Page 17 of Queen of the Wicked
“But I can’t eat anything,” I protest, and it’s true. My body rejects both human food and blood. I haven’t eaten anything since I came back from the dead, and it’s finally taken its toll on my body.
Kaius brushes damp strands of hair from my forehead, holding my cheeks in his cold hands in a way that brings the smallest fraction of relief. “There is something we haven’t attempted, but we have no way of knowing if it will work until we try.”
Something hesitant flickers across his face, and then he takes my weak arm and places a kiss to the inside of my wrist. My limp body struggles to hold itself up against him as he tilts his neck to bare it before me. Some unknown fear takes hold inside my chest before I see it.
His veins glow softly with magic, and his phantom pulse makes the blood in his veins throb, nearly giving me a toothache from how badly I want to taste the centuries of knowledge, rage, and love flowing through them.
“Drink, Adelasia,” he orders softly.
I hesitate with a gulp, trying to hide how heavily my mouth salivates. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Did I ever hurt you when I fed?” When I don’t answer him, he gently cradles the back of my head and pushes my lips to the crook of his neck. “Just try, my love.”
That’s all the invitation my instincts need as they take over, my fangs sliding forward to pierce his tender throat. The magic inside me roars with delight as the hunger in my throat bids me to drink.More. More. More.
Kaius stiffens, and then he groans. Not a groan of relief, not a groan from pain, but a groan from pleasure. His grip on me tightens as he holds me to his strong body as I drank from him.
All the times Kaius told me about how the act of feeding is intoxication, and I could never truly understand it until this moment. His blood is unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. Sweeter than a perfectly ripe peach. It tasted of fire and ice. Thorns and silk. Sin and salvation.
I become greedy, my fangs taking more with each siphon. The rot in my veins began burning away the edges of my despair. I feel new. Whole.Powerful.
Kaius’ hands have twisted in the sheets below us. He whimpers when I pull back, blood dripping from my teeth.
He stares at me like he knows I’m divine before crashing his lips to mine, tangling his hands in my hair and tasting his blood on my tongue. Then, he places my mouth to his neck again, and he pleads.
“More,” he whispers, and I don’t hesitate.
This time, I don’t feed. I devour.
The sheets between us disappear, our already naked bodies pressing against each other at every possible point. His mouth finds my collarbone, my shoulder, the swells of my breasts, and then he moves to my neck, where he bites me with equal fervor and need.
My nails rake his chest, leaving deep red lines that heal as quickly as I give them. He slides into me with no resistance and we move as one, a tangle of magic and desire and lust. I moanhis name into his neck as I convulse around his length before he flips me onto my back and claims me again, harder this time.
The scent of blood and sweat and sex fills the room and the candles flicker as the magic in me surges.
It didn’t lash out. It was quiet. Calm. Sated.
For the first time since dying, I feel alive.
But, in the deep shadows of the palace, even as Kaius’ chest heaves against mine with love and desperation, the dark corners of my mind sense a presence, draped in feathers.
And from those same shadows, the faintest whispers echo in my mind.
A voice this time I’m sure is my own.
It screams:More.
Fourteen
Rowan
The first time I saw her in this studio, she danced like she was dying. Like movement was the only thing anchoring her to her humanity. Now, she dances as if she owns the world. And maybe she does.
There’s a quiet defiance in the arch of her back, the sharp strike of her foot against the cracked floor. She doesn’t falter when she sees me in the doorway. Doesn’t slow. Doesn’t stop.
She’s not dancing for me. She’s not dancing for herself. She’s dancing because shecan.
My breath catches as she spins on her toes, her arms sweeping into shapes I can’t name. Grace clings to her like a second skin, and I feel it again. The pull. The tether. The ache in my chest that shouldn’t be there, but is.
