Page 74 of Blood and Thorns

Our bodies lock, skin to skin, the wet heat of our coupling more real than any illusions swirling above.

“Look at me,” he snarls, fingers tangling in my hair.

I force my eyes open, meeting his fathomless gaze. His pupils are blown, his lips parted around ragged breaths. The sight of him—unraveled, desperate—sends a new wave of heat pooling low in my belly.

“You feel that?” He thrusts harder, grinding deep. “That’s how much I need you. Even when I’m fucking you like this—especially then.”

It’s not gentle—far from it. Grief and betrayal coil through every motion, yet underneath is a current of raw devotion that neither of us can banish.

I sob, my thighs trembling around his waist. “I hate you?—”

“Liar.” His mouth crashes onto mine, swallowing my moans as his pace turns punishing. The slap of skin, the slick sounds of my pussy taking him, the way his wings shudder with every thrust—it’s filthy, intoxicating.

Tears spill anew when I feel his mouth on my throat, hungry and frantic, fangs grazing my skin.

“Bite me,” I gasp, tilting my neck. “Do it.”

He groans, hips stuttering. “I’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care.”

His fangs sink in—just enough to pierce, not to drain—and the sharp burst of pain rockets straight to my core. I scream, my walls clamping around him, and he curses, pistoning into me with renewed frenzy.

“Come for me,” he demands, voice guttural. “Let me feel you come on my cock.”

The line between hatred and love blurs until I can’t tell which emotion fuels me more.

Pleasure coils, tighter and tighter, until I’m shaking apart, my orgasm ripping through me like a blade. Vaelorian follows,his roar echoing off the catacomb walls as he comes inside me, his wings flaring wide like a predator claiming its prize.

Afterward, we collapse into a trembling heap, chests heaving.

The stone is cold, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex, but his arms lock around me, his lips pressed to my damp forehead.

“Valeria,” he whispers, and my name has never sounded so much like a prayer.

For a moment, the catacombs recede, the war above forgotten. Only the throb of my battered body and the frantic beat of his heart exist.

He cradles my cheek, pressing a bruised kiss to my forehead. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, tears lurking in his voice. “For everything.”

My throat locks. I want to snap that sorry isn’t enough. But I can’t speak. My body aches in ways beyond the physical—my soul is raw. Instead, I rest my hand over his racing heart. The silence stretches, heavy with all the words we can’t say.

Gradually, the cold seeps back, reality intruding. My mind stirs, reminding me we’re still in a fortress under siege, that dark elves or traitorous Vrakken might find us at any moment. My leg throbs, each pulse reminding me how precarious my condition is.

He must sense the shift in my posture. Carefully, he shifts us so we’re semi-upright, leaning against the column. Our clothes are a tangled mess on the dusty ground. He retrieves his coat, draping it over my exposed skin, then fetches a rag from his pouch. Gently, he presses it to the gash on my leg. I bite my lip as fresh pain flares.

“Let me see,” he murmurs. He tears another strip from his ruined shirt, forming a tighter bandage. My eyes blur with fresh tears—pain and an overwhelming swirl of gratitude for this fleeting tenderness.

“Thank you,” I whisper, leaning my head on the stone. My body still trembles from the aftermath of that raw coupling. My chest feels hollow. “I hate that I can’t hate you.”

He exhales, head bowing as he ties the bandage. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’ll earn it if I can.” He lifts his gaze, black eyes glistening. “For now, we survive. That’s all that matters.”

I nod, letting my fingers brush the side of his face. A bruise colors his jawline. My heart clenches with the reminder that this monstrous siege took everything from us—trust, illusions, alliances. All we have left is each other, ironically. The catacomb hush throbs with unspoken emotion.

Footsteps echo in a distant tunnel. We freeze, instincts flaring. Slowly, Vaelorian tugs his coat around me more securely, then stands, retrieving his sword. I struggle to my feet, ignoring the stab of agony, and retrieve my dagger. Our eyes meet in silent agreement:we can’t stay here.

He offers me his arm. I hesitate a moment, recalling how he once left me behind in the swirling illusions. But something in his gaze anchors me. I take his arm, leaning on him for support, ignoring the swirl of bitterness that tries to reassert itself.

We snuff the lantern, letting our half-Vrakken and Vrakken night vision adjust. Darkness envelops us, but we sense each other’s warmth. My leg throbs, and my lips still tingle from his desperate kiss. My cheeks burn, recalling how violently we collided in this hidden crypt, how it felt to yield to the collision of anger and passion. A part of me regrets nothing. Another part aches with confusion about what comes next.

---