Page 15 of The Sacrifice

“Very well, then. We have all been introduced. As one with no title, I trust you understand the importance of following the orders of a sovereign.”

I swallow but refuse to look away even with Merikh purring the lecherous command in my ear, “Remove your dress now, girl. Or I will claw it from your little, gray body.”

My heart sputters, skipping beats. I wish I could sharpen my wits. The sight of Qora should ground me. A small part of me has it in mind to protest, resist somehow. The idea of the vampire clawing the outfit to shreds has me trembling down to my soul with blood rushing to my face.

My mind goes numb, but my fingers fumble with the ends of the already ruined gown, its lower half scorched by the High King, Drago. I fling it to the dress to the floor, clothed in the white corset, transparent chemise, and undergarments. My small breasts heave with every breath I take. At least they’re mostly bare. Only the uppermost parts of the mounds have any scars, along with the whorls of ink roaming along my collarbone and shoulders.

The vampire snivels, “And the rest, little dove.”

I bite my lower lip and touch the strings at the back. “My sister—she laced them so tight, I—”

One swipe of his claws. That’s all it takes for the corset to loosen and fall. Air gushes into my lungs, and I fall from the shock of the whalebone piece confining my skin removed in an instant. The transparent shift is so low and loose, I know the Fae king can see my breasts.

“Come, little dove, we may have all day, but our King does not. Prove yourself!”

Insides ready to cave in, blood thrumming, and my nipples pebbling—oh, marvelous monsters—I rise to a stand, thrust out my chin, and slide the shift off my shoulders to pool at my feet. A moan breaks free from my mouth, a sound I’ve only ever heard from others. But I can’t help it. Deep between my thighs, my inner muscles spasm for the first time. A raw, newborn heat pillages my pussy.

And something...warm and wet drips down my thigh.

10

"You're going to kill yourself!"

QUINTESSA

“Such small dove tits,” croons the vampire, his pale hand stretching to hover over one breast. I resist the urge to cover them and clench my hands at my sides, staring him down as he cackles. “Little bumps I could pinch between my thumb and finger.”

I shrug and set my hands on my narrow hips. “Least I have tits. And other noteworthy assets.”

He simpers, leaning closer. “A wet, little pussy?”

I deadpan with a side smirk. “And a pulse.”

Merikh glowers, clearly at a loss for words. Kyan’s breathy laugh warms every trace of my nude skin. For the second time today, I flinch because he’s removed his denim jacket to drape it around my shoulders. All my nerve endings sizzle when he buttons it closed, his knuckles brushing across the small swells of my breasts. I blush and smile again when he tucks a strand of my gray hair behind my ear. Thankfully, the jacket falls to my thighs.

“No one but a blood binder would have as many scars as she does,” points out Kyan, his hand not forsaking my hair, toying with its ends. “Perhaps she has more than even Merikh.”

At the vampire’s growl, I turn to him, careless of how I’m poking him with an invisible sword. “I’d bet on it. I collect blood drops like they’re medals. I’ve turned my scars into friends.”

Merikh crouches, but Mayce steps between us, palm coming down hard to shove the other king back. “Go cool off. I’ll take the girl to Drago’s chamber. If she heals him, he will decide what to do with her. If he dies, I’ll gladly watch while you bleed her dry.”

Bile swirls in my belly at the steady promise in Mayce’s silken words and the gleam in Merikh’s eye. A heavy sigh escapes Kyan’s mouth, but I know he’s the peacekeeper of the group. He won’t thwart the other kings.

“If he dies, I’ll be there to sink my fangs into her blood the second his heart stops,” vows Merikh.

My heart quakes. As poetic as it would be to perish at the fangs of a vampire, as if he could bleed my soul thread by thread, I have no plans to die today. Not when I’ve finally experienced the artistry of touch. I’ll have its mastery if it’s the last thing I do. But I’d love for it to be the second...after I’ve healed the dragon.

* * *

Heavy breaths push through my dry, withered throat at the sight of the nude dragon god. His hair is the color of slaughter, red as flaming poppies. Shaved on each side, the waves flick back and forth, tangling with his gnashing teeth from his struggles.

The sheets fall lower.

It’s not the first time I’ve seen a cock—just the first time I’ve seen one so thick and...extensive. A deep, dark vein the color of nightshade pulses down the center. But I only take a cursory glance. The rest of his skin has me far more concerned.

My vym rages in my veins, on the verge of storming past my ribcage at the writhing king. His eyes are closed, but he thrashes, struggling so much, the steel bindings have ripped the skin open at his wrists. Blood trickles from those wounds. But it’s the shadow veins swarming his skin, the sweat streaming down his body, and the dark mumblings from his mouth that give away the signs of a fever, of infection.

“How long has he been like this?” I wonder, appraising the other kings while approaching the bed on the dragon’s left side.

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