Page 305 of Rage

“Moonrise!” he shouts, back arching so he can look at me. “Moonrise, fuck the Gods, Rhona, please.”

“Good pet.” I crook again, savoring his moan. “You speak when I say speak.” He nods, and I accept his answer, reaching again for the holywood stake. “You come when I say come.”

The handle fits my palm perfectly, and the leather is worn to the curve of my fingers. Declan’s eyes widen in anticipation, and I remove my finger from his hole to twist the blood-coated silver tip. It pops off with ease, revealing the ridged, blunt end.

He exhales, eyes dark and liquid, and presses his rear toward me. Without a word between us, he releases the headboard and grabs a bottle from the bedside table, easily flicking the cork free with his thumb and handing it to me.

“Good pet,” I murmur and coat the stake in oil. Some spills onto my hand, and I use it to stroke and pet my plaything, circling his hole and inserting my finger.

Adjusting my stance, I grasp his cheek and spread him wide, pressing the blunted edge against his hole. Declan grunts, hand flying for the headboard as I insert the ridged head.

“Speak.”

“Moonrise.” He presses back, telling me with his body and his words how badly he wants this, how he wants me to dominate him. To remind him he is weak. That I am his mistress. I who spared him and cared for him, who heals himwith my blood and pleasures him with my tongue, venom, and cunt.

I am his monster, and he is weak for me.

I fuck him slowly with the stake, watching every twitch and tremor in his face. The roll and flex of muscle in his back and arms. Low light from the dying candles gilds his skin. Tight, pleasured whines escape his plush lips, and a flush rides high on his cheeks. His eyes are feverish as he watches me with one cheek pressed against the mattress.

He is beautiful like this.

All too soon, it overwhelms me. His beauty in this moment and the power I wield over him. What we have achieved in this hall and the halls before it. What is yet to come. Declan and I will cleanse this land, creating a new world under the rule of my night siblings.

All too soon, I crave his touch and the stretch of his cock. With a twist of my wrist, the handle of the stake clicks free. I cast it aside, using all my strength to flip Declan onto his back. The move rams the stake deeper within him. He cries out as I draw him upright, pressing his mouth to my throat as I tear the laces of my corset and shred the front of my shirt.

He knows what I want, how I want it. His mouth latches onto my breast, tongue flicking my tightened nipple, and I remove my leathers to straddle him. His cock presses between us, the thick base teasing my clit. I roll my hips, tensing my thighs in search of the friction I crave.

Declan again needs no instruction. Ours is a dance, and while I lead, he is well-trained in the steps. He knows how to please me and ensure I come to him morning after morning for the pleasure none of my night siblings can offer.

A warm body and stroking hands. Fleshy lips and thrumming blood and a cock that can make me see the Gods.

He grasps my hips, lifting me with ease and settling me on his cock. Pleasure shoots through my body at the press of his thick head, stretching me in such a delicious way I cannot help but throw my head back and moan. Easing me down, Declan returns to my breast, sucking each nipple as his fingers grasp my hips hard enough I would bruise if I could. Only when I am seated does Declan ease his grip. He slides a hand between us, thumb brushing my clit. Sparks fly up my spine, throwing my body into a rigor mortis only more of his touch can relax.

“Use me,” he growls against my breastbone. His demand ignites something within me—a rage brought on by his insubordination and disobedience.

I snarl and grasp his biceps, nails cutting into his skin. Blood wells, and the scent of it drives me forward. My fangs slide into his throat like a hot knife through butter, and I slam down against him. Molten heat floods my belly and Declan curses. His hand finds its way into my hair, grabbing hold as I rise and slam down again, taking pleasure from his body. Hot blood in my mouth, a thick cock in my cunt. I ride him cruelly, sparks bursting in my eyes every time I crash against him.

The movement jostles the stake in his rear, driving it harder against a place that makes him grunt and groan. His arms tremble, his firm legs quaking beneath me. His thumb circles my clit, and the movement drowns me in bliss. Tension builds as I ride him, drawn together by the sweep of his thumb and the pulse of his blood, filling my mouth and my belly as my venom sends him careening to the ceiling.

I pull my fangs out of him to moan his name, the only warning Declan gets before my cunt clenches around his cock, and euphoria strikes like lightning in my veins.

My back shoots straight, head falling back as I release a ragged cry he interprets as permission.

“Rhona.” The groan of my name rumbles against my chest, and his cock seems to thicken and twitch before he spills inside of me. His seed mingles with blood from the wounds I have inflicted, filling the room with more of Declan’s scent. I am feral, half-mad in the throes of orgasm, clawing at his back and rocking my hips in search of more even as he is spent.

Declan falls back, rolling onto his side and slipping out of me. Before I can fight or move or fully process his absence, he pushes me onto my back and hauls my cunt to his face. His tongue thrusts inside of me, writhing and flicking, licking me clean as I wind tighter and tighter, only to fall apart a second time.

Wave after wave of pleasure overtakes me, and when I come back to myself, I am panting against the sheets. Distantly, I hear the clunk of the stake being tossed aside, and then Declan is there, wrapping his arms around my body and gathering me close.

How long we lie there, lost in the shared bliss of release, I do not know. When I turn my head, the candles are puddles of wax, and the room is lit only by the dim glow of day behind the drapes.

Declan’s breathing is deep, his eyes closed and face soft in a way that reminds me of the youth I spared from the cold. As if he hears my thoughts, his arms tighten around me, and he nuzzles the crook of my neck.

“What next?”

“Lord Stilton still lives,” I answer, pressing back against him. Declan makes a sound I interpret as surprise. “His blood was too poisoned to risk. He will be the feast for any new siblings we turn.”

“Good.” He twists, drawing a blanket from the floor to cover us both. “And the lady?”

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