Page 33 of The Sanguine Selection
Blood.
Primal hunger courses through my shriveled body, breathing life back into my limp form. The taste of the red elixir ignites every fiber of my being. It’s a reminder of our nature, of our very existence as kings.
The bond between Mikhail and me thrums with newfound vitality, renewed by the source of our revival. For the first time in decades, the Novikov twins are stirring from their slumber, driven by a hunger that transcends the boundaries of all.
It’s then that I tune into the source of my nourishment—a writhing, screeching female, blood coursing out like a river from between her legs. Her heartbeat, rapid and erratic, is a primeval drumbeat that resonates clear into my soul.
The scent of her fear, mixed with the metallic allure of her blood, intoxicates me. It's a symphony of sensations, a feast for my senses. With every swallow I take of her crimson essence, my hunger intensifies.
My world narrows to a singular focus—the pulsing vein that snakes beneath her fragile skin. My fangs elongate, responding to the call of her blood. The damned thirst—now an unquenchable fire—roars to life within me.
Mikhail and I move as one, our actions synchronized by the psychic bond that binds us. We seize the trembling girl in a vice-like grip. She cries out in terror, but her pleas fall on deaf ears, spurring us on instead.
In this moment, she is nothing more than sustenance, a means to satiate the relentless hunger that has plagued us for far too long. She is the tool that will give us back what we need to dominate once more.
As her trembling form is brought closer to us, my lips part, revealing the elongated, razor-sharp fangs that have lain dormant for eons. The anticipation—this burning, primordial craving—reaches its zenith.
I desire nothing more than to sink my fangs into this female’s delicate throat, but a flash of the last woman I drank from bursts in my mind, and by extension, Mikhail’s. For a split second, we freeze at the image of what sent us to our slumber.
My brother is the first to eject Larissa’s face from our minds, and I quickly follow suit. Now is not the time to think about her—if ever. Instead, I focus on the life source pouring into my mouth.
The taste of scarlet elixir explodes across my tongue, a symphony of flavors that I had almost forgotten. It's a heady mix of salt and iron, of life itself, and it courses through me like a torrent. The warmth of it, the sustenance, floods every fiber of my being, igniting a long-dormant fire.
A guttural moan escapes my lips as I drink, the primal satisfaction of feeding nearly overwhelming me. It's a reminder of what I am—what I have always been. The relief that washes over me is palpable, a sensation of coming back to life after a small eternity of dormancy.
My senses sharpen, and I am acutely aware of the woman's heartbeat slowing, her struggles fading as her life force wanes. I feel her fear ebb away, replaced by a strange sense of peace. In this moment of communion, I am both predator and savior, the angel of death and the harbinger of rebirth.
“STOP!”
Mikhail’s mental roar jolts me back to the present. I’m confusing what was and what is. The woman above us still pulses with life, and I realize she is the key to regaining our power. Her blood is nothing like I’ve ever tasted before—even more addicting than Larrisa’s.
But this intoxicating creature can never be more than a source of food.
My twin and I were felled before by our foolish emotions, vested in someone other than ourselves. Kings can only be ruthless. There is no place for love in our hearts, nor can there ever be if we want to rule as we once did.
As I finish feeding, I can feel the psychic link between Mikhail and me strengthening, solidifying our connection. It's as though a part of me that had been missing for so long has been restored. The bond pulses with our shared experiences, renewing my inner fervor to be free.
With an effort, I pull away from the woman, and open my eyes for the first time in ages. Although my body is still weak, my senses are sharp. Next to me, Mikhail lies, the remnants of blood staining the entirety of his lower face bright red.
He turns to face me, his eyelids slowly peeling back until his gaze locks with mine–eyes blazing crimson from the fresh feed.“We’ve been betrayed.”Even in my head, there’s a rasp to his voice. It’s edged with bitterness at the acknowledgement that those who once swore their fealty to us have now turned their backs to our authority.
“We will make them pay.”
My brother’s lips curl with my cruel vow.“Yes. We'll rise from the ashes of our former selves, stronger and more ruthless than ever before—they will know our wrath.”
The hunger still lingers, the craving for more blood and power a constant undercurrent in my veins, but I won’t view it as a weakness. Instead, it’ll be the driving force that I use to achieve my goals—ourgoals.“We do thistogether.”
“Together,” Mikhail echoes, and in that moment, I know that nothing can stand in our way.
We are the Novikov twins, reborn from the darkness, and we are unstoppable. With this thought, the entirety of Sintara trembles, as if its residents know of the hell to come—hell my twin and I will unleash on those who have forsaken us.
As the true coven leaders, Mikhail and I are connected to every vampire, old and new, born of our lineage. We innately sense the political dissent, the secret coup that threatens to overthrow our rule—it’s how Mikhail immediately knew of the betrayal, of the corruption.
But this only fuels our burgeoning thirst to reassert our dominion.
The taste of blood on my lips is a reminder of what I am, and delicious power flows through my body. But as this power surges, I feel it also wane. It will take many more women and a lot more blood before Mikhail and I are whole again.
I slowly sit up, taking in the shattered stone lid of my sarcophagus as well as the woman who lies unconscious, spread before my brother and me like a feast. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flicker of movement that casts shadows along the stone walls.
