Page 44 of Fangs & Freaks
Warrick groans, running a hand over his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This... this is what we’re dealing with now? Have we forgotten about Vienna? The Obsidian? Am I the only fucking sane one around here?”
I raise an eyebrow, my grin widening. “Jealous, Warrick? Or just frustrated that you’re not part of the fun?”
“Don’t,” Warrick snaps, pointing a finger at me. “Don’t drag me into your...whatever this is.”
Blackwell clears his throat, his gaze sharp as he addresses me directly. “This complicates things,” he says, his tone clipped but measured. “You being Varys’ mate, I mean. Especially with everything else we’re dealing with.”
I tilt my head, my expression hardening. “It doesn’t complicate anything,” I state firmly. “It clarifies things. The Obsidian Circle crossed a line, and now they’ll pay for it. Would it complicate things if you were Varys' mate?” I wait for them to say something, but they don’t. Men and their fucking double standards.
“Thought so.”
“I can agree with them on one thing, Bellonna. We’re wasting time. We need to save Vienna. Then we can have fun.” Varys’ concerned voice pulls my attention.
“Fine, mate.” I give him a kiss on the lips, making sure to put on a show for the fangbangers. Blackwell’s moans of approval only urging me on.
Warrick shakes his head, his exasperation clear. “This is going to be a nightmare.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Warrick
Bellonna climbs off of Varys’lap and leans against the wall next to him, her eyes glinting dark and dangerous, like polished obsidian. She’s a vision, both exquisite and terrifying, her every movement steeped in the allure of a predator who knows her prey is already ensnared.
And then there’s him.
Varys. The unicorn. He stays seated, watching Bellonna, his brown hair cascading around his face, glowing faintly like a halo in the dim room. He doesn’t belong in this world of shadows and blood. He’s too pure, too celestial. But there’s a darkness in his gaze as he looks at Bellonna—a possessiveness that twists something in my chest.
They’re mates.
The word tastes like ash in my mouth.
Vampires don’t have mates. We have companions, lovers, people we choose to endure eternity with. It’s a practical arrangement, one grounded in mutual interests and pleasures, not this saccharine bullshit about fate. Even the mark Blackwell left on Varys—a jagged crescent bite on his neck—will heal overtime. That’s our way of leaving our claim, a temporary stamp to remind others of what’s ours. But her mark?
It will last forever.
“So it’s real,” I say, my voice cutting through the silence like the edge of a blade. “The bond.”
Bellonna smirks, that maddening, beautiful curve of her lips that always makes me want to both kiss her and rip her throat out. “Jealous, Warrick?” she purrs, her tone dripping with mockery.
I ignore her, turning my attention to Varys. “And you? You chose her?” My voice is sharp, demanding, daring him to confirm it. The thought burns. Varys, the epitome of purity, entwined with Bellonna, the incarnation of death and bloodshed. It's almost poetic in its tragedy. “After everything we offered you?” My voice rises, sharp and accusing. “We gave you the chance to be ours.”
Blackwell moves to sit on the edge of my desk like he owns the room, letting out a short laugh. “Oh, come on, Warrick,” he drawls. “You had to see this coming. A unicorn and Bloody Mary? It’s practically written in the stars. Fate’s a bitch like that.”
Bellonna laughs, dark and throaty, the sound curling through the room like smoke. “Shall I show them, Varys?” she purrs, tilting her head to him. “Let them see what’s theirs no longer?”
Varys doesn’t answer, but the faintest quirk of his lips is all the permission she needs. With a slow, deliberate motion, she pulls her shirt over her head, exposing her pale, perfect skin. And there, on her shoulder, is the mark—a round, almost shimmery, perfect circle. Varys’ mark. His claim. His forever.
The sight punches the air from my lungs. Blackwell isn’t so subtle. He whistles low, leaning forward like he can’t tear his eyes away.
“Sweet devil’s breath,” Blackwell mutters, his voice thick with wonder. “You stabbed her with your horn, didn’t you?”
Bellonna’s smile turns razor sharp. “He did,” she says, her voice dripping with pride. “Would you like me to tell you how it felt?”
Blackwell chuckles, shameless as ever. His hand drops to his groin, adjusting himself. “I bet that was a fucking sight to see.”
I lash out, my hand connecting with the back of his head hard enough to make him yelp. “Enough,” I snap, glaring at him. “Show some damn restraint.”
Blackwell rubs the spot, scowling but wisely keeping his mouth shut. My attention shifts back to Varys. His expression hasn’t changed. He’s still calm, still infuriatingly steady, as if this entire scene amuses him.
