Page 33 of Blood and Thorns

Weeks of tension coil in my chest. He’s so close I can see the faint lines around his eyes, the flicker of silver in their dark depths. My mind screams that this is dangerous, foolish. He’s my trainer, my prince, my... my something.

“Valeria,” he says, voice raw.

I can’t speak. Instead, I lift a trembling hand to his shoulder. For an instant, we both freeze. Then, as though compelled by the same force, our mouths crash together in a fierce, bruising kiss.

The courtyard, the fortress, the entire world falls away. All that exists is the press of his lips against mine, the taste of salt and adrenaline, the electric jolt that shoots through my limbs. I feel his hands tighten on my waist, pulling me closer, and my body arches into him with a hunger that surprises even me.

Time slows. Every breath merges, every brush of our lips or shift of our bodies intensifies the rushing in my ears. I’m drowning in sensation—his fangs graze my lower lip, a gentle reminder that he’s not human, that he could hurt me if he wanted. The knowledge only heightens the thrill.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice warns me:This is a mistake. You can’t risk this.But the heat consumes that thought as swiftly as kindling in a blaze. I melt into him, lost in the desperate need that’s built over weeks of careful restraint.

He angles his head, deepening the kiss, and I gasp. My hands slide up around his neck, tangling in the inky strands of his hair. His wings shift behind him, rustling, enveloping us in partial shadow as though to shield this moment from prying eyes.

We break apart only when we’re both out of breath, foreheads resting against each other in the twilight. My chest heaves, and I catch the rapid stutter of his breath, too. It’s as if we’ve shattered some invisible barrier, and everything is new, uncharted.

I can barely form words. “Vaelorian...”

His name sounds intimate on my lips, and it sends another wave of warmth coursing through me. He half-closes his eyes, expression torn between longing and alarm. “We shouldn’t,” he rasps, voice rough. “This?—”

But neither of us moves away. Instead, I grip his coat, pulling him back to me. The next kiss is slower, lingering, and it holdsa dangerous tenderness that makes my heart twist.Gods, what are we doing?

He breaks the kiss again, resting his cheek against my temple. “We can’t stay here,” he murmurs.

I shudder, the chilly evening air raising goosebumps on my skin. There’s truth in his words—the courtyard is open to any passerby. Anyone could see, or worse, report us to his mother. A thread of panic knits through the haze of desire.

“Come on,” he says, voice low. “Your suite is nearby. We can... talk there.”

The hesitation in his tone is palpable, as if he’s not sure “talk” is the right word. I nod mutely, too overwhelmed to argue. He releases me, bending quickly to retrieve our practice swords. Then he offers me one, handling it like a mere prop. Hand in hand, we slip through a side gate into the corridor.

The fortress interior is dim, lit by sporadic torches. My mind buzzes with each step. He holds my wrist lightly, a protective yet urgent contact. I watch the way his wings fold tight to his back, as if he’s shielding me from any unexpected onlooker.

We reach my suite’s door, and I fumble with the key. My nerves tangle. The moment we’re inside, I set aside the sword and whirl to face him. The hush in the room engulfs us, the only light coming from a single lamp I’d left burning.

He stands by the door, gaze locked on me, chest still rising and falling from the spar. My heart clenches at the sight—the lethal grace of his body, the intensity in his eyes. I cross the distance between us in two strides.

We collide again, mouths seeking each other in a kiss that’s somehow more frantic than before. His hands grip my waist, lifting me so my feet leave the floor for a second. A strangled sound escapes me—half protest, half desperation—because I still can’t believe we’ve let this happen.

His fangs graze my lip once more, and I realize I’m not afraid.Gods, I should be.He could tear me open, but instead, he’s cradling me as though I’m precious. I tangle my hands in his hair, pressing him closer.

We stumble across the room, leaving a trail of scattered items—a lamp nearly topples as we brush past the small table. When my back meets the wall, I gasp, and he braces a hand beside my head, pinning me in place. Our eyes meet, a silent question passing between us.

“Are you sure?” he breathes, voice ragged.

In answer, I pull him in for another fierce kiss. My body thrums with a need I’ve never felt before—a desire not born of fear or forced subservience, but of a genuine, overwhelming connection. He groans against my mouth, and the sound ignites a trembling ache in my core.

Neither of us is gentle. Our movements are clumsy in places, fueled by pent-up hunger. At some point, I manage to shift enough that we tumble onto the edge of my bed. The closeness is too much and not enough all at once. My fingers hook into the collar of his coat, sliding it down his arms, revealing the ghostly white skin beneath.

He answers by tugging at the ties of my tunic, baring my shoulders. A rush of cool air on my flushed skin makes me shiver, but his warmth follows, his lips trailing down my neck. Pleasure sparks, making my head spin.

My past experiences were nothing like this. Before, my body was a commodity, used by the dark elves to amuse themselves. Now, each caress is electric, desired. There’s no fear or compulsion, only this maddening urge to explore every contour of Vaelorian’s body and lose myself in the intensity of him.

Clothes fall away in pieces, the breathy gasps filling the air. My nerves hum with the knowledge that I’m lying here, half-naked, with a powerful Vrakken who could break me—and yet,for once, I feel alive, in control, even as I surrender to the sensation.

He pauses, fingertips featherlight against my waist. His black eyes meet mine, searching. I sense the question again:Are you certain?

I nod. “Yes,” I whisper, voice hoarse.

A guttural sound tears from Vaelorian’s throat as he slams me back against the door, his wings flaring wide to cage me in. The wood bites into my bare shoulders, but I don’t care—not when his hands are already wrenching my trousers down my hips, not when his cock is already hard and pressing against my thigh, hot as a brand.

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