping hands. Before she could gather her thoughts, Lucan pulled away with a deep shudder. Her blood dripped from his mouth to her shoulder, a thin rivulet running down the gentle slope of her neck.
“So fucking perfect,” Lucan growled, low and deep like a fey wolf claiming a kill.
