The King

TWENTY-NINE

Of course it was Selena.

As soon as Trez heard the knock across his bedroom, he took a deep breath … and yup, her scent preceded her, drifting in under the door.

His body hardened instantly, his cock extending up his lower belly, pushing against the weight of the duvet.

Send her away, a part of him said. If you have any decency left in you—send her away …

Not exactly the best argument: He was, after all, contemplating putting his parents in a grave—so how much Boy Scout could he possibly have in him—

He stopped that mental wheelspin in its tracks. At this point, he was so blood starved, he wasn’t going to make any sense. Feed first. Then … think.

Right. Back to the Please, God, not Selena.

The problem was … who else was coming here to service him? He hadn’t seen any Chosen in this household except for her and Layla, who was now out of commission. And if he didn’t take the vein about to be offered, his only other option was to head out to the club and work his way through a half dozen human women—which was about as appetizing a prospect as drinking engine sludge.

There was also the issue that he was so far down into an energy wormhole that he wasn’t sure whether even that would be enough. Another fun fact? He didn’t think he could stand up to pull a pair of jeans on. So how in the hell was he going to go to the Iron Mask and—

The soft knock was repeated.

Pushing his hand under the covers, he shoved his erection around so that it would lie as flat as possible—and the contact made him grit his teeth.

You’ve got to do this with her, he told himself. Once and never again.

“Selena…” Shit, the sound of her name leaving his lips made him feel like his hand was back on his cock.

Oh, wait, he hadn’t taken the damn thing off.

As she opened the door, he whipped his arm out from under—and glared at it to stay put.

Sweet Mary, Mother of God … to quote that Boston cop.

She looked as beautiful as always in that white robing with her hair up, but his starvation turned her into a transcendental vision—that went right to his hips. His pelvis immediately started curling, his cock begging for something, anything from her.

This was a bad idea, he thought.

And sure enough, Selena hesitated in the doorway, glancing around as if she recognized the charge in the air.

It was his last chance to send her away.

He didn’t take it.

“Close the door,” he said in a voice so deep it warped.

“You suffer.”

“Close it.”

Click.

There was only a single lamp on, that one by the chaise longue, and the butter-yellow light seemed to act as a sound buffer, everything inside the room amplified, everything outside silenced.

Then again, maybe it was the color of her eyes doing that.

As she approached, she pulled up her sleeve, exposing her pale wrist. And in response, his fangs didn’t descend so much as punch out from his upper jaw—and shit, he didn’t want what she was going to offer. He wanted at her throat … he wanted her naked and underneath his body, his canines in her neck as his cock—

Moaning, he kicked his head back and gripped the duvet in his fists.

“Worry not,” she said in a rush. “Here, take of me.”

In spite of all the air in the room, his lungs began to starve for oxygen, shallow breaths pumping in and out of his open mouth.

And then her hand brushed his arm, and he moaned again, trying to twist away. Gritting his teeth, he knew this was a very bad thing.

“Selena, I can’t … I can’t do this…”

“I don’t understand.”

“You should leave…” Fuck, he could barely get the words out. “Leave or I’m going to…”

“Feed,” she cut in sharply. “You need to feed—”

“Selena…”

“You must take my vein—”

“—you’d better go…”

They were talking over each other, getting nowhere, when she took charge of the situation. At first, he thought his brain was playing tricks on him—but no, that was the scent of fresh blood in the room. Hers.

She’d scored her wrist.

Big mistake.

With a roar, he went for her—and not her wrist. His hands unlatched from the wadded sheeting and he grabbed her, taking her by the shoulders and flipping her across his lap to lay her out flat on the mattress.

He mounted her a split second later, the duvet folding up between them, his hands pinning her wrists up on the pillows by her head.

One look in her shocked eyes stopped him dead. And yet he couldn’t get off her.

Screw panting; he was breathing like a freight train, his body hard all over, his muscles twitching. “Shit…” he moaned as he dropped his head.

Get off of her, he ordered his body. Get the fuck off of—

The undulation beneath him took a moment to register. And then he realized it was her. She was … moving against him, and not as in she wanted to get free. Her eyes, once alarmed, were now glazing over, her lips parting as she arched into him.

She wanted him. Fucking hell, her scent was flaring into his nose, her blood running fast and hot as his own.

“Selena,” he groaned. “I’m sorry…”

“For what,” she said roughly.

“This.”

He struck her throat, fangs sinking deep, blood rushing onto his tongue, down his throat. And as he nursed at her, his body pumped against the wadded duvet, desperately trying to find her core through the layers of sheeting, his cock throbbing, the friction making everything worse.

As he drank hard, a growl reverberated out of his chest, filling the air with the sound of a male animal getting what he needed—or at least, part of what he needed. And in a way, maybe it was good that he was so blood starved. Otherwise, the sexual urge would have taken precedence.

As long as all he did was feed? They could come back from that.

Anything further, and they were—

Mine, a voice deep inside of him announced.

Mine.

Selena had thought she was prepared for this. She’d thought she was ready to come up here to this room, to find Trez in this bed, to have him at her wrist. She’d assumed she was ready to do her duty and keep the secret of wanting him to herself.

Instead, she was blown away. By the power of him unleashed, by the strike at her neck … by the sexual desperation with which she needed him. And there was more. Crushed under his great weight, feeling his hips surge and retreat on top of her, knowing that he was drinking of her vein, she was at least momentarily unafraid of the statues in the cemetery up above. How could she fear them now? Not with her body like this, with her arms and legs, her very sex, loose and hot and desperate to receive him.

Opening her eyes, she looked up at the ceiling beyond his dark shoulders. “Take me,” she breathed into his growl. “Take me…”

In response, his fingers slid up to her palms and steepled in between, holding instead of trapping as he nuzzled at her vein, his cheek stubbly against her skin. She had an instinct to part her legs, and as soon as she did, the pressure of his pumping torso zeroed in on that aching heart of her, pushing, rubbing—but it was too indistinct. She wanted it focused.

She wanted them both naked as he did that.

There was no moving, however. Trez had her pinned and the frustration she felt amplified the hunger that had taken root, the denial of what she wanted ratcheting up the need. Pushing against his palms, she got nowhere, her strength nothing compared to his.

“More,” she moaned as she curled her spine upward, her breasts tightening painfully, her heart thumping under her ribs.

Each pull against her throat, every draw on her vein, all the suction he brought upon her, took her closer to some kind of precipice—and she’d never wanted to fall so badly before. Even though she didn’t know where the landing would take her, she couldn’t imagine that she could rise any higher without splintering apart.

She was wrong.

Except then he stopped.

With a curse, he seemed to have to force himself to retract—and even then, he didn’t go far from her neck. With his fangs out of her skin, his head hung there for the longest time. Until he started licking at the puncture wounds to close them.

This can’t be over, she thought frantically. This can’t be—

“I’m sorry,” he said in a guttural voice.

“Please … please,” she said hoarsely. “Don’t stop…”

This brought his head up and around. And, dearest Virgin Scribe, he was magnificent. Thick lips parted, black eyes glossy, a high blush upon his cheeks, he was both satiated and hungry still, the male animal only partially fed.

And she was well aware what part of his meal was missing.

Yet when she tried to reach for him, her hands pushed against an iron hold.

“Take me,” she begged. “Down below … I need you there—”

“Jesus Christ,” he spat as he leaped off her, all but throwing himself from the bed.

Up on his feet, he seemed to lose coordination, but then he stalked off to the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

Cold rushed in all over her. And not just because his body no longer blanketed her own. It was shame. Embarrassment.

But how could she have gotten that wrong?

Sitting up required a couple of tries. And when she was finally off the pillows, she pushed at the mess of her hair and tugged the lapels of her robing back into place. Twisting around, she looked at where she had lain. Her blood was a bright red stain on the white sheets.

Her wrist was still bleeding from where she had scored it.

Taking care of that with her own tongue, she shifted her legs off the bed. They felt too weak to hold her weight, but she had no choice, save to call them into service.

Going over to the closed bathroom door, she placed her hand upon the panels. On the far side, she could hear him breathing hard.

As she opened her mouth, intending to apologize for her temerity and then take her leave—she took a deep inhale—

The scent of his sexual arousal was strong as ever, and she frowned. He wanted her, still. So why had he …

At least her mortification could ease a little. “Trez?”

“I’m sorry.”

Testing the knob, she found things unlocked—but as she began to open the door, he barked, “No! Don’t—”

As the scent of that arousal grew even stronger in her nose, she peered inside. He was across the way, braced against the sinks, his head hanging low. And whatever torment he was going through, his body was clear with where it stood.

His erection was … just as incredible as the rest of him.

“Shut the goddamn door!” he hollered.

Except she wasn’t going to listen to that. Not after her visit to the cemetery up above. Not after having been reminded as recently as this morning exactly what was waiting for her: Her body was just beginning its death process, but she knew well enough that once the joints began to grind, time was of the essence.

This could be her one and only opportunity to be with a male—and she wanted this. In fact, she would have wanted him even if her future weren’t as yet breathing down her neck.

And his body desired hers. Clearly.

For all those reasons, she pushed the door completely open.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered. Then more loudly, “Selena, please.”

“I want … this.”

His head shook. “You don’t.”

“I want … you.”

“You can’t—for God’s sake, Selena, I hurt you.”

“You did not.”

He looked over the carved muscles of his upper arm. His eyes were glowing green. “Don’t push me right now. You’re not going to like what happens.”

“Are you going to make me beg?”

His huge body swayed, as if she’d sucked his strength instead of given him more. “Don’t do this to either of us, Selena. Not tonight.”

She frowned. “Tonight?”

He grabbed for a towel and wrapped it around his hips. “Just go. I’m so … grateful you gave me what I need. But I can’t do this right now.”

Giving her his back, he stood there, staring at a blank wall.

Selena pulled her lapels closer. “What ails—”

“For the love of fucking God, I’m already fucking my parents over, okay? I do not want to add you to the list.”

“Whatever do you speak of?”

When he didn’t reply, she went over to him, her cloth-soled shoes making no sound. When she touched his shoulder, he jumped.

“Trez—”

He wheeled around and backed up at the same time, slamming into the wall. “Please—”

“Speak unto me.”

His frantic eyes bounced around her face, her shoulders, her body. “I don’t want to talk right now. I want…”

“What?” she whispered.

“You know what … goddamn me to hell … I want you. So you really fucking have to leave.”

They stared at each other for the longest time. And then she decided to take control.

Reaching for the tie at her waist, Selena’s hands shook as she pulled apart the bow and let the strip fall to the floor. Uncurling, the robing split asunder, exposing the center of her body, her aching breasts catching the two halves and holding them.

But her sex was on display. And his eyes went down … and stayed there.

Trez’s lips parted, his fangs descending anew; and now she was the one weaving on her feet as her core responded even further, blooming between her legs, sending out a call.

Which he answered by falling to his knees.

She wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t what he did next.

Reaching up, he slipped his hands under the robe’s halves and onto her waist. Warmth was her first impression—and that was followed by an immediate electric sensation, a sizzle that was transmitted from him to her through his broad palms.

He was so tall that his head came up to just below her breasts, and all she could think of doing was running her hands over his soft, tightly curled hair—

She lost that initiative as his mouth brushed against her sternum. And then her upper belly. And then her navel.

He was curling himself backward onto his heels as he went down, and she … was he going to—

Selena moaned and nearly fell over as he brushed the top of her bare sex with his lips; His grip on her waist was the only thing that kept her upright.

The nuzzling was soft and gentle, his face and nose rubbing on her pelvis, his lips kissing the outside of her cleft.

And she wanted more.

Just as she was trying to form words, his tongue extended in for a probing lick, the invasion so languorous, she wasn’t spooked at how foreign it was. And then it came back, reentering, taking another taste of her.

He was purring now.

Falling forward, she put her hands on his shoulders and widened her stance—even as she became impatient with the effort it took to stay standing: She wanted all her concentration to be on him and what he was doing to her. Worrying about balance and coordination—

He solved that problem by lifting her off her feet and laying her down on the fur rug in front of the claw-foot tub.

Giving herself up to wherever this would go, she reached her arms over her head and arched her back, her breasts peaking and casting aside the robe halves, her body revealed to him.

“Fucking hell,” he gritted as his eyes traveled from the crown of her head to her tight nipples … past the flat plane of her belly, to her sex and her legs.

His dark hand was a contrast to the paleness of her skin as he drew a lazy stroke from her collarbone to one of her breasts. Capturing the weight in his palm, she groaned and undulated, her knees bending up … and falling open.

His towel dropped away from his body, exposing his hairless beauty and his formidable sex.

“Take me,” she ordered him. “Teach me.”