Page 39 of A Touch of Madness

His smirk fades into something more serious, more tender. “You will feelme,” he whispers. “In my rarest form.”

He releases my hand, and instead of stepping away, he reaches up, his knuckles grazing my jaw, then sliding gently along my throat, his eyes tracking each movement. His fingertips are cool against my flushed skin, a contrast to the fire that coils low in my belly.

He tilts my head slightly, with just the smallest hint of pressure, exposing the delicate curve of my neck.

Then he steps behind me.

I let out a soft breath as I feel the solid weight of his chest against my back, his body warm despite the coldness that usually lingers beneath his skin. His hands trail lightly down my arms, slow and teasing, until they settle on my waist, his fingers gripping my fabric-covered skin. I shudder at the closeness, at the feeling of being utterly claimed without a single word spoken.

Lucian leans in, his breath fanning against my throat, just above my pulse. I swear I hear a shaky intake of air pass through his lips, savoring the moment before he indulges.

His fingers slide up, gathering my hair in his hands, brushing it aside with excruciating slowness.

The sensation alone is enough to undo me, and I feel my desire pool at my center.

His lips graze just below my ear, a whisper of a touch. “Tell me again,” he murmurs. “Tell me you want this.”

My lashes flutter shut from the feeling of his breath against my neck, goosebumps rising to my skin’s surface. “I do,” I breathe. “I want this, Lucian.”

I watch as the two guards slowly enter the room and take their places in opposing corners, standing like sentinels of the night, their eyes trained on Lucian with quiet understanding. Each of them holds something small but unmistakable—a silver dagger. Magic radiates from it, and it’s strange to me how, even just a couple of months ago, I wouldn’t have noticed it. Now, though, I instinctively know the daggers are blessed and charmed with an incantation designed to subdue even the most powerful of vampires. I can feel the magic flowing around each dagger.

A precaution. A safeguard.

Lucian pays them no mind as his lips skim lower, tracing the sensitive curve of my throat where my pulse hammers wildly. It takes everything inside of my body to steady myself, because the anticipation is too much, a slow-burning fire licking its way through my veins.

The world stills. The moment stretches, infinite and unyielding as he stands just behind me with his mouth hovering above my skin.

There’s a beat of silence—a suspended moment where the world seems to hold its breath?—

And then his fangs pierce my neck.

The initial sting is sharp, startling, but it’s swallowed almost instantly by a flood of sensation that steals every ounce of air from my lungs. Heat blooms from the point of contact, radiating outward in pulsing waves. It’s intoxicating, like drowning in liquid fire, my senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it. My knees weaken, and I cling to Lucian as the room spins around us.

His grip tightens, anchoring me to him as he drinks deeply, his lips warm and firm against my skin. Each pull sends another jolt of euphoria coursing through me, a dizzying blend of pleasure and pain that borders on unbearable. My head lolls back, and a soft moan escapes me before I can stop it.

“Lucian,” I whisper, the sound barely audible, but it seems to reach him. His feeding slows, the pressure easing, and he pulls back slightly, his breath hot against my neck.

“Are you all right?” he asks, his voice thick and rough, tinged with something almost feral.

“Yes,” I gasp, my fingers tightening in his shirt. “Don’t stop.”

He groans low in his throat, a sound that reverberates through me, and he leans in again, his lips brushing my neck with almost reverent tenderness. This time, the bite is slower, deliberate, and the sensation is even more overwhelming. My whole body feels alight, every nerve ending alive with sensation. I’ve never felt more aware of him—of the way his body presses against mine, of the faint tremor in his hands as they hold me, of the quiet, desperate hunger that radiates from him like a palpable force.

I’ve never felt more aware of him—of the way his body presses against mine, of the faint tremor in his hands as they hold me, of the quiet, desperate hunger that radiates from him like a palpable force. It’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once, a storm I’ve willingly stepped into.

But then, something shifts.

The tremor in his hands grows stronger, and his grip tightens—not painfully, but enough to make my pulse quicken for reasons I can’t entirely name. His breath deepens, ragged and uneven, and a low, guttural sound escapes his throat, reverberating through the space like a distant growl. He sucks harder, his fangs striking something deeper inside my flesh.

“Lucian?” I whisper, unsure if I’m grounding him or testing his control.

He doesn’t respond. His fangs somehow sink even lower, the warmth sending a shiver down my spine. But there’s a tension in him now, a sharp edge to his movements that wasn’t there before. His hunger is no longer quiet—it’s roaring, clawing to be fed.

Suddenly, there’s movement in the corners of the room, and it catches my attention, taking me out of the moment. Both guards step forward, their silver daggers gleaming in the low light. The air thickens with their presence, their watchful gazes hardening into warning.

“Lord Draedon,” one of them says, his voice steady but low, deep, like the rumble of thunder before a storm. “You must control yourself.”

The other guard raises the dagger slightly, not in attack but as a signal, a reminder of the boundaries they’ve sworn to uphold. “She’s trusting you,” he adds. “Do not betray that trust.”

---