Page 9 of Vows Forged in Blood

“As you wish,” he says with an exaggerated bow. “I’ll see you tomorrow back at camp and we can…catch up more fully.” He gives me a pointed look and I know he wants to know all the gory details about the Choosing and my new Consort. I can’t tell him about the potential mate issue, of course, but since I’m going to refuse the bond, it doesn’t matter. I wonder how many times I need to say that to myself before it becomes even close to true.

Elias rises and claps me on the shoulder before leaving the room, nearly knocking into Dahlia in the hallway just outside the door.

“Oh!” she exclaims. I shoot to my feet, but Elias reaches out to steady her easily.

“Alright then?” Elias asks, giving her an easy smile. Her eyes widen slightly, her cheeks flushing, and I can hear her heartbeat speed its rhythm. I can’t say that I’m surprised—all women, mortal or otherwise, nearly faint at the sight of Elias. Golden hair, square jaw, eyes as blue as the ocean after a storm—but Iamsurprised by the surge of jealous annoyance that rips through me.

“Y-yes,” she breathes.

“Have the men from your list assembled for inspection upon our arrival,” I call, a hard edge to my voice that I rarely use with Elias.

“Of course, sir,” Elias says, unfazed, giving me a quick, appraising look before inclining his head. He flashes Dahlia another quick smile—and a fuckingwink, making me clench my fists so tightly my knuckles turn white—and heads down the hallway, whistling as he goes. If I didn’t love the bastard so much, I might hate him. Dahlia blinks and watches him go, eyes glued down the hallway.

“Is there something you needed?” I bark, making the girl flinch. Fuck,I really am irritable. I should?—

“I-I was told you might need…blood?” she stammers, pulling her gaze away from Elias’ retreating form and stepping cautiously through the doorway. I can see the pulse point racing at her throat, and my fangs extend, practically throbbing with the longing for blood.Fuck. That hasn’t happened in centuries, not since I was a boy, learning to quell my natural instincts to hunt and feed.

“Come in then,” I say gruffly. I do, in fact, need blood, and I’d better get used to this, I suppose. Perhaps it could improve my mood. I pluck an empty tankard from the table and beckon her forward. She obeys, the fabric of her skirt swishing as she walks. I slowly rake my gaze over her. The dress is simple, nothing like what she wore to the Choosing, but form-fitting, the tight bodice giving her body an hourglass-shape that’s admittedly attractive.Exceedinglyattractive. My eyes linger on her chest, the delicate lace wringing the edge of the neckline rising and falling against her sun-kissed skin with every shallow breath she takes. I yank my gaze away as unwanted thoughts flood my mind, making my mood even more foul, but just as I look away, she stumbles, her toe catching the end of her skirt. I reach out and catch her before she tumbles into the table and she gasps, clutching my bicep as I steady her. Our gazes meet and though there’s a bit of fear in her eyes, there’s something else there as well. Something unexpected and unwelcome. Part of my mind taunts me, calling me a lying son of a devil:Unwelcome my fucking ass.

But princes are not supposed to fuck their Consorts. Other vampires sleep with humans, of course, but never the royals. All vampires are strong and can easily kill a human, but the Montclare royals are stronger still. The risk of death is far too great where we’re concerned, and so we do not drink from, or fuck, humans.Officially. I know it happens and I know how often a mess has had be to cleaned and covered up when one of my siblings felt the need to stray from the decrees of our father. But even though the others might do it, I never have.

And that has never bothered me, has really never even entered my thoughts before this moment. My men go to the blood houses, drinking and fucking any human who is willing and amenable, but I’ve never once longed to join them. But now, all I can think of is sinking my fangs into this human’s neck, exploring every inch of her body with my fingers and tongue,hearing her cries in my ears as her blood slides down my throat and my cock slides into?—

I shake myself, forcing the thoughts away. Grinding my teeth, I let her go quickly, not entirely trusting myself to keep my hands on her without doing more. Much,muchmore. I manage to remain gentle as I push her away, though my roiling thoughts are anything but. She clears her throat quietly, blinking away whatever had been in those piercing eyes a moment ago.

“Do you always have this much trouble walking?” I snap. “You nearly tumble in the hallway and now you can’t do something as simple as walk across the room?”

She blinks again and then narrows her eyes, the green seeming to burn, all vulnerability and fear gone in an instant.Interesting…

“First off,heran intome, thank you. And I can walk perfectly fine, it’s this fuc—this dress,” she quickly corrects, stopping herself from cursing. Italmostimproves my mood by a fraction. She pulls her lips in as if she can’t believe she’s just let the words escape, as if she can’t believe she snapped back at a prince, atherprince, but, to my surprise, she doesn’t cower. She has fire inside her, that’s for certain. I find it commendable…and, yes, attractive. Exceedingly so. I can admit that much. Finding her attractive isn’t against any law.Technically, bedding her isn’t against an actuallaweither, it’s more just an understood expectation…

Get a hold on your fucking thoughts, I snap silently to myself. I need to stop thinking about fucking this girl, because the more I think, the more vivid my imagination becomes, the more my instincts fire and scream, demanding that I claim her, sink my fangs deep into her tender flesh while I sink my co?—

“What is wrong with the dress?” I ask, cooly, stopping the thought in its tracks once more. She clenches her jaw severaltimes and seems to be trying to rein in her temper before replying.

“I’m not used to wearing them,” she finally says, equally cooly.

“Then why are you wearing one now?” I ask, too tired and annoyed to hide my confusion, brow furrowing. A small v forms between her own brows as she glances down at the garment in question, running her hands down her front.

“I was told that I should—” I hold up a hand up and roll my eyes, realization hitting.

“Your Keeper is used to Consorts in the castles, Consorts of true princes,” I say with a shake of my head. “Wear whatever the fuck you like, and tell your Keeper that is my decree. In fact, trousers will be much easier for you in the Northlands and within the camp. They’ll keep you warmer and when the rains come, you won’t want to be dragging around a dress with mud coating the skirt everywhere you go.” I suppose I’ll have to speak with her Keeper and ensure that proper clothing is acquired for her, not the typical wardrobe of a Consort. Had no one thought of how impractical a bunch of ball gowns would be in a fucking war camp?

“Oh,” she says, clearly surprised. “Alright then.”

We stand in silence for a moment. Surprisingly, it isn’t entirely uncomfortable, but as I watch her pulse beat at the base of her throat, my fangs ache and I’m reminded of my need. I gesture impatiently for her hand and she offers it up, a curious look on her face. She doesn’t seem afraid, merely interested and maybe a bit nervous. I know that simply being around me is unnerving for her, as it is for most humans who don’t routinely encounter the royals. All vampires give off something unworldly that humans can instinctively perceive, instinctively know to fear, but the royals are something else entirely. We are the apexof all predators, innate power flowing in our veins that makes humans both enamored and terrified.

I use my nail to slice her wrist, trying my best to be gentle and cause her the least amount of pain as possible. She hisses in a sharp breath but doesn’t try to pull away. My mouth waters and my fangs throb as the sweet, heady scent of her blood hits me. I’ve never smelled human blood so alluring, so full of life. I watch as it spills into the tankard, commanding my body to remain still and under complete and total control. I make sure not to take too much—I know that it will take time before her body grows accustomed to the loss. Even now, her skin pales and she sways slightly.

“Sit,” I command, voice rough and full of authority as I release her hand. I suppose I’m used to addressing my soldiers and wait for her to flinch away, or hells, maybe push back, but she obeys, blinking rapidly as she sinks heavily into the chair. Perhaps I took too much? I quickly grab a cloth and press it to her wrist. She holds it there as I step away, looking a little dazed. I rummage in one of my bags for the tonic the healers had given me for just this purpose. I uncork the bottle, the sweet scent of honey and the spice of underlying herbs hitting my nose.

“Drink this.” She takes the bottle, eyeing me a little warily. “It will help with the dizziness you’re feeling from the blood loss. That will lessen over time, I’m told, and there are pills that will help replenish your blood more quickly. A supply of them should be in with your things packed in one of the carriages.”

She nods and drinks, wrinkling her nose as she swallows and then glaring at me as if I tricked her into drinking poison. I almost laugh. Gods, the nonstop war inside my mind between irritation and interest, between amusement and loathing, between instincts and what I refuse to accept, is making my head ache. I feel a bit as if I’ve been caught within one of the deadly cyclones out at sea, being thrown this way and that andback again, never able to find my footing before being thrown yet again. I don’t know how to act or what to say or think or do. And I don’t like not knowing.

“The whole thing,” I say, gesturing to the bottle. She sighs but lifts the vial to her lips once more.

“So, it’s true then,” she says quietly, taking another small sip, “that the princes don’t take straight from the flesh.”

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