Chapter 96
Vladya’s eyes flew open. Silence fell like a shroud.
“I did not say that,” he stated, at last.
“But that’s what happened, isn’t it?” Aekeira murmured. “It would explain the wounds, the poison.”
Vladya was too exhausted for this confrontation. Were all human royals this stubborn, or was it a trait shared solely by this female and her brother?
“Fine,” he conceded, the word heavy with resignation. “I saved the boy’s life. Are you satisfied? Now, go tend to him and leave me in peace, Ackeira.” A flicker of vulnerability crossed his voice as he added, “Please.”
She only stepped closer, her movements infused with a strange, hesitant grace. “You saved his life. You saved Em’s life,” she repeated, wonder warring with her features.
Vladya sighed.
Her eyes locked with his, a torrent of emotions swirling within them – concern, a fierce protectiveness, and a strange glint of… fascination? “I can’t leave you like this.”
“Of course, you can.”
“Let me help you,” she whispered.
He laughed, a harsh, empty, mirthless sound. “You cannot help me.”
Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the rasp of Vladya's breath.
“You can drink from me.”
He stopped breathing. The words, soft yet loaded with shocking resolve, sent a tremor through him. His inner beast roared in response, and a primal, deep hunger filled him, threatening to drown out all reason.
In a flash, he had her pinned against the wall, his large form a looming threat, fangs glinting in the dim light.
“Are you mad?” he snarled, his voice a rasping echo against the stone walls. “Do you tempt death so freely? Do not utter such words again. Ever.”
Yet, she met his gaze without flinching. “I wish for you to drink from me,” she repeated in a soft whisper.
His body throbbed in eagerness. Hunger clawed at him. His control weakened, fraying with every beat of her heart.
If her blood were as sweet as it smelled, he would drink her dry.
“Speak those words again, and I may take you at your offer,” he warned in a low tone.
“Your kind, you need permission to drink from a person the first time? Without it, the blood tastes bland and useless?” He nodded. “You need blood to heal. And so, I give you my consent,” she said, her voice steady.
A flicker of surprise coursed through him. Most people fled when he was like this – witches, Urekai, werewolves, all of them. Yet this tiny human princess always held her ground, a perplexing blend of bravery, stubbornness, and an iron will.
Qualities he’d once adored in a female, a lifetime ago.
“Drink from me, Your Highness,” she urged, eyes closed as she tilted her head in a gesture of complete surrender, “I give you permission.”
Her throat, pale and vulnerable, pulsed under his gaze. There are certain battles a man simply cannot win. This was one of them.
A groan of surrender escaped him as he took her neck, positioning her as he wanted. As his fangs pierced her skin, he infused her with his elixir, dulling the inevitable pain of penetration. Then, his fangs fully sank home.
Ackeira’s cry was a startled gasp, then a shuddering moan of pleasure.
Vladya groaned, the sound raw and uncontrolled. His eyes closed as her blood sang to him. Sweetness bloomed on his tongue, richer than any wine, the tang of iron laced with a sweetness like sun-warmed honey, and a stark, elemental purity like a winter sunrise.
She was intoxicating. A heavenly delight.
He drew from her, feeling the throb of her pulse against his lips. Her body writhed in his grip.
“Oh, Lights!” she cried, fingers clenching into his shoulders.
Vladya was lost in a dangerous paradise. It had been too long since he had experienced such bliss. Deeper, his own control hanging by the thinnest thread. Her pulse thrummed beneath his touch, mirroring the frantic beat of his own heart.
“Please…” her cries a broken plea. “Oh, please, please, please.”
The haze of pleasure was overwhelming. His dick, as hard as granite, pulsed in his breeches, the bulge visible through his clothes.
Just as her nakedness had enticed him, her blood enthralled him. It held him captive, a slave to his desires. He drank greedily, helplessly.
“I need, I need…” Sobs of pleasure racked her throat.
Had she never experienced pleasure before? Did she not know what her body needed? Did she not realize she was on the verge of climax?
But the innocence in her helpless movements, the clumsiness in her jerky motions, made it clear that she didn’t. The realization shook him to his core.
He extended his thigh, parting her legs, and pressed it against her aching core.
She whimpered, grinding against him, her actions driven purely by instinct – uncoordinated yet utterly addictive. “Oh… Ooh.”
A plaintive whine escaped her throat as she climaxed, grinding furiously. The heat of her release soaked his thigh, her scent a heady musk driving him to the brink of madness.
Then she sagged against him and Vladya held her tenderly. Only soft mewls broke the stillness as he continued to drink.
But he really had to stop now, or he would drain her.
With sheer willpower he didn’t know he possessed, he forced himself to stop. Retracting his fangs, he sealed the ragged puncture marks with a swipe of his tongue.
She lay limp in his arms, breathing raggedly, utterly at his mercy. The sight stirred something within him.
His eyes observed her, and a growl emerged from deep within him. She was blood drunk.
Her eyes drooped, her lips slackened, and unintelligible words trembled from her mouth. Her head rolled from side to side, lost in a euphoric haze.
A feeder getting blood-drunk wasn’t rare, but it didn’t happen all the time. It had been so long since someone had become intoxicated from his feeding.
A knock shattered the languid silence. Yaz’s head peeked through the opening. “My Lord, apologies, but I bear urgent news. Maids whisper of assassins in Blackstone, hunting the human prince. He’s rumored to be fleeing towards the southern wing.”
Vladya’s head snapped up, the lingering haze of satisfied feeding shattered. He tightened his grip on Ackeira, preventing her from slumping, while his gaze whipped around the room. “Emeriel?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Ackeira released a soft giggle, her unfocused eyes wandering above with the hazy focus of confusion and utter happiness.
“High as a kite,” Vladya murmured.
Then he scooped her up, crossed the room, and deposited her on the couch to sleep it off. Slipping into his followed Yaz out. A strange lightness filled him.
His wounds ached less, and he could feel the beginning of the healing process.
Chapter 97
EMERIEL
Emeriel’s body screamed with exhaustion.
Every rasping breath seared his lungs, every step sent tremors through his leaden limbs. Yet he ran, propelled by the blind instinct to survive.
“Damn, wish we had kept the arrow!” an assassin’s voice grated behind him, followed by the ominous whisper of steel sliding free.
Emeriel reacted without thought, a desperate lurch to the side, barely evading the unseen blade.
So close, almost there….
He never saw the hands that seized him. One moment he was running, the next a vise-like grip yanked him off his feet.
His scream choked off as he dangled, kicking uselessly against the tremendous strength. A chilling laugh echoed in his ear.
“Got you at last, pretty prince,” his captor hissed, a venomous glee in the words.
“Let me go!” Emeriel shrieked, his voice cracking. “The beast will tear you apart if you touch me! Don’t-”
“Silence, wretch! Do you really think you’re special to our feral king?” the soldier barked into Emeriel’s ear. “I will slit your throat and see how precious you are then!”
The now-familiar urge returned.
A persistent rush just like that fateful day in court. This time, Emeriel did not fight it. He surrendered.
“My beloved, I need your help. My beloved, please help me,” Emeriel’s desperate cries echoed against the cold stone walls.
His voice trembled with fear and dread. What if the beast does not answer his plea?
“What the hell is he saying?” one of them cackled.
A roar filled the air. It tore through the silence like a guttural explosion that seemed to shake the very foundations of the fortress.
“What in the name of all that’s holy…”
“Gods above…”
Frantically, the soldiers glanced around, desperate to pinpoint the source of the sound. “Could that have been the feral?”
“Do not be a fool,” the one holding Emeriel barked. “Let us get this boy out of here before someone spots-”
The crack of splintering wood cut him off. An ear-splitting snarl ripped through the air, followed by a blur of movement, too fast to track.
“Ukrac preserve us,” breathed another soldier, his voice barely a whisper.
Panic rippled around them as the soldiers scattered like ants, their boots slapping against the stone floor. But the beast was a blur of muscle and fury, cutting them off with lightning speed.
It lunged, a whirlwind of claws and teeth, each strike tearing flesh and bone. Screams echoed, mixing with the sickening scent of copper.
Emeriel’s adrenaline surged, numbing his senses. He’d come. His beloved came for him.
As the beast killed the last of its attackers, Emeriel stumbled forward, throwing himself into the beast’s blood-soaked embrace.
“Thank you,” he choked out, burying his face in the creature’s thick fur. “Thank you, my King, thank you.”
The beast paused, its rage seeming to ebb away. A gentle nudge from his massive head, accompanied by a soft, rumbling growl, conveyed a warmth that belied its fearsome anger.
“Do not die,” Emeriel whispered, his words tight with emotion. Tears welled up in his eyes. “They’re going to kill you tomorrow, and I… I cannot bear it. I refuse to believe you are as mindless as they say. I wish I could save you. I wish I could save you.”
Emeriel pulled back, his face pale. The beast lowered him to his feet but did not release its hold. Emeriel did not mind.
“I know you’re in there, somewhere. I just don’t know how to reach you,” he murmured, his voice heavy with sorrow.
The beast rumbled again, its gaze slowly moving to Emeriel’s neck, fixing there pointedly.
Emeriel held his breath, his heart pounding. Was that some sort of…communication?
“Are you trying to tell me something?” Helplessness mingled with desperate hope. “I wish I could understand.”
And then, he felt something else.
His blood surged through his veins, and a tingling warmth followed. Emeriel yearned, with a sudden, fierce intensity, for the beast to drink from him once more.
He tilted his head, baring the vulnerable curve of his neck. “Drink,” he rasped, “Please, I want you to… to drink from me again.”
It seemed the beast had been waiting for the invitation. A rough tongue lashed across his neck, followed by the sharp sting of a fang.
The beast had begun to feed.
GRAND LORD VLADYA
Grand Lord Vladya stood frozen, hidden in the shadows. He watched, his hand gripping Yaz’s arm, stunned speechless, unable to tear his gaze away.
After centuries of existence, filled with so many experiences both wondrous and horrific, very little could genuinely surprise him anymore.
He had borne witness to the full spectrum of the world’s nature – the beautiful heights of goodness and the abyssal depths of evil. Yet, even with a past scarred by darkness, he had never, in all his extensive life, envisioned a sight such as this.
Daemonikai had broken free to answer the boy’s call. The boy’s strange call.
Vladya’s voice caught in his throat, a strange knot of emotions twisting in his chest.
“Your Highness, did the feral beast of the grand king just… communicate with that boy?” Yaz’s voice, though hushed, held a tremor that betrayed his normally unflappable demeanor.
Even in the low murmur, Vladya could detect the disbelief edging into his trusted soldier’s tone.
Daemon had just saved Emeriel, again.
His untamed best friend had hugged someone with remarkable gentleness.
The boy was bloodfeeding a feral, willingly.
Overwhelmed by the scene unfolding before him, Vladya struggled to process the sheer improbability of it all. His mind raced, each thought tripping over the last.
His eyes were wide with astonishment, jaw slack in awe. A lifetime of carefully cultivated composure faltered as his mouth opened and closed soundlessly, unable to form words. He was a master of self-control, nothing truly got to him anymore, yet this…
The beast clung to the boy as it drank from him.
Its paw did not dig into the boy’s skin. Instead, it delicately used fewer fangs to draw blood from the boy’s pale neck.
He knew. Somehow, the feral knew using fewer fangs while bloodfeeding in beast form would reduce the risk of harming the feeder.
Soft moans of pleasure emanated from the boy, his body writhing restlessly as the beast’s elixir coursed through his veins. But, if the feral did not stop soon, it would drain the boy completely.
The boy climaxed with a throaty whimper. Shudders rippled through his small frame. He squirmed even closer to the beast, burrowing deeper like he wanted to disappear into that fur.
And the feral placed a hand on his back and caressed the boy.