Page 61 of The Sanguine Selection
Yes.Everything is coming into place so perfectly, it’s like I planned it myself. Oh wait, I did. The kings’ arrogance will once again become their demise as it happens so often to those in power. They cannot see past their own triumphs and desires. Refuse to see the destruction as it plays out before their eyes.
The table is set, the gun is loaded. Now all we need is them. Several minutes have passed since they showed up in all their glory, and once again I’ll be forced to bow before them. My mask is slipping, more and more with each passing day. Discussions have become grating on my very patience, though I do my best to keep myself in check. To do anything otherwise could thwart all the planning I’ve done in these past months.
Had the kings not awoken, I already would have been successful. Enough of Libarynn is in silent uproar that my ideals would have gathered quick support. Everyone needs a leader, someone to follow, someone who is fucking present and not stashed up in the tallest tower drinking and fucking a human in a cage.
No.
She will be freed under my rule. Free to run about the castle. Free to explore the grounds. Free to run, so I can fucking chase her. Capture her. Ensnare her.
She will be mine. Soon. And she doesn’t even know it.
But she’s also part of my greater plan. So coveted is this human by all Libarynn vampires, that I’ve promised her to each and every one of them who aids my succession. They’ll do anything for a taste of her—blood or body.
I glance around the ballroom, noting those who have already shown up, the kings included. My partners in a sense, taking up strategically placed positions at various locations. I have eyes and ears everywhere. Nothing gets past me, not anymore.
The Blood Slave is here as well, her dress draped over her body like a tight fitting glove. It accentuates all her attributes, hiding almost nothing. The kings are fools for letting her out in that, for exploiting that which we all crave, throwing around their cocks like younglings might.
Ridiculous.
The neckline of her dress is cut severely low leaving all that bare skin open to the imagination. My fangs ache to pierce her flesh, to be the reason she shudders. I envision her on her knees before me, dress shredded, body open for my exploration, for my dark desires.
Soon, I tell myself. Promise myself.
I swirl around the fresh blood in my cup, as the Blood Slave glances over at me from Marek’s side, her eyes widening in fear. I raise my cup, and with her gaze still locked on mine, sip the warm blood and smack my lips afterwards. She looks away, murmuring something to Marek as I shift my gaze to the dance floor. I much prefer drinking from the source and will do so once the kings have allowed me to open up the bar. Because, of course, nothing can begin without them, not even their own destruction.
Laughing to myself, I take a sip from my glass and wonder which human scattered about is the donor. It’s tangy and scents of citrus, like it might have come from someone who hails from the south, somewhere the sun shines brighter than it does here.
I cast my eyes around as I replace my cup and consider how different this ball might have been had my first attempt at her capture been successful. In what I can admit was a poor judgment call, I sent two less capable members of the rebellion to obtain her. They have shown such a lack of control that I’m happy the kings disposed of them. From what I’ve heard, the pair almost fucked the human girl. I would have been jealous enough to have killed them myself.
C’est la vie.
Mistakes are made to be learned from, and I’ve taken previous failures of the rebellion and studied each of them. Learned our weaknesses, our strengths. Admittedly, having the Blood Slave bound to the kings’ chambers has made the start of our mission much more difficult to acquire but I won’t be deterred. She is the fucking catalyst to it all. Once we have her, everything else will fall into place.
The kings will fall.
And I will rise.
A new reign is on the horizon.
And everyone will bow to me.
30
Mikhail
Her fear makesme hard even if the source of it isn’t derived from me. The girl is pent up, wound so tightly as she huddles against me, not cringing away as I settle my arm around her narrow waist. She’s so damn fucking small, so very fragile that I have to stop myself from whisking her away back to Sintara and as far from Navar’s castle as possible.
Back in her cage, behind the safety of her gilded bars.
But I cannot, at least not yet. Marek and I still have a point to prove, and prove it we shall.
The orchestra ends on a rather melancholic song and starts another. In comparison, it’s upbeat, and I find myself almost bobbing to the rhythm while I imagine fucking her over one of these tables to the tempo, her pale ass jiggling with each thrust, raised red handprints painted across her flesh.
Not fucking now, Marek scolds through our bond, though I know he is farther on the brink than I am in regards to the slave. He falls much faster and harder than I do, gives in to his humanity. Usually it is the other way around—me asserting control. So to have him remind me of my place, of keeping her at a distance is slightly unnerving. He can sense how close I’ve come to losing all control.
And it’s not just her blood. It’s her sass. Her hatred of us. It’s the scent of her pussy, how wet she gets, how good she tastes, how she trembles when we touch her, how her little mewls get all breathy when she is close to coming.
Soon we’re going to allow her the release she’s been dying for us to give. It will be a game Marek and I will play, seeing how many times we can make her come in a single night by touch or by fang. Fuck her til she’s barely able to breath, till her body is covered in bites and marks. Used and abused. Satiated. Till my fucking balls are empty and filling all her holes.
