Page 4 of The Sanguine Selection
I place a finger under her chin. “Rise.” She inhales sharply and stands from her curtsey. “Spread your legs, slave.” She swallows hard, obeying, heart thumping wildly in her chest as I drag a single finger down her body, from the hollow of her neck to her pulsing cunt. I cup the greedy thing in my hand and swipe once between her folds. She moans as I discover her desire, as it coats my fingers. “You want me, don’t you slave? You want me to fuck you right here, in front of the others?”
She nods, eyes still downcast. “Yes, my king.”
Well, at least she didn’t lie. In fact, I appreciate her forwardness.
I inch closer to her, our skin a breadth away, and lean down to her ear, my voice but a whisper. “And do you believe you deserve to take my cock inside you slave? What have you done to earn such an honor?”
Her human desperation to touch me is palpable, and she balls her fingers into fists to try and stop herself. “I am a faithful servant, my lord, but that is not enough to deserve you. Though I cannot help myself from this…desire.”
I take a step back, the heat from her body no longer warming my skin. On another day, in another lifetime, I would have taken her right then. Fucked her raw, drank her dry with my cock still buried in her cunt.
But today is not that day. Today I must squash my need to drink, to fuck, and save it all for The Claiming. The only human I could ever want is my blood-slave, the little blonde thing I share with my twin.
I pace back and forth before them, hands clasped behind my back. “You may all rise.” The third girl falls as she attempts to stand, her feeble human muscles giving way from a mere few moments of squatting.
How weak.
How pathetic.
“You were all sent here to get me ready, yes?”
The slaves acknowledge my question with “Yes, my lord,” or “Yes, my king.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you. Prepare your king like good little slaves.” They move like bees scenting an order from their queen, to a cart against the back wall. “Not you,” I say, seizing the arm of the man with the tiny prick.
“My king.” He falls to his knees before me, singing my name upon his thin lips, pathetic dick bobbing between his legs. “What will you have of me?” Then, he touches me without permission, his hands braced on my thighs, the final straw of his meager existence. I thread my fingers through his muted brown hair and he moans, closing his eyes as I tug on the roots, lips parted to take me inside his mouth. As if I’d ever stoop so low.
“I will have everything.” Before he can even open his eyes, I’ve launched myself on his neck. Not to drink, but to kill. My fangs slice through his skin with ease and I grip his airway in my jaws and squeeze. His scream dies in my mouth as I rip out his throat and spit it on the floor.
Ahh…the one thing that can satiate my need to drink or fuck my blood-slave—to kill, to have my fangs sunk into my victim as life leaves their body. It’s…indulgent, and oh so satisfying.
The other slaves scream and make to run from my chamber, but I snap my fingers and the only door leading out slams shut. “Going somewhere? I thought you were sent to get me ready. Perhaps I misheard you?” I murmur innocently, as if the blood of their fellow slave were not leaking from my mouth and dripping down my chest. “I do believe I have a ceremony to attend this evening. I would imagine the ones responsible for my delayed attendance would be…brutally punished.” I emphasized the last two words, lowering my voice. “Now, where to begin? Oh! Perhaps a nice, warm, uninterrupted bath. Seems I’ve not had the pleasure of enjoying one in a very long time.”
Inwardly, I grin as they scurry about, warming more water over the fire and emptying the water I was in only minutes before. Soon a new bath is ready, the dark liquid sprinkled with lilac and rose petals. As I sink into the water and rest my arms along the copper tub’s edge, I close my eyes and allow my thoughts to wander.
To her supple body…
To her decadent blood…
To The Claiming.
After tonight, there’s no going back. After tonight, everything changes.
4
Mikhail
The last twohours have been almost amusing. Slaves skittering about, shrinking away as I bark orders at them. Two I allowed to bathe me, every fucking inch, feasting on their fear at simply being close to me. I made curly clean my cock and my ass, knowing she was least likely to enjoy it. Her terror had my fangs aching and my cock yearning for my blood-slave, for all the things I will do to her tonight.
That we will do.
My twin’s voice rings in my head and I sense him beyond my door seconds before it swings open and he enters my chamber. Dressed in a black suit with a cream shirt, unbuttoned halfway, my brother is the epitome of what a king should look like. His hair has been brushed making it appear as though the black strands shine with a light all their own. Atop his head rests one of two twin golden crowns. Its sharp peaks are adorned with fiery red rubies, rare black opals, and sparkling diamonds of the highest clarity.
On a thick gold chain hanging from his neck is the symbol of the Novikov bloodline—the ankallah. It resembles a Christian cross, only instead of a vertical section piercing upwards through the horizontal line, the ankallah’s top is circular, almost like a large needle awaiting thread. The ends of the horizontal line are blunted, but the lower end of the vertical line is pointed like a sharp dagger. Used sparingly, our ankallah is a sacred thing, adorning our thrones, crowns, bodies, and even our castle, The Sintara.
I finger the lapel of my coat, moving to face Marek and look him up and down. “Damn brother. You look almost as good as me.”
As usual, Marek ignores my jests, a rather annoying trait of his. “The coven is ready. Sintara is ready. The question is, are you,brother?”
