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Lucan waited until she relaxed around him, taking him deeper until he was certain she could barely breathe. A delicate whimper escaped her throat. His fingers flexed against her skull on instinct. Mine, something snarled inside. Thrusting his hips forward, Lucan forced himself deep in her throat until her lips pressed against the base of his cock. He shuddered against her grip at his hips and pulled the chain tighter.

The summit of bliss threatened to unbind every thought held inside the long centuries of his mind.

Overcome by need, shadows surged around them as Lucan wildly fucked Elarian’s mouth, one fist still tightly intertwined with her hair. Her moans sounded like the sweetest music. Forbidden cravings—betrayed by her scent lingering like a heady wine over his tongue—only urged him on, each thrust a declaration that he would use her until nothing but ruins remained. Though he could not see it, he sensed that his shadows already slipped inside her tight, dripping cunt begging to be used again.

“That’s better,” he groaned as she reached around and dug her nails into the soft flesh of his lower back.

With one last, punishing thrust, Lucan forced himself deep in her throat. The sound of her gags and throat fluttering against his swollen shaft only brought the edge of blissful oblivion ever closer. Wrenching her head back, Lucan bent over and softly scraped his fangs over her shivering neck.

“Fuck, Elarian,” he breathed out slowly, “you take me so well.”

An unnamable emotion—pride, almost—filled her gaze.

The sight sent Lucan tumbling over the edge.

Entering her mouth again, he thrust deep on instinct as his seed spilled into her throat. Every muscle seized until he went rigid, as if his entire body had become hollowed out and replaced with stone. Eyes closing, he never let go of Elarian until the blissful waves finally faded to the unquenchable hunger underneath it all.

When at last Lucan could see clearly again, he blinked and pulled his still-hard cock from Elarian’s ruined mouth. White streams of cum mixed with saliva spilled from the corners of her lips, the rivulets tracing the gentle curve of her neck. She panted, remaining on hands and knees, glaring at Lucan with such hatred that it set his skin ablaze.

“I expected more bite,” he said at last as he fetched his pants and shoved his swollen cock back inside. “Now, get dressed.”

Lucan waved his hand as if he were dismissing a lowly servant. He half hoped she might leap up and strangle him right there.

Instead, Elarian only offered cold silence as she stood, pulled a silken sheet off the bed, and wrapped it around her in mock compliance.

twenty-five

Silk-wrapped Games

Elarian only heard her unsteady breathing and the whisper of silks.

She kept her gaze fixed upon the arched window, counting the delicate leaves of ivy spiraling from its center pane. Dawn bled weakly through the crimson stained glass. Beyond it, the stars had vanished, leaving behind only bruised shades of violet against the thin outline of distant mountains.

The chain at her throat brushed over the black silks wrapped tightly around her. She flinched as the impossibility of her captivity shattered the beauty outside. Swallowing, she tried desperately to cleanse the taste of Lucan’s seed still lingering in her mouth.

She hated him for it.

Hated herself more for enjoying even one godsdamned moment of his violation. But it wasn’t really that, was it, Ela? You’re the one who kept pressing when you saw his desires rising with every word.

“Crimson is far too expected,” Lucan murmured, interrupting her thoughts.

He stood at the side of the large bed where she had desecrated herself. An assortment of silk dresses covered the stained sheets. Some had long sleeves with exposed stomachs, while others had plunging necklines that left little to the imagination. Withdrawn from a large chest against the far wall, the vampire prince assured Elarian she would make every head in the Blooded Court turn.

A small part of Elarian only cared if Lucan looked at her.

When she was a child, the fey wolves claimed her as their own. She ran with them until her feet ached and her lungs burned. Raw meat passed her lips, the warmth of fresh blood coating her throat and assuaging the deep hunger that lingered long after her belly was full.

Then came the moon elves, Melistra’s summons both a blessing and a shackle. Her blood sang, and the Saint anointed her as gods-blessed. Hunger she could not name returned with a vengeance soon after. She set her silver toward the vampires and called it her missive from She Who Is Death.

Many had laid their claim to Elarian over her long, blood-soaked life.

Yet no one had ever truly seen her as Lucan did.

And now he stood not ten paces away from her, gently sorting through fine silks to clothe her as if any of this was normal.

Sighing, Elarian let her gaze wander to observe more of the chambers she found herself imprisoned in.

Witchlights hung from the ceiling, held aloft by thin, golden chains disappearing into shadows. Golden candelabras banished the darkness from every corner of the room. Black and deep crimson curtains hung at the sides of each arched window, tied back with a chain that looked suspiciously like silver. But surely he would not be foolish enough to leave silver in my sight. Even as she denied it, the thought brought a smile to her face. There were many ways—and places—to hide a silver chain and wait for Lucan to find it. Even better if his cock found it first.