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But the elf confused every truth of his blood-soaked world he had come to understand. Life as Aurelion’s favored pawn had granted Lucan many luxuries; nothing had stirred his reckless human heart like the moon-pale elf.
Ownership…fascination…obsession?
The distinctions no longer mattered.
Even if it ruined him, Lucan wanted to possess her. Use her. Mold her into the perfect blade to carve the last of his existence from this rotted world.
Lucan leaned closer to her still form, curled inward like a newborn babe. Delicate as a feather, he brushed a strand of sweat-slick hair from her brow.
“Forever mine,” he breathed against her cheek.
“N-no.” Elarian’s eyes fluttered but did not open. Her hand curled around his still resting against her forehead. “Only in our dreams.”
Dreams.
When was the last time Lucan had a dream?
Something twisted inside him—a fey beast gripping its prey in a death roll until his chest ached. Inhaling deeply, he savored that faint scent he had come to crave mixed with the sweat covering her body like glistening crystals.
“Dreams it shall be, Elarian,” he whispered.
Shifting carefully, Lucan lifted himself from the bed and continued undressing. Tossing his clothes aside, he slipped back into place next to his prisoner.
Only to feel the warmth of her living flesh, he told himself.
The cold gripping his soul melted the moment he touched Elarian’s skin. Hot as a furnace, she burned with life. It was all Lucan could do to keep himself from pulling her close and wrapping his arms and legs around her until he no longer remembered what undeath felt like.
Instead, he put a hand over her bruised hip, deep purples accentuating her curves, and shifted her until she lay on her stomach. Soft moans slipped from her plum-dark lips.
Gentler than the whisper of moth wings at night, forbidden words slipped from Elarian’s lips.
“…hold me.”
Lucan froze. His fingers twitched against her skin, waiting for another reply. Elarian only burrowed her head into her arm. His fingers curled inward against her hip, palm filling with the fullness of her flesh.
Gods, what was he doing?
A hundred different women waited just outside his door, eager to part their legs for the Blooded Prince. Lords laughed with delight at his words, hoping to find themselves alone with his cock in their mouth. The court had never been short of willing lovers for him to bed.
So why did he suddenly need Elarian?
Even beside the man he once softened for, Lucan could only think of her. That hidden flame of something akin to love wrapped in cruelty he once held for Jace Ataen disappeared the moment he’d said, Treat her well.
“You don’t know anything, Jace.” Running his free hand through his snowy hair, Lucan seethed at the realization that the man he once tried to love still saw so clearly through him. “That’s not what this is.”
Lucan’s nails bit into Elarian’s supple skin. She moaned softly but did not stir. Thirst clawed at his throat as silvery blood trailed down her back, tracing the gentle curves of her toned muscles. Entranced by the sight, Lucan stared at her moon-pale skin. He studied the way the witchlights drew out the faint glimmer shining just below. Gods, she looked like starlight given form.
Given a terrible, wretched, fucking irresistible form.
“Only in our dreams, Elarian?” Lifting himself from the bed to both knees, Lucan’s hand found his cock—already half-hard from being so near the elf. “If that is what you wish,” he growled.
Elarian’s hips pushed against his hand still at her side, shifting until her thighs parted and her soft, pink flesh lay exposed. Lucan’s lips trembled at the sight.
Only the faint stirring of her breath against her silver strands filled the silent night between them. Watching Elarian as she slipped further into sleep’s embrace strangely aroused Lucan. Last night, he told himself he would merely play her game. Make her suffer. Feel with every quake of her thighs how her own carnal desires betrayed the very goddess she claimed to adore.
And yet…
Even if I did.
