Page 47 of Midnight Queen

Myqueen.

Ididn’t wake up in the bed I fell asleep in. No correction, the bed Ipassed outin. When Silas was done with me, not only could I not pronounce my own name, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The last thing I remember is the warm washcloth washing my sensitive skin as he cleaned me.

The next time I opened my eyes, I was wrapped in the maroon sheets of Silas’s bed and the sun was starting to fall in the sky. He wasn’t in bed with me, but I could hear him talking to someone on the phone across the hall in his office.

Coffee is now my best friend while I adapt to my new sleep schedule. Waking up when the sun is setting is an odd adjustment, but it’s one I’m more than willing to make. If I’m going to be a part of Silas’s world like I crave, I will happily make the necessary adjustments.

It’s all worth it to be able to stand at Silas’s side. And that’s where I belong. I’m not giving up that position without a fight. I don’t know if he realizes just how serious I was when I told him I could be his queen.

If he hasn't figured it out himself, I’m going to prove to him soon just how capable I am of taking on that role.

I’m sitting at the kitchen counter, nursing my second cup of coffee, when Lor waltzes into the kitchen, the sparkling blue cup he’s claimed as his own in his hand. “Blood bags are boring. This at least makes it festive,” he explains when he finds me staring at the cup. “I don’t know how Silas goes against our nature and drinks mainly bagged blood. The thrill of the hunt is hard to ignore.”

“Silas is too strong to allow those urges to control him. Something you can’t relate to, I’m sure.” The jab is thrown at him in a joking tone, but instead of taking it that way, his face grows serious.

“Real strength isn’t just denying yourself of something entirely. It’s still allowing yourself to indulge in those behaviors, but being able to stop like that,” his fingers snap. “Truth be told, I don’t believe in denying myself anything. Silas and I differ a lot in that sense. He sees being a vampire as a curse. A burden. I see it as the greatest gift and each day I enjoy it to its fullest because I remember what it’s like to feel weak and defenseless. I remember what it’s like to be deprived of what my body needs most.”

I’m not sure what memory just filled his head, but whatever it is, I can sense that it causes him pain. His eyes blink once, and the emotion is gone just as fast. “But not anymore. Never again will I deny myself what I want. Whether it’s blood from a vein or a good ol’ fight. If I want it, I will go get it.” The sultry smirk I’m accustomed to seeing on his face returns. “Same goes for sex.”

As he speaks, I begin to understand the Irish vampire more. Silas was turned and immediately put the weight of managing the vampire race on his shoulders. He took on the burden of keeping them all in line. He never had an opportunity to experience all the joys that being a vampire can bring. Meanwhile, Lorcan has felt nothing but the joys of it.

Lorcan views being a vampire as having endless freedom. Silas sees it as something that’s trapped him. The role he took in this world is a lonely one, but I hope that I can help him see it more from Lorcan’s point of view. Even if things are still a mess from the Gideon fallout, a little fun and excitement would do him some good.

“Your comment about monogamy not being for you is making a lot more sense now.”

Sexy mischief lights up in his brown eyes. “I’m going to live forever, Quincey. Why would I limit who I can fuck? There are so many uniquely wonderful people in this world, it would be such a waste to commit myself to only one of them.” He gestures at me with his cup. “I’ll leave the monogamy to Silas. He’s better at it anyway, which admittedly it’s a low bar, but even after all these years, he’s kept a shrine to his dead wife. That has to count for something.”

I bristle at his words. Silas didn't react well when I admitted to finding the temperature-controlled display cases in the cellar, I highly doubt he’s going to react any better when he discovers Lorcan has been snooping around his private belongings as well.

“Lorcan,” I start, placing my mug on the marble countertop. “For the love of God, tell me you didn’t touch anything.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Ofcoursenot. Contrary to popular belief, I knowhowto behave, but I simply choose not to. Doing so is rarely the more entertaining of the choices, but I also know when doing something would be a death sentence. Touching those items would have put me in the ground faster than I could have said,‘Silas, your haircut in 1742 was atrocious’.” He lets out a low whistle. “All I’m saying, it’s a good thing you met him now when he’s hot.”

I’ve seen the paintings and pictures of Silas throughout the years, and while I know it’s him, he’s notmySilas in any of them.

“What were you doing down there in the first place?”

He shakes the blue tumbler in his hand. “I knew he’d have a stash of blood somewhere and it was either I found it or fed off one of the guards patrolling the property.” Lor’s eyes roam over me. “Oryou, but once again, Silas is absolute shit at sharing.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to admit that Silas has never fed off me, but I stop myself.

Silas has used his tongue to clean blood from my body, but never has he sunk his fangs into me and sipped from my vein. It’s never something I thought I’d want or crave but watching him lick the blood off me was so unexpectedly erotic.

Silas told me if it’s done right, a vampire bite is one of the most pleasurable things one can experience. Being fucked by Silas Laurent is the best thing I've ever felt but biting me will only increase that pleasure. I want it and, more importantly, how the hell do I sign up for it?

I’ve already filled out my liability waiver and am ready to go.

It’s Silas who’s refusing to do it, and while I understand his apprehension, I don’t care. It might take some pushing, but I will make it happen.

“You said you were the one who didn’t want to share, but you’re awfully chill about him keeping all his dead wife’s things in the basement like it’s a creepy altar to her.”

“It’s notcreepy,” I defend immediately, even though Idefinitelythought it was really fucking creepy when I first found it. I felt like I’d walked into a serial killer’s trophy room, but that’s a thought I will never admit. I think it's one best kept to myself. “Cecily was his wife and he loved her. She’s still a part of him, and he has every right to want to keep things to remember her by.”

That was a very mature and believable response, Quincey, you should be very proud of yourself.

I’m more accepting of the whole thing because I know the reason he keeps her things is mostly out of guilt. He honors her life because he’s the one who ended it.

He stands there staring at me for a beat, unblinking, before his head shakes. “Nope!” he declares. “It’s still really fucking creepy. When you die, is he going to put your knickknacks in a glass box too?”

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