Page 42 of My Blood Is Yours

Sariel huffs a laugh. “Yes. She has a few of them.”

My brows leap. “How fascinating.”

With an arched brow, he suddenly looks every bit the haughty prince as unmistakable jealousy burns in his gaze. “Is it?”

I grin, fisting his shirt collar and tugging him down to meet my lips. “Darling, even my dreams didn’t do you justice, and if it’s not you, I don’t want it.”

With a grunt, he leans into me, wrapping thickly muscled arms that could nearly wrap around me twice over, and brushes his lips against mine. My eyes study his, and I can’t help but see the insecurity there. “Even though it means you’ll be foreverchanged? That your soul, your life, will be bound to mine? That you’ll require my blood, and I yours?”

I press a feather-light kiss to his lips as I caress his jaw trying to will every ounce of reassurance into each point of contact. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

His nose grazes my cheek.

“Then that is all that matters. But I would hope that one day, even without my family’s expectation of us to produce an heir, you will allow me to keep you so thoroughly stuffed with my cock and my cum, that eventually, your belly would become round with my child and your breasts heavy with milk.”

My throat works as my core clenches in the affirmation that she, too, shares this desire.

My previous fears about having children were rooted in them sharing my mother’s condition, but since realizing she wasn’t mad, she had simply been born in a world where her gifts were gravely misinterpreted, and she’d never been taught how to wield them, I no longer have that fear. Sariel lives in a place where magic is revered, and I have no doubt that if we were to have children they would be given every resource needed to hone their gifts.

Still, one can’t erase overnight the last twenty years or so of fearing the opposite, but I have no doubt that one day, I will long to bear Sariel’s children.

“One day, darling. Though for now, I must admit that I would prefer to keep you all to myself, but I crave your cock and your cum all the same.”

Sariel releases a deep growl, grazing my neck with his fangs. My next words are exhaled on a tremulous whisper. “Like now… Can we go now, darling? I have this aching, soul-deep need for you to bury your knot inside me.”

The familiar sound of Evandriel clearing his throat startles me—but Sariel only tightens his grip on me. Reluctantly, heallows me to rotate and face our intruders, as his hard length presses insistently against my backside.

My eyes dance between Evandriel and hissoulbound.The longing and envy in their eyes is a mirror of the other’s.

“Elowen, Sariel… This is Kelestra.”

When I attempt to step forward, extending my hand, Sariel’s claws dig into my flesh and every muscle in his body goes rigid. Kelestra gives him a sad smile in understanding before her eyes return to mine. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I swat at Sariel, and while he still doesn’t let me go, he reluctantly steps forward with me so I can shake her hand. The smile she gives me is surprisingly warm, and I can’t help but return it. “Ready?”

“Not quite.”

Kelestra gives me an apologetic look—but in all honesty, I’m shocked she’s apparently agreed to come with him so quickly. I’d been suppressing no small amount of dread, anticipating that Sariel and I would be forced to wait until he’d wooed her.

Selfishly, the matter of themana siphonis still prominent in my mind. I give Evandriel a questioning look, and his lips firm into a line that I’m guessing means he hasn’t asked her about it yet.

“Where to?”

Kelestra looks anxious—the cocky bravery she’d exuded earlier seemingly evaporated. “My home.”

I look over my shoulder to give Sariel a questioning look that says:Do we trust her?

His brows dip in the center to form a lowV—and the change in expression makes him look downright sinister. “If you intend to trap us, I can assure you, it won’t end well for you.”

With a heavy sigh, she smirks. “I’m just as eager to leave this place as you are.”

EVANDRIEL

Kelestra’s home—unlike her fancy clothing—is anything but. It’s a tiny place. Paintings cover the walls—some of which are remarkably beautiful, while others are a smear of paint. Like something a toddler might do. She’sfoldedus directly into her kitchen, and as I take in the eclectic decor with surprised eyes, a rotund woman with fuzzy, moth-like wings and antennae comes bustling in, jolting at the sight of us.

Again, whispering in Ourinessian.

“Akash-almighty. You scared me. Who are your friends, Kelestra?”

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