Page 16 of Death Comes for Her
They left me, assaulted, fed on, and discombobulated, splayed out on the couch. My underwear was soaked through, and self-disgust made my stomach roil. A dull pain throbbed in my neck and thigh, reminding me with a resounding frequency of what my life had become.
There was something sensual about the encounter that left me wholly untethered. I didn’t know what I hated more; the fact that I enjoyed how it felt for them to feed on me, or that watchingthe vampires kiss with me trapped between them made me want to stick my hand under my dress and find the release my body craved.
Either way, I was irrevocably fucked.
∞∞∞
What was there to be said about my new routine?
A month passed of the same thing every day. A self-imposed fixed program, trapped in a manor filled to the brim with vampires. My new sequence of actions: slowly going insane during the day and sobbing through nightmares all night.
The dark, scarred vampire offered the freedom of the manor. It seemed a trap to me when either of them was potentially lurking around any corner. Not to mention the fangless vampires running the household. They might not be able to bite, but that didn’t ease my fears.
Imani returned with three square meals a day. All foods that were high in iron, naturally. Red meats, fish, leafy green, beans, and apples made up a large portion of my meals. She ensured I ate every morsel on my plate.
It was the most food I’d had reliably available in years. She didn’t need to do much convincing.
She talked a lot when she tended to me. An odd thing to get used to after Griselda’s years of growing disdain. It wasn’t like Benjen had much to say when he cornered me. We spent hours with her telling me of the recent advancements I’d missed in the world following the Everdark Morning since I refused to leave my room.
Every morning she encouraged me to dress for the day as if I had somewhere important to be. The clothes were of much better quality than anything I’d worn on the farm over the past decade. Silken gossamer fabrics that were almost as fine as the gowns I’d grown up wearing.
A long-forgotten part of me slowly resurfaced, knowing she was worthy of the finer things in life. They were deserved—it was what I was owed just because of who I was… or who I was born to be.
I began each day lamenting the quality of my new life.
The food was rich and delicious. The bed was large, plush, and inviting. The adjoining washroom had a massive tub where I spent hours each night soaking in luxurious soaps. The fireplace always burned, casting the room in a comforting glow and cozy warmth. My dresses were beautiful, and I was wrapped in creature comforts to die for.
A decade of hiding in the squalor of a barn couldn’t erase the first eighteen years of my life living in divine opulence. And my ancestors would hate me for acknowledging that the manor exceeded my days outside of the vampire’s grasp.
Oh, if my father could see me now. I’d bet money he was actively rolling in his grave each time one of the Ambrose lords waltzed through my door.
Begrudgingly, and with nothing short of a raging internal battle that lasted weeks, I admitted to myself that it was exceedingly better than my life on the farm. All I had to do was contend with two outrageously different, and frustratingly attractive vampires stopping by my room to feed on me once a week.
Since the first time they fed on me, they’d silently agreed to visit me separately. Dante came at the start of the week and Simon three or four days later. Enough time between feeding formy magical blood to replenish and my body to detox from their venom.
Simon Ambrose remained a cold, aloof bastard when he fed. He spoke as few words as possible, commanding where he wanted me for the day. Sometimes laid back on the couch, and sometimes with my legs spread at the edge of the bed.
He preferred biting the inside of my legs, feeding from the artery between my thighs. And I preferred closing my eyes, because the heat that built up in my core paired with the sight of that gorgeous white hair between my legs threatened to make me gush inside my underthings.
A few times, a lock of his hair would slip out of place and tickle the sensitive flesh near where my thigh met my core. More than once, my hand had itched with the damning urge to brush it away from his face. The sensation of that tickling and his hot mouth on my leg sucking and groaning… fuck me, it drove me insane regardless of his indifferent attitude.
He always left me with a drunken sneer etched across the dagger sharp edges of his face, storming to the door with a visible pitch in his black trousers. His actions left me with the impression that while he wanted my fairy blood, he didn’t want me or the reaction his body had. I was an intoxicating, addictive food source, and that was all.
On the opposite end of my vampire master spectrum, Dante Ambrose had no reservations when he arrived to feed. Teasing, groping, stroking, though never going further. His mouth almost seemed to kiss before he sank his fangs in, and he took his time licking my neck clean once he’d had his fill.
Dante was loud and energetic. He stomped into the room, snatched me up, tossed me where he wanted me, and manipulated me with ease. His curious predilection for binding my wrists while he fed sent a detrimental thrill through my belly each time.
It had startled me the first time, but by the end, as his venom flooded my veins, I’d relaxed into the sensation of falling—of giving myself over to his control. His burly arms and masculine hands touched me in a way no man ever had, and I loathed knowing that my body was reacting to him and not just his venom.
One night when he’d fed from me on the couch, he’d laid atop me, crushing me with his mountainous frame. All those sculpted muscles melded to the curves of me, and he’d ground his erection against my core while devouring me—gods—I’d almost had an orgasm from the friction.
Each time he left, barking with laughter and crude pride at how he left me as a needy, mewling little thing. And I let my tears fall as I realized that I longed to trace the nasty scars across his face and wondered where he’d gotten them from. I told myself I never would and that I’d never ask.
I hated, above all else, knowing I much preferred them feeding on me than I ever did Benjen’s poor attempt at fucking. A fairy wasn’t meant to be the pet for a vampire—we were rulers of the sky and wielders of the sun. Yet I was alive, and I was on a dinner rotation with two undead monsters from the very coven that had ended my family, my kingdom, my entire world as I knew it.
When Dante and Simon weren’t eating me, my guilt and shame over being a survivor and now a traitor to my kin was.
Chapter 5
