Page 83 of Blood Feast

“That was not a sacrifice I was willing for you to make.”

“It was my sacrifice to make! It was my spell that gave us away. My magic is supposed to keep you safe—but it just destroyed your life. Surrendering to the law was the only way I could shield you.”

“You cannot make a choice like that on your own and expect me to go along with it. Not now that we’re avowed. All your decisions affect me.”

“I know that!” she cried. “That’s why I was trying to repair the damage I’d done.”

“By making me stand there, helpless, after I promised to always fight for you?”

“What about my vows to protect you in return? You’ve sacrificed for me over and over again. There are times when you have to let me shoulder that burden instead.”

“Then don’t demand this sacrifice of me! Don’t ask me to be a respected diplomat and beloved son while our people drag you through a trial. Don’t expect me to leave you in a cell, out of my reach, and try to carry on with my life without you beside me.”

She retreated backward, needing more space between them. If he came any closer, she would be at his throat in a heartbeat.

His fangs grew longer with each step he took toward her. “I will not allow anyone to lock you away from me. Not kings. Not necromancers. Not Imperial fanatics. And not the firstbloods of Orthros.”

Her back came up against the wall.

He was so close now that she could feel the warmth of his body. He ran a finger down her cheek. “There’s no use fighting your hunger.”

She fisted her hands on his chest. “It must be possible for Graces to get through an entire discussion without someone’s fangs coming out.”

“Perhaps in a hundred years. Not when you’re my newgift. For now, this is how all negotiations must inevitably end.”

“This is not the end of this negotiation. I need you to agree that you’ll…” She flared her nostrils, her lips parting. His scent was dark and heavy with the musk of his own hunger.

“Is that really what you need?” he asked. “You promised to be honest with me, Cassia.”

She squeezed her thighs together and realized she was already slick. How could she be this wet when everything was so wrong?

He took a deep inhale, his eyelids heavy. “I could smell how wet you were the moment we walked into this room.”

She clenched her teeth, her fangs throbbing. She wanted to fight. She needed to feast.

He braced his hands on the wall on either side of her. “I’m afraid you can’t go into hiding and work out your anger without me. You’ll simply have to work it out on me.”

She would storm out of this room right now. That would prove she had some shred of control over herself, her fangs, her magic.

But instead, her hands were on his collar. She was tearing open his robes. She opened her mouth wide, letting out her swollen fangs, and yanked him down to her. He tilted his head, giving her his throat.

His skin still tasted like the luxuries of Orthros. But when his blood burst onto her tongue, there was a new flavor that burned, thrilling, addicting. Was this what Lio’s anger tasted like?

Her gentle Grace’s temper, so slow to rise, now raged through him and into her. Was he angry at her? The elders? The world? She knew only that his anger was hers. Hers to feast on, like every other flavor of who he was.

She held him, moaning and fastened to his vein. He dragged her underlinens off and pushed her robes up around her waist. Yes. She wanted his fury inside her body, just like in her veins.

She let him shove her up against the wall and spread her legs. The impact didn’t phase her immortal frame. He drove inside her, burying himself in her with one move.

His breath was harsh against her ear. “No one will dictate our conjugal visits, Firstgrace Komnena.”

He drummed into her harder than he ever had when she’d been mortal. She clawed at his shoulders and tore at his vein. Her cries against his throat echoed back at her, a mockery of her self control. But she couldn’t care, not with him working her new body over and his blood singing in her veins.

Their Grace Union fed her his emotions and imprinted them on her where his fingers dug into her thighs. She shuddered between him and the wall, reveling in the banquet of his pure, undiluted fury. He was angry that she had been taken from his sight. Angry at the door that had locked her away from him. Angry at every bit of air that came between their bodies.

His fangs broke her skin and embedded him in her fully. He growled against her throat, letting her own anger out of her. Her body laid claim to him with rough spasms, grinding closer against him. He kept pounding into her release as if he could not get close enough, deep enough.

Waves of pleasure bled her temper out of her. She sagged in his hold, still desperately suckling his vein. He caught her legs and kept up his relentless rhythm. The friction he built inside her left her whimpering, her body quivering with too much sensation, her thoughts a haze of need.

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