Page 73 of Blood and Thorns

Anger collides with an overwhelming surge of relief, desire, heartbreak. I slam my fists against his chest once more, weaker this time. He wraps his arms around me, capturing my wrists, and I collapse against him, tears soaking his coat. “I hate you,” I repeat, voice breaking. “I hate how you made me feel worthless.”

He bows his head, pressing it to mine. “You’re not worthless. You never were.” His arms tighten, trembling. “I swear on my wings, Valeria, I’d tear the world apart if it meant keeping you safe.”

My mind spins, rational thought slipping away. The catacombs loom around us, stone effigies of Vrakken lords, the echo of water dripping in distant tunnels. Yet all I feel is his warmth, his frantic heartbeat, the pungent mix of desperation and raw attraction that tangles between us. I can’t think, can’t breathe. My resentment at his betrayal tangles with a fierce hunger to feel him close.

Our gazes snap together—lightning ignites in that moment. His eyes are black as obsidian, searching my face. Mine must blaze with fury and longing. Neither of us speaks, because words have run out. The hush of the catacombs crackles with tension.Slowly, as if testing fate, I lift a hand to his jaw, tracing the bruise there. He flinches, but leans into my touch, every muscle in his body coiled.

“Why do I still want you?” I whisper, voice hoarse. “Why do I feel like—like I’m dying if you’re not near?”

His breath shudders. “Because we’re bound by more than blood or heritage. I wish I could undo the pain, but I can’t.”

I shiver, tears still clinging to my lashes. “You can’t fix what you did,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction. The swirling maelstrom of emotions inside me surges, unstoppable, crushing logic. I’m battered, exhausted, furious, and yet I yearn for him in a way that defies sense.

His hand slides up my arms, carefully, as though he’s afraid I’ll shatter. Then, in a rush, his mouth meets mine. I tense, considering shoving him away again—but the moment our lips touch, everything ignites. My anger, my relief, my raw adrenaline from nearly dying, and the deep-seated need for comfort all fuse into one ferocious wave. I respond with equal fervor, fists knotting in his coat, tugging him against me.

The kiss is brutal, filled with tears and muffled sobs, a clash of teeth and tongues that speaks of heartbreak and longing. Pain stabs my wounded leg, but I hardly care. I cling to him as though he’s the last stable point in a collapsing world. The taste of salt from my tears mingles with the metallic tang of his blood. It’s savage, desperate—a collision of two battered souls who can’t outrun each other’s gravity.

He backs me against the cold stone column, never breaking the fierce press of his mouth on mine. Our breath mingles in ragged gasps. I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling, needing to feel him flinch the way I flinched when he left me. I want to mark him with the same pain. But the instant he winces, I soften, twisting between wanting him punished and craving his warmth.

His hands slide under the torn hem of my tunic, hesitating when I hiss in pain from the cut on my thigh. “Gods, you’re hurt,” he mutters, voice choked with concern.

I bite back a moan, anger still sizzling. “Don’t stop. Just—don’t.”

He nods, lips grazing my jaw, trailing down my neck. Each brush of contact is like fire against my skin. My body is exhausted, but the adrenaline spike blasts me into heightened awareness. The catacomb’s air is damp and chill, yet I’m feverish with need.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, resting his forehead against mine. “We can find a safer place?—”

“No time,” I snap, tugging him closer. My voice cracks with urgency. “We might die tonight. Everything else is gone. This is all we have.”

He exhales a trembling breath, wings shifting behind him. “Then let me show you you’re not alone.” Gently, but with unhidden intensity, he cups my face again, reclaiming my lips in a searing kiss. Anger and longing swirl together, unstoppable.

We sink to the rough stone floor, ignoring the cold that seeps through. He pulls me onto his lap, arms around me, supporting my injured leg as best he can. Each movement draws a hiss of pain from me, but also a fierce wave of desire. My hands find the fastenings of his coat, tugging them open. He shrugs out of it, revealing a bloodied, tattered shirt beneath. The sight of the bruises on his chest lances me with guilt, but also a savage thrill—we’re both wounded, both raw, and we only have each other.

We shed barriers, piece by piece, until my skin meets his, hot and slick with sweat. The lantern light flickers, casting erratic shadows on the walls. He leans over me, mouth trailing across my collarbone, then lower. I arch against the stone column, a gasp escaping when he presses his palm to the cut on my thigh,careful but firm. He’s checking it, not wanting me to bleed out. The concern stabs my heart anew—he does care.

“Don’t think,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Just feel.”

The cold stone bites into my back, but I barely feel it—not when Vaelorian’s body presses against mine, his heat searing through the damp chill of the catacombs. His wings flare behind him, casting us in shadow, the membranous veins trembling with restraint.

“Don’t think,” he murmurs again, voice rough as his hand slides down my thigh, avoiding the wound but gripping possessively. “Just feel.”

I hiss as he shifts me, my injured leg propped over his hip, but the pain is already blurring into something else—something molten. His cock drags against my inner thigh, thick and heavy, and my pussy clenches around nothing, aching.

It’s madness, a collision of pain and want so intense I can’t separate them.

“Fuck me,” I demand, nails scraping down his chest. “Before I change my mind.”

His growl vibrates against my throat. “You won’t.”

Then he’s pushing inside me, stretching me with a single, relentless thrust. I cry out, back arching off the stone, my body torn between the sting of his size and the dizzying relief of being filled. He pauses, shuddering, his fangs grazing my pulse point.

“Gods, Valeria—” His voice is shattered. “You’re so fucking wet and warm. So soft, feels like I’m sinking into velvet.”

I claw at his shoulders, dragging him deeper. “Move. Faster. Deeper. Take me, Vaelorian.”

He obeys.

The first snap of his hips wrings a sob from me—not from hurt, but from the sheer, brutal pleasure of it. Every drag of his cock is a punishment and a promise, the friction so exquisite it borders on agony.

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