Page 55 of Fangs & Freaks
Without breaking eye contact, I run my hand through the blood on my chest before lifting my blood-soaked fingers to my lips, sliding them into my mouth. I suck slowly, my tongue swirling around each digit, savoring the taste, putting on a show like it’s his cock between my lips. His sharp intake of breath is all the encouragement I need.
He bucks his hips upward, his rock-hard shaft brushing against my clit, sending jolts of fire through me.
But playtime is over. It’s time to fuck.
Reaching between us, I grab his cock, feeling the heat, the throbbing need beneath my fingers. Pre-cum drips from the swollen, angry head, slicking my palm as I line him up with my entrance. Then, with one hard motion, I drop down, taking him to the hilt.
The stretch is glorious, the pain exquisite as he fills me completely. My walls clamp around him, tight, unforgiving, and I don’t hold back. My hands brace on his chest, my nails sinkingdeep into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks. He hisses in pain, but I know he loves it—thrives on it.
“You like that, little fanger?” I growl, rolling my hips, dragging his cock against every nerve-ending inside me.
Blackwell’s hands grip my ass, rough and possessive, his fingers digging into the flesh as he thrusts upward, meeting me stroke for stroke. The slap of our bodies echoes in the field, a primal, raw rhythm that sends us spiraling closer to the edge.
Sweat slicks our skin, mingling with the scent of blood and lust. Each thrust sends us higher, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps. He spills into me with a guttural roar, his body bucking beneath mine as I cry out, my own orgasm crashing over me like a tidal wave.
We’re both a sweaty mess, both reaching our orgasm and coming undone together as I collapse forward.
Before I can fully settle, a blur of motion shifts beneath me, landing me on my back atop the table, his teeth sinking into my neck. It’s not to feed—he doesn’t drink—but to mark. The sharp, unexpected pain draws a gasp from my lips, my body jolting against his as a rush of electric fire courses through me. It’s raw, primal, and unmistakably his.
“What the hell was that?” he asks, stepping back, panting heavily as he stares at me like I’ve just set his world on fire.
I press a hand to my neck, the lingering heat from his bite a soothing comfort. Through the haze of adrenaline, I realize I can feel him—not just his presence, but his essence, thrumming through me. It’s familiar, like Varys, but... softer. Weaker. Can it be? Fuck me!
“You just marked me,” I whisper, half in awe, half in accusation. He marked me. Part of me wants to ride him into the early hours of the morning like a stallion, and another part wants to rip his head from his neck.
“Vampires don’t mark. We don’t have mates,” he protests, climbing off the table, running a hand through his hair, as he paces, trying to make his own sense of what’s happening. “It’ll heal. It’ll fade. It’s just a bite mark. Nothing more. Just like with Varys and anyone else we bite, to show our ownership.”
I tilt my head, a wicked grin spreading across my face. “You didn’t feed, Blackwell. You only bit.” I slide from the table and step toward him, my voice dropping to a low purr. “Fate’s a funny bitch, isn’t she? We’re mated.”
His eyes widen. “I don’t have a mark, though.” He glances down at himself, craning his neck as much as he can without a mirror as he runs his hand along his chest.
I chuckle, placing my hand on his chest. “Oh, you will.”
Before he can protest, my hand begins to glow a fiery red. He flinches, a hiss escaping his lips as the heat spreads across his skin. When I pull my hand away, a vivid mark appears, identical to the one Varys bears.
Blackwell stares down at it, his expression a mix of awe and terror. “What the hell? What did you do?”
“We’re mates,” I say simply, stepping back and crossing my arms with a satisfied smirk. “You didn’t have a mark, and I did, so I gave you one. Welcome to forever, psycho boy.”
“Forever. Me and you.” His voice rises with excitement.
He groans, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s just... go get the damn unicorn.”
I laugh, the sound echoing across the field now riddled in death as the moonlight bathes us both in its silver glow.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Varys
Hell.Literal, unrelenting Hell. I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been stuck here with Lilith, her piercing gaze and ever-present smirk my only company. The oppressive heat, the metallic tang of blood in the air—it all grates on my nerves. My muscles coil as I glance toward the chaise, where she reclines like a queen overseeing her kingdom of torment.
She joined me hours ago, or maybe days—I can’t tell time here. Damon brought her a tray of salty fries and pomegranate seeds, her idea of a feast. Her stare never wavers from me, her crimson lips curving into a maddening smirk whenever she catches my eye.
“Still sulking?” Lilith’s voice cuts through the thick air like a blade, each word dripping with smug amusement.
“Still holding me here?” I snap, my tone razor-sharp.
“Patience, unicorn.” She croons, the picture of unbothered elegance. “Your sister’s fate isn’t sealed yet. They’ll come for you soon enough.”
