Page 45 of A Kingdom of Death & Darkness
And then there’s Seven.
“May I?” he asks politely, and the heat between their eyes is a burning ember of testing tension that I don’t dare break.
Thorn’s lips quirk at the edges with a curious smile.
“By all means. Be my guest.” The very moment the King gives his approval, Seven sinks sharp fangs into the crook of the king’s palm where his thumb meets his forefinger.
Blood drips to the white tablecloth. It spreads on contact.
A gravelly groan fills the silence as Thorn’s lashes flinch closed in pain... or pleasure. My lips part as Seven looks up at me from beneath his lashes and feeds violently from my mate. Blood slides from both corners of his mouth. Thorn’s head tips back as his spine arches from his chair. I circle around to break them up.
“That’s enough,” I caution with a light touch of my hand to Seven’s shoulder.
But it’s Thorn’s strong grip that pulls me back. He settles me against him, wrapping his arm fully around my stomach and startling me more than I was before.
“Are you okay? Is he hurting you?” I ask quietly.
His groan hums along the side of my neck as he buries his face there.
“Fuck, Crymson,” he hisses, and the lust in his words slides right through me to my core. “Don’t stop,” he murmurs as his hips rock lightly against my ass.
My gaze falls to the vampire still feeding hungrily from Thorn’s palm. He’s on his knees at Thorn’s feet, and he hasn’t stopped to take a single breath. He looks up at me with hooded eyes. A devious smile shines drunkenly there, and I wish like hell I knew what my clever vampire was showing him right now.
“Do you... also do party tricks?” Carver asks Rorrick with a curious arch of his dark brow.
Rorrick’s eyes narrow on him.
“No. I don’t do fuckin’party tricks.” His upper lip curls at the Fae Prince.
Carver looks the vampire commander up and down for less than half a second before uttering, “You can still feed from me.”
Rorrick’s eyebrows lift high. He searches Carver’s bright and hope-filled eyes. A stomach growls loudly, and I just know it’s Rorrick’s.
“Uh, alrigh’,” he finally relents with a hard pinch of his brow.
Carver pulls back the tan sleeve of his tunic and lifts his wrist to the vampire’s parted lips. They lock eyes, and to be fair, it does in fact feel like a conniving fae trick.
What will their blood do to these men? I peer down at Seven, and I can’t see how it’ll change him more than he already has. Rorrick hesitates.
His fingers wrap around Carver’s forearm, but just before he fully commits, he looks to his Prince.
“I dunno abou’ this,” he says quietly.
A smirk toys at the corner of Christian’s lips. Candlelight dances demonically in the Blood Prince’s eyes. I’m drawn to his every move. He pushes back his chair and tosses the white cloth napkin to the table. As he stands, he absently grabs his wine glass and downs the contents. Steady strides carry him like a predator through the room. He passes each chair and rounds the table to their side. Like a sinister omen, he stands behind Carver’s leathery black wings in the darkest edges of the room. He lingers there in the shadows, his eyes held on mine as long pale fingers slide steadily around Carver’s throat. The Fae Prince’s lashes flutter closed as Christian angles his neck to one side. The light in his eyes blazes like red embers as Christian holds me with a hungriness in his gaze. Then his lips part, sharp white teeth extend, and he sinks slowly in.
Christian’s careful and controlled about the taste of the fae blood that’s pouring from around his lips. Rorrick’s fangs extend as he watches his friend. He lowers his head, and he, too, feeds from Carver but with more gentleness.
At the piercing of his flesh, long fingers tangle in the ruined tablecloth as a groan rumbles through Carver’s throat. His hand trembles desperately there, and a needy, jealous feeling swirls low in my stomach at the idea of what he must feel.
Thorn’s big palm pushes down the fabric of my dress, grinding down my hips and cupping me lightly between my thighs.
“Crymson?” he asks like he’s not sure if I’m real or not, his lips worshipping along my neck as he murmurs my name over and over again.
His palm grinds back and forth against my center, and I shudder from the delicious sounds in the room alone.
“Crymson, I fucking need you. Please,” he begs, and it does something inside me to hear the desperation in his voice.
Seven’s gaze shifts from me to Thorn before he finally lifts his head. Blood drips from his chin, and wild eyes take me in.
