Page 182 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain
He tosses the cloth aside and takes a drink of water before handing it to me. He grabs a blanket before laying on his side next to me, covering us both. I curl into him and stare into his dark brown eyes. We gaze at each other, stroking every inch of each other we can reach while the sounds of the celebrating city waft towards us.
Have any other mates shared power?I ask his mind, reveling in this new way we can communicate.
Not that I am aware of.
Knowing there’s another level of uniqueness to our already rare mating bond makes me smile at him sleepily.
There has never been a love like ours before,I tell him, running my fingers across my white claiming marks decorating his neck.
His lips caress mine as he pulls me in closer to him.And there will never be another like it again.
Alec and I return to the palace residence the next morning after he destroys the rest of the forest, his power working exactly the same as mine, not requiring him to touch the earth with his hands.
We laugh about the decimation of our very expensive mock Brhadirian forest so soon after its creation. Being able to watch Alec destroy it with my power was as much a gift as the sentiment behind the forest in the first place.
We lock ourselves in our chambers as we continue to connect on levels never seen before.
On the first evening of our mating bliss, Alec sleeps with his head against my stomach while I lazily play with the silky strands of his hair. He begins to twitch against me in his sleep. My brow furrows when the spasms grow stronger. Alec’s muscles turn rigid; blood begins to drip from his nose.
I’m about to wake him in a panic when suddenly, I know what is happening to him.
That unyielding spool holding my Sight that has sat dormant for all these weeks begins to wake up. I grasp it desperately, pulling hard to unfurl it, and I freefall into the vision my mate is in.
I love it when things come together unexpectedly. When I went to the theater, I didn’t know he would be there. But there he was. In all of his dark, dominating glory. Every bit as beautiful as a polished king as he is a cold and brutal killer.
If he would only give in to what is so clearly meant for him.
I beamed when I saw him, saw him take in my extravagant gown of his colors, gold and black, matching so perfectly with his royal Vahnsing tunic and gilded crown—the colors setting us apart from the colorful backdrop of Quinndohs around us.
We have always matched so perfectly.
Pausing my perusal of my vanity before me, I glance at his form in the mirror. It was easy to convince him to indulge, even if he was reluctant at first. The copious alcohol and smoked opium tar were detrimental for me to get what I need. He initially declined when I mentioned having a pipe and a few balls of the drug, but he quickly caved—as he always does.
Smiling at the sight of his sleeping form sprawled across my bed, he lets out a small snore. Unfortunately, he passed out before I could get a taste of his glorious cock. No bother, I’ll just wake him with my mouth wrapped around it after I’ve finished.
Everyone has always appreciated my pale skin, elegant long neck, wavy black hair, and eyes silver as moonlight. My tall, curvy frame. Everyone but the one I want to.
Why is he so immune to my beauty? My charms? Why has he made me chase him for nearly two centuries? He’s never taken a wife, but now that he’s become King, he’ll be more likely to.
It will be me. I will have my way.
Tilting my head to the side, I expose my pale neck, running my fingers over the spot above my jugular and pout. I turn away from my reflection and sigh angrily.
So stupid. It’s all so stupid.
Pulling out a drawer, I fish out the leather kit I’m looking for and take it to the bedside. I pull a small stool next to the bed before gently unfurling his arms, crossed tight across his chest like thick, metal bands. I scowl. Even in a stupor, he’s so tense.
I begin to Sing my slumber song as his arm gives to me. Even with the drugs and alcohol, he still stirs, his great power sensing a threat and attempting to rouse him to block it.
I increase my tune by a fraction.
It’s a fine line between keeping someone unconscious and bursting the blood vessels of the brain. Being a Singer is a useful but temperamental gift.
He calms, and I stroke down the inside of his arm as I pull out the needle and eight empty glass vials. I connect the tubing of the needle to a glass cylinder and quickly sink the iron into his vein, his thick fluid instantly working its way out. I sigh in relieved satisfaction at the sight. Filling all my vials is quick work, and my smile has widened by the time I’m finished. I remove the needle and put everything back in the kit, stashing it away silently before he wakes.
Coming back to the bed, I straddle his lap while I take his arm in my hand, inspecting it. A small line of blood drips from the unhealing hole. I lick it up, moaning at the rich, forbidden taste. I don’t swallow and hold it in my mouth. Placing his limp hand on my thigh, I bring my mouth to his neck, and suck hard as I swallow the precious drips of his blood. I then kiss his unmoving lips.
I’m breathless when I come up and look down at him still sleeping. I graze my hand over his soft cock, not stirring for me at all. His reaction to my touch has waned with each passing encounter.
