Page 44 of The Sanguine Selection
The thought of the man with golden eyes licking between my legs flits through my head, his smug expression forever seared in my memories. He was toying with me the entire time and enjoyed it. It's like he's waiting for me to lash out just so he can punish me, like the girl he….fucked.
But if she felt a fraction of the pleasure I do when the kings touch me, then I can’t blame the poor woman for succumbing to it. Even now, I see her eyes rolled back in her head in ecstasy, her face a picture of bliss. And then how crestfallen she looked when she realized her mistake. These kings are sadistic, waiting to pick apart our faults and prey upon them for their own pleasure.
But I will not give them what they seek—I will remain stoic and strong.
My stomach flutters, as if my body is more aware of the lie than my mind is that I'm telling myself. Or perhaps my body doesn't think I'm strong enough to withstand whatever the kings will do to me, that my mind will bend and break. But I can't let that happen. I refuse to become someone mindless and meaningless. I will break free.
One way or another.
22
Mikhail
This evening feelsdifferent than the last few have felt as I wake with the setting sun. I feel young again, rejuvenated, as if I had not spent a hundred years dying, hidden beneath a stone tomb. The air smells fresher, my body loose and limber as I sit up and stretch, sheets pooling around my waist. Power thrums within me, within us. I can sense my brother across our combined chambers, slumbering in his quarters, the scent of a freshly fucked female lingering alongside his scent.
I take a moment and reflect, my eyes roving over my old room, the gray stone walls. So much of it is unchanged, yet subtle differences let me know how much time has passed. A new mattress for one, the feathers soft and fluffy inside it. New pillows too. The heavy drapes that once shrouded the dark metal bed posts have been replaced with something more…modern. Yet regal nonetheless with rich crimson tones and gold tie backs.
Across the floor, the original rug remains, its ornate design hailing from a far away land. And the fireplace of carved stone, chiseled by a renowned artist in likeness of Sintara at a distance, still stands proudly, a fire still sparking inside of it.
An expensive gold rimmed mirror stretches across the wall to my left, allowing me to appreciate the views of what happens in my bed, even if I cannot see myself.
Stained glass windows depicting my brother and I in full king garb stare back at me. The faces so familiar yet not, their cares far different than mine are today. The first time I saw the window was jarring, for never had I seen myself through another’s eyes. Not in a mirror, or in a reflection in water, never. I sigh, looking at them. Those kings had no worries, aside from whose turn it was to drink and fuck Lar—
No…
Never the name. Never say the fucking name, not even in your head.
I chastise myself and hope Marek did not listen in on my thoughts, that I hadn’t projected it to him, and the answering silence gives me relief. I take a deep, unnecessary but calming breath, forcing my lungs to expand and contract as I empty my brain, my heart, and stand.
I reach down and grab a note on my nightstand, reading Jasper’s elegant handwriting detailing the responsibilities of the day, and head to a pair of French doors. With a flick of my wrist, an order to my magic, they open and I walk to the black, iron railing surrounding the balcony, resting my hands on the snow-covered top rail. Frigid, winter air rushes around me, cooling my naked body. It feels freeing and I suck in a lungful or frozen air, allowing it to cool me from the inside as I look around, the setting sun painting the sky in swirls of pale pinks and bright oranges. It is glorious. From this high up, one can clearly make out the expansive forest of the third ring, where the wolves dwell. Jasper’s whispered words have indicated something is amiss within our wolf relations, an issue I plan on promptly addressing this afternoon.
It has not taken long for Marek and I to obtain our full strength and we have Jasper to thank for that. His endless devotion to us over the years has been fruitful, having found our newest Blood Slave. I have to admit, her blood drove me wild when I first tasted it in the tombs, but I was crazed then, a mere fragment of myself, a ghost of who I once was.
Then again, in the moon room—a brilliant idea and design by Jasper—I tasted her again, beheld her body through my blurred vision, but only for a moment. For once her blood touched my lips, again I lost my mind. Lost myself in her scent, the taste of her moon blood, the richness of it, the cloying aroma. Every swallow was imperative, urgent, and I could feel it, feel her, entering me and gliding through my veins, awakening me, healing me, bringing me back to life.
Blood lust threw me into oblivion and I relished in it, in her blood. Uncaring what the consequences were. And that is the danger of her, of this new Blood Slave. I’ve not yet even fed from her veins, or touched her in other ways, and already have lost myself because of what she is. I must be careful.Wemust be careful, restrained, stronger of mind than our desperate desires.
But I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t long to taste her again, from the vein I know pumps in her upper thigh. My fangs ache to sink into her flesh, to hear her hiss at the pain, fight it, fight me, and be able to do nothing about it. Nothing gets me hotter than a woman in restraints, open for the taking.
A submissive little pet, that is all you shall ever be. A nameless source of food, a hole to fuck, nothing more.
My cock lengthens in spite of my proclamations, rising proudly against the winter wind. Devil’s tits, I’m going to need to fuck something soon or I might lose myself to another kind of lust. A subtle knock on our chamber door jostles me from my thoughts. “Come.”
I do not have to turn to see who enters, I could smell them from the hallway, the human slaves, biding their time til the clocks chimed noon. Nor do I hide myself from their prying, hungry eyes. Let them look. Let them see their king in all their glory, healed and primed. Focused.
Ready.
The slaves move about behind me, readying a bath, hanging out my clothes for the day as if this were a normal occurrence for them. Of course, that could not be farther from the truth. I’ve never met these slaves before, the ones inhabiting the castle before my demise are now long dead. I can sense their nerves, taste their sweat in the air, as they prepare for me. Soon, I’m sinking into heated water, paying the slaves no mind as they wash and dress me. As they comb through my long, dark hair until it shines like an onyx gem.
“Leave,” I order as the last button on my jacket is closed, and they scurry out like rats when a candle flickers to life in the dark. I almost laugh at their cowardice as I stride to the mirror. Though I cannot see my reflection, I can appreciate how the clothes drape across my body.
I’m keeping things less formal today, wearing a simple ivory shirt, halfway unbuttoned, displaying my healed flesh below. Tight, black leather pants hug my legs, showing off my toned, reformed muscles. And on my feet are shiny heeled boots—one does have to demonstrate some class.
With a snap of my fingers, my crown appears in my hand. It is as beautiful as I remembered it to be. Ornate gold filigree wraps around it like woven vines, peaking into six pointed tips filled with rubies, diamonds, and sapphires. And in the center is the insignia of the Novikov line. And though I’ve kept my clothes casual, I will wear my crown today as a reminder—that I am the fucking king. Me and Marek rule everyone and every fucking thing.
It is all ours, and it is time Sintara and our allies were reminded.
If the whispers of rebellion cannot be soothed by my twin and I simply awakening, then perhaps a visual of brute strength will do the trick. Either way, this meeting should be interesting. A hunger stirs within me, one calling for freshly spilled blood and torn flesh, a violent desire that has my fangs aching, and my claws elongating.
