Page 34 of Summer's Seduction

“I’m The Prince of Darkness, the son of Hypnos. I was born to enemies.”

“Yes, but this felt personal,” I pressed, watching each moment of his face, searching for a crack in his composure. “He made it sound like you used to know each other, or at the very least, behave similarly until you changed.”

A faint tinge of fear permeated the air around us, clashing with the peaceful scent rising from the nearly full bath. My cheeks heated as I watched Morpheus inhale, catching his eyes widened when he realized what I was getting at.

“I’ve done some pretty fucked up things, things that will haunt me until Lord Hades dips my soul into the peaceful reprieve of The Lethe, but I’veneverdone anything with a partner that wasn’t completely consensual.”

My shoulders bowed forward, air rushing from my lungs as I let go of the last of my apprehension. I wasn’t sure who Morpheus was or what his past had been like, but his actions were that of someone honorable. Dare I say, trustworthy.

He played the part of a careless prince whose only concern was who his next fuck would be, but there’d been an entire cave filled with writhing, willing people, and he hadn’t been among them. Hadn’t spared a glance for them. And regardless of my vicious, slightly unhinged need for torture, he was still treating me with respect, without any signs of being disgusted or horrified.

“It won’t be like last time,” he promised.

“What if I can’t help it?” I asked, my gaze flicking up to meet his golden eyes. Because despite my shame in admitting it, I’d never wanted someone as much as I’d wanted him when his fangs had been inside me.

“Consent, remember?” Morpheus said, his lips tilting up on one end, but there was a hollowness to his eyes. “I won’t lose control this time, Larkspur. I was unprepared before, but your hunger will overshadow any other… urges.”

Swallowing down my doubt, I nodded. My gaze dropped to his lips and then to the thick veins lining his forearms as he rolled up a sleeve.

“I see the questions swirling inside that beautiful mind of yours.” Morpheus’s low voice rumbled through his chest as he turned off the water of the steaming bath before flitting back to my side. He raised his wrist to his mouth, using the sharp tips of his fangs to slice a deep gash as he sat beside me, extending his bleeding wrist toward my mouth. Blood welled, the sight and smell of it causing my own fangs to descend and throb with need.

“Drink, little monster, and see the beast before you.”

LARKSPUR

The taste of his blood was intoxicating. I knew I shouldn’t have. I knew that willingly drinking from him would only blur the already wavering line between us, but I was so tired of being strong. It was exhausting calculating out each choice, looking into each decision before I made it to determine what would be safest, when all I truly wanted to do was jump.

So, with The Prince of Darkness bleeding and on his knees before me, I leapt.

Morpheus pressed his wrist to my lips, the warm liquid spilling across my tongue as my fangs reopened the shallow gash. He tasted like a vintage port—the richness of spices cut with a delicious undercurrent of sweetness.

A burst of energy shot through me, spilling into my veins. It felt like I was just waking up, like there had been a sheen of fog all around me, obscuring the crispness of life, and now it had been lifted. The sound of his beating heart, strong and true, was clearer. The smell of eucalyptus and honey rising in steaming swirls from the pool was sharper. The taste—gods,the fucking taste of him.

“Are you ready, little monster?” Morpheus’s lips caressed my ear, pressing gentle, teasing kisses.

I moaned my agreement against his skin, unwilling to relinquish his wrist. I didn’t know what he was talking about, and I didn’t care. This was all I’d ever needed. Him. His blood. This feeling of power—of spending a lifetime on the verge of starvation only to experience what it meant to be sated.

“I wish I could keep you like this always, Larkspur. But you showed me yours, willing or otherwise. It’s only fair I show you mine. And for you, I want to do what’s right, even if you hate me.”

The small, rational part of my mind begged me to listen to Morpheus, to heed his warning, but each beat of his heart sent another wash of blood rolling over my tongue—another hit of the most potent drug I’d ever tasted.

Something changed.

A prick of fear, or was that shame, spiked through the air, the bitter tang of it altering the sweetness of Morpheus’s blood. I blinked away the haze of feeding, coming to my senses enough to look up into Morpheus’s piercing gaze.

He was staring down at me with longing, pride, and hunger, but there was an overwhelming pulse of sadness, too. My lips were still wrapped around his wrist, the wash of blood only now starting to slow. I meant to pull away, to ask why he looked dejected, so unlike the frivolous prince that I knew him to be, but his other hand gripped the back of my neck, forcing my fangs deeper.

There was a shifting of our minds as the fresh rush of blood came, our consciousness reaching for one another like electric currents connecting in a flash of lightning. I leaned into him, wanting more even as I drank deeply, yearning to consume every drop.

“See me, little monster,” Morpheus commanded, and then the world as I knew it fell away.

Morpheus

Obsidian floors stretched before me as I swayed, one hand grasped around a bottle as I left Thanatos's room. Old emotions crashed into me. I felt miserable. Worthless and guilty, like I’d never find another person who’d ever see me the way he had.

I knew Larkspur would be able to sense everything that occurred here. I was purposely keeping myself connected to her consciousness. Any other time I’d considered opening myself up, it’d felt like an invasion, but with her, it felt right. She may not get all the details, but she could sense what I had. Understand the way my fucked-up mind worked.

The scene shifted as more of my blood flowed into her, the rush causing memories to flicker by. Hypnos smashing the first violin I’d ever owned because playing it would make me appear soft. Then, I was a boy, hiding in my father’s study and playing spy when a woman burst through the doors carrying a child. A thick, black cloak covered her body, the emblem of a belladonna blossom set before the night sky embodied across it in silver stitching. There was a flash of dark, umber curls before the memory shifted.

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