Page 3 of The Sanguine Selection
“Is that so? Then say my name and come on my cock, doll.”
Ever the compliant plaything, she belts out ‘Marek’ at the top of her lungs just as I savagely thrust into her pussy. It flutters around my cock like butterfly wings before tightening almost painfully, mimicking the way I choked her not just moments before.
Her orgasm tips my own, but still I hold back, wanting to prolong my pleasure, knowing I can’t taste her delectable blood until later tonight. I clasp her to me as she rides out her passion, and I wonder if I can coax yet another from her dripping cunt when she tips back her head. Her soulful gaze peers up into mine as she reaches backward to cup my jaw. “Larissa.”
The one word acts as the catalyst to my impending downfall. Slamming my eyes shut, I roar as I come harder than I ever have in my entire life—without a single drop of blood to fuel my lust. A string of curses pours from my mouth as I fill her pussy with every last drop of my cum.
Even then, it’s still not enough, and I realize that it never will be. Knowing her name is just the start of a dangerous game that will eventually spiral out of control and become something more than just blood sport. Because even now, I crave more than just her body and her blood. Our slave inadvertently gave me a piece of her heart when she offered me her name, but I don’t want just a small sliver.
I want the whole fucking thing.
3
Mikhail
The air has shifted,and not a subtle change either. A charge exists around me, like the air itself has a pulse that I’ve only just laid my finger on. The steady thrum of the world surrounds me with excitement, desire, and an almost desperate need.
Claim her.
Make her yours forever.
I close my eyes and sink deeper into the tub, encouraging my muscles to relax. Tension has been ever growing, even before I suggested sharing the blood-slave with my twin, drinking from her simultaneously. I can feel it—we both can. It’s there in every unnecessary breath, every needless beat of my lifeless heart. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is exactly. It’s almost as if the very world exists for this one moment, that the earth is waiting, every living creature holding a bated breath to watch this night, this momentous occasion, unfold.
And yet…they do not even remotely understand what they are in for. This isn’t simply a claiming—it’s a message. A conveyance, a proclamation of who and what Marek and I are as rulers, as Kings. An open declaration to the coven, to Libarryn, to the fucking world that we are united as one—a single unit, unwavering in not only our respect for each other, but in our trust. In the world we exist within, nothing is more sacred.
To share a blood-slave behind closed doors is even taboo. But to do it openly, publicly, under the ever watchful eye of every member of the coven from the elders to the newly born is unheard of. So this…this will make a statement. This will be a night to remember.
Word will spread across the lands of what has been seen, of the power twin kings wield. Of our utter devotion to each other and our pride in flaunting it. Already this situation is rare—for twin vampires born or bred hardly exist in our history. Especially none that share the same blood-slave. Whispers of other pairs centuries before us have reached my ears. Legends of exponential power and catastrophic demise flitter down through generations, though no eyewitnesses remain to stake any claim on the truth.
Besides, we both would refuse to believe it. Refuse to believe anything could bring us down, shatter what we’ve built, or break our trust in one another.
Trust…
One simple word.
Five letters that hold such meaning. Put in the wrong hands, trust can be your undoing. But used correctly and the options are limitless.
That is what tonight is all about, a display of confidence and reliance on one another, that we’d be willing to share such an intimate moment with the whole world watching because of our faith and integrity in each other.
A shift in the air has me opening my eyes as a group of five human slaves walks into my chambers. As is customary, they all disrobe immediately, their gossamer gowns pooling around their feet, leaving them bare before me. I do not require this to satisfy my unyielding sexual needs, but for assurance, that they possess nothing which could harm Marek, myself, or our blood-slave for that matter, in any way. Hard to hide weapons when wearing nothing but your skin.
The males bow and the females curtsey, waiting for permission to move or talk for that matter. As is required, their hair is pulled back from their faces, bound at the base of their necks, and their disgustingly hairy human bodies are shaved clean. “You may speak.”
A short slave with a head full of bouncy brown curls deepens her curtsey, her head dipped just so, eyes averted to the ground. Her tits are slight, more nipple than breast, her waist narrow, ass almost non-existent. Not a woman I’d bestow a second glance at. “Good evening my lord, king.” Her voice is meek, cautious, every word carefully chosen. “Jasper has sent us to get you ready.” She holds her pose, knees still slightly bent, and will continue to do so until I dismiss the gesture.
I scoff, letting my irritation show, lowering my voice so the hint of a growl is embedded in my every word. “It’s just like Jasper to interrupt my bath without permission. Tell me, slave, what did you think would happen when you entered my chamber uninvited? Did you believe the act would go unpunished?”
One of the men swallows hard, and a woman gasps ever so slightly. Both noises would be inaudible to the human ear, but not to me. I hear it all, smell it,tasteit. The potent scent of the slaves’ fear at my question permeates the space, seeming to billow out from the stone walls like smoke from a fire. Heart rates increase, beating as if a hundred horses were galloping inside my head. Their fear empowers me, makes me hard, makes me…thirst.
“I…uhh…” She stumbles over her words, thighs beginning to tremble from holding the position for so long.
“Answer me,” I hiss, gripping the edges of the tub and rising from the heated water. I step out from the copper basin and make no move to cover myself, letting the water drip down my body like beads of wax on a burning candle. My body is a canvas, an artwork in itself, sculpted to perfection by sheer genetics. Every muscle is corded, lean and powerful, rippling under my pale skin as I shift my stance, facing the slaves without an ounce of humility. That is a weak human emotion.
“Look at me when I speak to you, slave.”
She jerks at my demand, eyes blinking rapidly as she struggles to obey. She has been instructed to never look a king in the eye, her bodily instincts screaming for her not to as her mind desperately tries to obey my command. Her gaze skirts across my feet and up my legs, pausing on my erect cock for a moment longer than she should. Up my abdomen to my chest, holding at my lips. I make a show of displaying my teeth, almost shockingly white as they rest behind my red lips, then slowly, I lick my fangs and watch as her body begins to tremble.
But there’s another reaction to my display of dominance from two of the humans on my right—arousal. I twist my head, scenting the air, and ignoring the curly-haired slave, saunter towards them. It’s easy to pick them out. The man couldn't be more obvious, his tiny prick flooded with blood as it tries and fails to stand proud. Such a small thing, hard to believe it could satisfy even a human. I shift my gaze to the woman beside him who is almost as easy to detect. Black hair pulled back in a braid, breasts heavy, dark nipples puckered with excitement, her breathing is erratic, chest heaving, all signs of arousal. However, the aroma coming from between her legs gives her away.
