Page 124 of A Throne of Blood & Vengeance

I didn’t have it in me to tease her right now or go slow. Instead, I just shoved two fingers as deep into her cunt as they could go and started fucking her roughly with them.

“Is that what you want?” I growled as she writhed on my hand.

“Yes!” She looked at me with solid black eyes before tilting her head. “Drink.”

My fangs were buried in her throat a second later as I continued to pump my fingers in and out while I rubbed her clit with my thumb. Her intoxicatingly rich blood filled my mouth, and I swallowed it down as she came undone on my hand.

She tasted even better than I’d remembered, but I didn’t want to take too much. I started to pull my fangs out, but she pushed hard against the back of my head and held me in place. “More,” she panted. “Drink more.”

I bit down harder and added a third finger, fucking her faster and rougher as I drank her down. Her pussy tightened around my fingers as she came again. Only when she was finished and I felt her trembling with ecstasy did I pull away from her neck.

Slowly, I pulled my fingers out as well, and Samara watched as I swiped her blood off my lips before sucking each finger clean.

“Come back to me, Vail,” she said through heavy breaths.

“There is nothing that will keep me from you.” I laid my hand against her rapidly beating heart; the bond that had felt so frayed now felt so much more solid. “I love you too, Samara.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Samara

Erendriel did return that evening,an hour after sunset, but he didn’t come alone.

“Serril.” I nodded in greeting. “Pleasure to see you again in the flesh.” An apologetic smile graced my lips. “Forgive me, I mean shadow.”

He chuckled, and wisps of darkness rolled off his shoulders as his shadow form strolled towards me. Like the night I’d first met him, he’d chosen to appear in a Fae form rather than something monstrous. He halted a foot away from the archway, where the boundary between us was.

“Feeling bold this evening, are we?” A hand of inky black shadows stretched towards the invisible wall, and he mimed tapping against it.

“It’s easy to be bold when you’re young and naive of the world around you,” Erendriel said evenly.

“Still . . .” Serril pondered me. “I like her more than Velika. Too much human in that one, not enough Seelie.”

The question I’d been about to ask died on my lips. “Velika had Seelie blood too?”

Erendriel snorted dismissively. “Haven’t figured it out yet, have you? I would have thought with all the tomes at yourdisposal that you would have by now.” He gave me an appraising look. “Perhaps you’re not as clever as I thought.”

“Oh, come now.” Serril’s voice held a mocking quality to it. “Let’s not judge her too harshly. She’s so young, and the only ones who have been able to teach her are other Moroi. It’s the ignorant leading the ignorant. That never bodes well.”

“I suppose you have a point.” Erendriel remained in the center of the small landing with his hands clasped behind his back. It reminded me of the way the old scholars would stand when they launched into a lecture. The false Seelie King might be my enemy, but I’d be a fool to turn down any knowledge. I’d just have to cross-reference whatever he told me with the books to unravel any lies he might have slipped into the truth.

Serril’s hand moved away from the boundary to tap a long finger against his chin. “Have you ever wondered what determined who became Moroi, Velesian, or Furie when your human ancestors cast that original spell?”

Disappointment hit me. I did know, and it wasn’t particularly interesting. “They chose their symbols.” I pointed to the crescent moon on the left side of my neck. “Everyone chose where to paint the symbol. Left for Moroi, right for Velesian, and the front of the neck for Furies.”

“‘We will give our lives for the blood. We will yield our fates in the wild. We will lose our souls to the fury,’” Serril recited.

They were the original words spoken for the spellcasting. I was a little surprised he knew them, but then again, the wraiths had been raiding the old human settlements to collect the obsidian stones, which had been used in the original ritual. He’d probably stumbled upon copies of the spell they’d used.

“Your point?” I arched a dark brow.

“Just like you, your ancestors tampered with something they couldn’t begin to comprehend.” Serril held his hand up again, letting talons form at his fingertips. Then he grinned widely, andI was able to make out large fangs. “The spell was already in motion when they began painting those symbols. They did not choose what symbols to carve into their skin; the magic did.”

The disappointment I’d been feeling vanished. In all my readings, I’d never come across that distinction. We’d assumed they’d decided who became Moroi, Velesian, or Furie—likely just divided things up evenly—but if Serril was telling the truth, they hadn’t chosen . . .

“How did the magic decide?” I asked slowly.

Apparently, Serril didn’t like to just give answers. “I think you know. Only the Furies can use shadow magic, some more than others, like your gifted friend. The Moroi can use Seelie magic. And the Velesians, well, they cannot directly use either type of magic, but if a Moroi were to give them an enchanted bracelet of Seelie magic . . . they could use that. Just as they could use something enchanted with Unseelie magic. The Velesians are magic-neutral.”

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