by Rhea Watson
Me.
I’d happened.
“Katja, I’m…” I trailed off when she licked her lips, hurriedly at first, then slowly for the next rush of blood, locking eyes with me.
Oh.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
“Don’t say you’re sorry, Rafe,” she murmured. “I… I’m not.”
Those two words were my undoing. I lunged just as she pounced, and we collided with the force of two charging armies meeting in battle, this kiss more furious than the first. All raw, undying passion, months of pent-up need exploding between us. I raked my hands through her hair, fingers tangling, twining, yanking as they had yearned to do from the very first week. Her delectable little squeak of shock, perhaps even pain, at one of my harder tugs had me grinning savagely against her mouth, and I swallowed every sound greedily, hungrily, her surprise the perfect seasoning to her blood.
B-negative.
A rare and exquisite elixir.
Dangerous—for I had been starved in here. While I allowed my restraint to falter, my hands everywhere, fingers bruising her hips as I steered her onto my lap, I had to keep the true bloodlust in check. Tamed.
Or I might drain her dry.
Elijah would never forgive me.
I would never forgive myself.
She fit so perfectly, straddling my thighs, looming over me with her hands planted firmly on my shoulders. For such a little thing, quiet and pensive to the rest of the prison, an outright delight during our nightly conversations, Katja Fox proved she could be brutal. She was a predator in her own right, a hunter in the highest regard, snapping at my lips, my tongue, marking me even as her life force trickled down my throat. Her nails raked up my neck and over the collar, the slight nudging of the leather paired with a jolt of panic; I had seen what happened when inmates tried to remove their collars.
Snarling, I snared her wrists and wrenched them away, bringing those cruel hands to my cheeks, desperate to feel the sting of her claws. Katja allowed some manipulation, our kiss deep and binding, but she dropped her hands to my chest an instant later, fingers fumbling over the buttons. I bucked up, cock rigid and needy, and she shivered in my arms. As soon as she’d conquered half my buttons, she hastily attacked her own, parting the purple fabric and revealing herself to me—creamy skin and gorgeous cleavage, the perfect palmful of breast hidden away beneath an unflattering prison-issued brassiere.
When I tore my mouth from hers, the witch sucked down a few gasping breaths, her chest rising and falling in hard beats. Heavy-lidded sapphires gazed down at me, and I paused, allowing a moment of tenderness as I brushed the staticky hair from her face, mapped the lines of her nose, her cheekbones, her chin. Still trembling, still chasing her breath, Katja did the same, dragging a finger over the harsh black stubble along my jaw, the hard edges of my features of particular interest. Silence reigned outside my cell door, and behind her, Tully had melted into the shadows.
Did that mean he approved of this?
Eyes locked, an upspoken question stretched between us. Do we want to stop?
We should.
Logically, yes, I ought to lift her off my thighs, my raging hard-on, and call it a day. Go back to whispering through a mousehole and savoring every second as I had all these long months.
I kissed her instead. Katja kissed me back, falling easily into the softness that was like a balm for her bruised mouth, for my tormented mind. It was fleeting, the gentle brush of lips, turning harder by the moment, fiercer, and then the firestorm was back, her hips rocking over my erection, grinding down in search of her own pleasure. Her little moans spurred me, damned me, but even as I succumbed to vice and sin, one succinct, coherent thought stood out.
It felt right to hold her.
Not sexually—although that was exceptional too. Images of driving her squealing into the cot, over and over again, the springs screaming as she came undone beneath me, tempted my inner monster, made my cock even harder.
But beyond that, it felt right to just hold her, touch her. Even a chaste embrace would satisfy me.
Of course, this was anything but.
Her fingers twined in my hair, wrenching hard when I dragged a harsh, openmouthed kiss along her jaw and down her neck.
That was my undoing.
The hammer of her heart thump-thumping in her throat. The rush of blood through her veins, charging faster and brighter, so fucking tempting. Hadn’t fed in months. In too long. Hadn’t properly consumed what I needed to survive—
The bloodlust won out.
I lost control in a second—and drove my fangs into her neck.
“Rafe…” Blood oozed over my lips, my tongue, coating my throat and soothing away all the prison’s cruelty. B-negative was my favorite, and she was the sweetest I’d ever tasted. Like guzzling a mouthful of rubies, Katja was exquisite in every sense. I gripped the back of her neck hard, plunging deeper, drinking greedily as her hips bucked and rolled, rocking faster over my sheathed cock.
The bite of a vampire was nirvana. Six hundred years since I’d been turned, I vaguely recalled the sting—but I wholly remembered the pleasure. A toxin in our bite dulled our victim’s senses once it entered the bloodstream, flooded them with pleasure beyond measure. Akin to an earth-shattering orgasm, it stupefied them just long enough for the monster to feed.
Even if I hadn’t the time to properly fuck her, at least I could give her this—a flicker of light and ecstasy in this hellscape. Since she’d arrived, Katja hadn’t done it herself—slipped her hand between her thighs in the dead of night—or I would have heard.
And how could I forget such music? A symphony of hitched breath and shudders and my name moaned so soft and sweet. I was an instant addict—to her blood, to her sounds.
Unfortunately, nothing ever lasted in Xargi.
But just for a moment, I could give and take.
We both clumsily shoved a hand over her gasping mouth. She giggled against my palm, her hand clapped over mine, and rode me through a sensation that left her limp in my arms. Writhing and mewling, Katja relished my bite as none had before. I drank, feasted, every gulp fueling my fading body, all the while mindful not to take too much.
I had never accidentally drained anyone, not even in my orphaned days, alone in the world and trying to learn how to survive as the beast I’d become. But something about Katja called to me, begged me to swallow every last drop.
She’ll enjoy it, the little voice murmured, suddenly on my side—yet not. I couldn’t do that to her, but I also couldn’t peel my mouth from her throat, couldn’t withdraw fangs that now craved her above all others. My gut looped and bottomed out, desire clouding my judgment, the pull toward her stronger than ever…
Locks clinked and clanked from the common area; some piece of shit had returned early.
Katja flailed back, and had I not guided her, she would have fallen clear off the side of the cot and crashed to an unforgiving stone floor. Shaking, noticeably woozy, she scrambled backward and tried to stand, but I seized her forearms and held firm.
“Wait a moment,” I urged softly. “Catch your breath. Let the dizziness pass.”
She nodded as Tully hopped back on the cot, and I grimaced at all that beautiful B-negative smeared across her neck and shoulder. Some of it even flecked onto her jumpsuit—and that bra strap had gone from white to bright red. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Not good. Not good at all.
At least the wound had sealed over. Even on a creature without extraordinary healing abilities, the toxin from our bite encouraged the punctures to clot, while their body would do the rest. Couldn’t have casual feeding partners bleed out, after all.
With a purring familiar on her lap, Katja went for her jumpsuit, but her fingers lacked the dexterity to button anything up. I steered her hands down to Tully, silently encouraging her to just enjoy the softness of his fur while I grabbed my pillow, ripped off its grimy case, and then wiped her down. It wasn’t ideal—and I would have much preferred to lick her clean—but anything else
would set off the monster again. Now, how to explain all the blood to the laundry staff…
Never mind. It didn’t matter. One disaster at a time.
Once I had tidied her up as best I could, I buttoned Katja’s jumpsuit and fixed her hair. If she strolled out of my cell looking like she had just been fucked, someone was bound to notice—even if technically that wasn’t the case.
Sure, she had climaxed on my lap. I could smell her heady arousal from here, her slickness almost as distracting as her blood.
“I’m so sorry, Katja,” I whispered, self-loathing soaring to an all-time high. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Do you regret it?” She gathered Tully to her chest, her eyes more focused now, her movements steadier. Nibbling that split lower lip, she waited patiently for me to sort through my own bullshit, even as the thunder of guard boots sounded from the cellblock’s common area. B-negative on my tongue, in my veins, coursing through my heart, I knew I had to answer honestly; Katja deserved that much.
“No,” I whispered back, chest tightening when a relieved smile blossomed across her face.
“Me neither.” Both feet planted flat on the floor, she tried to stand by herself again—tried and failed, plopping back on the cot. On the next attempt, I held her elbow until I was sure she wouldn’t immediately topple over. It took a good two minutes before I trusted her body enough to let go, and when I did, she faced me slowly with a long, luxurious sigh, eyes heavy, limbs relaxed…
As if we had fucked, the sex perfect and satisfying and just what she needed.
Bloodlust satiated for the time being, I now had a raging case of blue balls.
“I’m not sure why I don’t regret it,” she admitted, soft enough for a human to miss, speaking more to herself than me. “But I don’t.”
“I understand.” It was an automatic response, one that garnered another warm smile and a kiss on the cheek—and a face full of Tully’s massive fluffy tail—before she crept to the door of my shadowy cell. Confident on her own two feet again, Katja waited a few long moments, then darted out and into her cell when the guards resumed their loud, never-ending conversation about tits and beer and the wolfsbane trade.
I ached without her.
Felt parched in seconds.
My words had been a lie: I didn’t understand shit—about her, about us. No one, supernatural or human, had ever made me want to feast before, stirred me to keep going and going, taking, becoming a demon of gluttony and lust. She sparked something in me, her blood like fire pumping through my veins.
I could chalk it up to the near constant state of starvation the prison kept their vampire population in, but that wasn’t the whole story.
Barely even a chapter, honestly.
Bloody pillowcase in one hand, I slumped back against the wall, legs dangling over the cot, and closed my eyes. While I longed to slowly let the mystery unfold, to follow the threads one at a time to understanding, to the culmination of us, that was but a pipe dream. I had until Elijah returned from his shift in the metal shop to figure it out.
Because he was my friend. My best friend. And I had just fed from his fated mate.
As soon as he returned, I vowed to tell him everything…
And accept the consequences, even if they broke us.
I deserved no less.
17
Elijah
I should have marked her when I’d had the chance.
That day in the bakery—I couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity. There we were, fated, on the verge of mated, basking in a rare moment of privacy inside this shithole. Katja had exposed herself to me, offered her body, her heart, and my inner dragon had been desperate to mark her. He had clawed up my chest in his eagerness, seconds away from unifying with his mate, our chosen, and I had just… stopped. Ended it right then and there, like I was satisfied with a mind-blowing orgasm, and then it was over.
In the aftermath, she had watched me dress with wide, wanting eyes, like she just knew we’d both missed out on something, and I did my best to stuff down the guilt and the shame, ignoring the fact that I was a dragon, an alpha, a shifter in the presence of his soulmate—and I hadn’t marked her. Hadn’t claimed her for my own.
Instant regret. My inner dragon had exploded, his fury turning my insides to a raging inferno that haunted me for days. Aggressive heartburn. Aches and stabbing pains in my chest. The headache to end all headaches. Usually we operated as one, and even though Katja’s presence had roused the sleepy bastard, he and I were centuries old and he was more than capable of keeping his shit together.
But this?
This had been unforgivable to him, and he’d been punishing me ever since.
Sure, it dissipated—I wouldn’t survive otherwise, not the first shifter to fall apart because the inner beast rebelled violently enough—but he was right back at it after last night’s conversation with Rafe.
He had marked her.
Two tiny puncture marks at the base of her throat, hidden now by her hair. If my theory was correct, they would never fully heal. No balm or salve would shrink them. Katja and I were fated, but the fact that my inner dragon was pissed at me and not my vampire companion spoke volumes. It highlighted that Rafe could be a part of our fated connection, that he was supposed to mark her, claim her, bind himself to me and her for the rest of all our very long lives.
It was just a working theory. Seated in the prison cafeteria, the inmate population way too noisy at this hour in the morning, I glanced across the table at him. Nope. No burning rage. No intense throb of jealousy. No passionate desire to rip him into little undead vampire chunks and toss him to the wolves. Wrath in all its ugly fury reared whenever strange males so much as glanced Katja’s way, yet Rafe had kissed her, touched her, bit her, and my feelings about him hadn’t changed one bit.
Did I like that he had tasted her? No.
Did I want to envision them entwined on his cot, all gasping breaths and wandering hands and kisses fierce enough to leave her lips all swollen and bruised this morning? Fuck no.
But I didn’t want to kill him—and for an alpha with a fated mate, that had to mean something.
Something profound.
Still nursing his vial of cold blood, Rafe appeared too distracted to worry about my lingering stares. Jaw clenched, he glared at Fintan; the fae by my side had been drumming his goddamn spork and finger on the table for the last two minutes, biding his time—like all of us—until Katja left the feeding line and joined us.
“Fintan,” Rafe growled at long last, his test tube about to splinter in his white-knuckle grasp. “Would you shut the fuck up already?”
“Oh, sourpuss,” the fae trilled back, all bright-eyed and singsongy, his food untouched. “Shouldn’t you be in the best of moods this morning? You look so… refreshed, like you finally got your full five liters.”
Rafe cast a hurried look my way, then shook his head and twisted back to search for Katja in the line. My inner dragon snarled at the reminder, and I stabbed my knuckles to the center of my chest, massaging away the burn, then poked my spork at my grey-tinged scrambled eggs.
I know, I know, you fuck. I get it.
I should have marked her.
At the time, I’d let the man win. Although I had accepted she was my fated and that we’d just had exceptional sex, that we were finally talking, confusion had won the day, and great sex and conversation and fate wasn’t enough to cull it back. In that moment, I had become so fucking human that it still sickened me. Surrendering to the uncertainty, I had held back. I told myself it was because I hadn’t wanted to frighten her, but seeing Rafe’s marks on her throat this morning had drop-kicked that theory straight to hell.
Katja wasn’t afraid of us.
She feared a lot of the stupid shit in the penitentiary, but we weren’t on her list.
I’d been a coward—and that was that. No getting around it anymore. No one to blame but myself.
“Ah…” Fintan finally stopped his incessant d
rumming and tossed his spork aside. “There she is.”
Trust the fae to be on the lookout for my—possibly our—mate. Sure enough, there was that shock of brilliant red hair weaving through the cafeteria. Her jumpsuit had the splattered remnants of her encounter with Rafe along the shoulder, but so far no guard had called her out on it. Deimos, meanwhile, zeroed in on the new stains immediately during breakfast lineup, and as she passed his table now, he whistled and winked when she glared in his direction.
Rage detonated inside me like a fucking bomb.
Good to know it was still there, the insane jealousy and possessiveness I’d never experienced in my entire goddamn life—this surge of fire, the snarling of my inner dragon, certainly said a lot about Rafe, anyway.
My mouth watered, and as Katja hurried along, head down and tray clutched in front of her like a shield, I was suddenly very aware of my teeth. The urge to mark her returned with a vengeance, my inner dragon roaring at the thought of throwing her down on a table and claiming her for all to see. I shoved a forkful of shitty scrambled eggs in my mouth instead, twitching at the obnoxious crackle of Fintan’s apple juice bottle to my left.
Shifters spent their whole lives fighting the beast within, quelling their instincts, silencing that literal inner voice, to blend into human society. We differed from the rest of the supernatural community for that reason alone. Always outcasts. Always separate. This fight was nothing new to me, and I bore down as hard as I could, overchewing every tasteless morsel as a distraction.
Marking her, going out of my way to announce my claim, to piss a circle around her, was a huge risk. With the shower incident still fresh in all the guards’ minds, if I showed too much interest in my mate, they might separate us for good—move one of us to a new cellblock and ensure we never saw each other again, just to be extra cruel. I wouldn’t put it past any of them.
For now, I had to keep my shit together.