Page 60 of The Sanguine Selection
Dark possessiveness clouds my mind, and I clench my hands into tight fists to keep from scratching out the eyes of everyone who dares to gaze at what doesn’t belong to them. They disrespect my brother and me with their unbridled lust for what they can never have. Our absence has made everyone bold, and this simply will not do. Perhaps I should make an example of someone and rip out their heart for the audacity to desireourBlood Slave...
Calm, my brother.
Mikhail speaks in my mind, equally infuriated, but we have a plan and must stick with it. The rebel leader must topple first if we want everything else to crumble. It’s why the fool seeks to end my brother and me for if you cut off the head of a giant, the body will soon follow. But those who conspire against us are no match for my twin and me, our power alone can fell great buildings, let alone what it can do combined.
Everyone is staring.
Let them look. Let them lust.
Mikhail’s words shock me.
She is ours!
She will draw out the rebels.
It’s true that the human slave’s blood acts as a beacon to my kind, calling out with its intoxicating scent, but only we can taste the ambrosia flowing through her veins. Her nectar can sustain no one but the highest in the realm. Mikhail murmurs an agreement in my head, and I realize he’s not just testing everyone in this ballroom—he’s testing me—and bitterness sweeps over me.
I deserve no less for what happened in our past, and now, my twin must ensure that I won’t succumb to the treachery of my own emotions again. And so I swallow past the obsessive rage that demands I bend the Blood Slave over my arm while I sink my fangs into her neck, marking her as mine. I want nothing more than to fuck her against the cold, hard ground, and prove to everyone that she will never belong to anyone but Mikhail and me.
Instantly, memories of Larissa flood my mind, and I know my lust for the Blood Slave is turning me into an unhinged monster. I must redirect my passion elsewhere lest it incinerates me. Everyone is waiting for me to fail, even Mikhail, although he tries to hide it. But I won’t shatter under the intensity of my emotions. I will harness them as my brother directs and use them as a weapon against those who dare oppose me.
Nodding at Mikhail, I saunter over just as he snaps the leash into place at the collar around the Blood Slave’s throat. He passes the gold chain to me, and I give it a cruel tug, making the woman stumble in her heels. Even with the added height, she barely comes to the top of my chest. Her gaze flicks to mine as she rights herself, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the scene I’m making, but I’m proving a point—to her, my brother, the ballroom, and myself.
Without a backward glance, I tug the Blood Slave to the center of the dance floor, whipping her into my arms. Her pupils dilate, the scent of her arousal perfuming the air, and I suppress the growl trying to escape as those close to us lean in for a sniff. All week, my brother and I have tormented the wench, bringing her close to ecstasy but never giving her a full taste. Perhaps someday, but she must learn that her pleasure is a gift—never hers and always ours.
Until she fully submits, she will find no relief by me.
We twirl around the floor, the Blood Slave’s heart beating faster with every spin as it brings us closer and closer together. My cock presses into her stomach, a rock hard heat reminding her of what she’ll have. If Mikhail and I can’t fuck her, then nobody can. I snarl at the thought of touching what’s mine, and the woman in my arms jumps at the sound. I leer down at her.
“Something wrong, my pet?”
“No.” She quickly looks away, and I scent something beyond her need—a fear that is not of me or my brother. I reach out to grip her chin in cruel fingers.
“Don’t ever lie to me again. Got that?”
The Blood Slave nods meekly. “Yes, my lord.”
“Now, let’s try this again. What’s wrong?”
With a swallow, she leans forward, bringing our bodies even closer. “I don’t like the wayhewatches me.”
I raise a brow. “Heowns you.”
A frown mars her lips. “I thought only you and your brother owned me.”
Anger, sharp and murderous, rises up inside of me when I realize the Blood Slave wasn’t referring to Mikhail, but some other man. “Who are we talking about?”
“Him.” She tips her head to the corner of the room where Lord Navar stands. I quickly whip the little female away so as not to attract attention but call out to Mikhail.
He walks over, laughing and toasting our subjects as he passes, before extending his hand to the Blood Slave. “May I cut in?”
“Of course, brother. Enjoy.” We share a devious grin as I place the Blood Slave’s palm in his. As he whirls her away, I relay my conversation with her to my twin. With a nod, he escorts her from the crowd and all the prying eyes and listening ears. He’ll figure out what’s going on but maybe the man we’ve always trusted is not who we think he is.
Beware, Lord Navar.
29
The Betrayer
