by V. C. Willis
Despite it all, we read the secret books one by one, putting them back to the sarcophagus or leaving it in the stack we wanted to circle back to for more information. The days were beginning to blend, the outside world nowhere to be seen or felt in this underground sanctuary bearing no windows. There was no sense of when night or day passed beyond these walls of bones and books, no hourglass or measurement to keep track of such trifling matters. I feel like we can spend eternity here indulging in one another’s company. I’d barely spoken to John other than sharing findings in the books we scoured. Each time we retired for the day, I was met with his frustrated glare as I refused to share the same quarters or even step through the threshold of his room. Worse, Bishop Montgomery would seek me out on occasion and want to chat about the past, though we had insisted I had no memory.
Why do I feel so damn guilty about avoiding intimacy with John and that I’m not Ashton at all?
“Prince Ashton, tell me, what was it like being the Grand Champion of Grandmere?” Bishop Montgomery mused, a cheeky grin on his face as he placed a fresh loaf of bread and pitcher of water at the table with John.
“I can’t remember it, so I don’t know how well I can answer that, Bishop.” Hiding in a dark corner, I idly read the latest journal with intrigue. “It seems before I came here I had quite the adventure chasing Fallen Arbor.”
“So I’ve heard.” He filled three cups and sat staring at the books.
John met his gaze, smirking as he offered, “You are more than welcome to peek, Bishop Montgomery.”
“I decline, Father John.” A shudder shook him. “I’ve been involved in enough secrets.”
“Well, I must confess,” I mused as I shot a glance at John breaking the bread. “You kept the greatest secret of the century, no?”
A chuckle escaped him before the monk confessed, “Guilty. I’m curious though. Many of these seem like personal memoirs and journals. From whom, exactly?”
“Well, this one is…” I cleared my throat, nearly saying, my brother’s and redirected, “…my own, apparently.”
“Oh? Any memories worthwhile?” Montgomery’s brow raised high as he sipped his water. “I do hope you recover your memories, Prince Ashton.”
“No matter if I do or not, it does not change the course we have set ourselves on.” Another stolen glance at John revealed the scar on his neck and winced.
“Any word from The Guild or Princess Sonja?” John pulled his collar up as if he could feel my eyes prying.
“None.” The old monk took a piece of bread for himself and rose to his feet again. “It’s been nice having company again in the library. Though, much to my surprise, you both barely say a word to one another.”
John smirked, explaining, “We’re just exhausted, Montgomery. It wasn’t the easiest winter nor did our trip here give us much time to rest.”
“Ah, I see.” He bowed his head ever slightly, drawing a hand across his shoulders before dropping the arm palm up down the center of his body. “I hope the Fates reward you before your next battle. Forgive me, but I must tend to dinner and before that, rest. This body of mine isn’t getting any younger.”
The tension in my body left me as we were left alone once more. Page by page, I read my brother’s words. He was short and curt when he wrote. There were very little signs of emotion in the words but more of a record of some kind. The words filled me like taking in an old ship’s log, nothing more than an inventory of action taken between two points of his life. This one recalled his chase of Fallen Arbor to the Old Continent, something I had heard fleeting bits about through the Master Assassin.
“Another journal in the Old Tongue,” John fussed, bitter and frustrated. “These are nothing but spell books for the dark arts filled with grotesque rituals.”
“I wonder who they belonged to.” My words fell from my lips in a detached tone as I engrossed myself in reading Ashton’s journal. “We have a plethora of my father’s own, filled with whining on par to how he still lectures me at times. In fact, they must be connected to the others here.”
“Agreed. It must be someone connected to them.” John searched the covers inside and out. “I see LLI written or etched in some of these. Perhaps its initials, but nothing else. You think they are stolen or even secret research from one of them?”
Snorting, I flipped the page, eyes chasing the lines of script. “There only seems to be my brother, my father, Lord Raphael, and one from a high noble, Preston Thompson. He seems rather sour about Raphael and Ashton, leaving their respective houses at the turn of the war and leaving him with no assets. What was it he had said? Ah, ‘Incompetent lovesick fools who think keeping a distance will be enough to protect them from the reach of their enemies.’”
“You think grandpa has something in the cabin that links Preston to me? Or even Raphael?” John flipped aimlessly through the pages, disinterested in the drawings and notes within.
Glancing up, I watched him furrow his brow to squint and read something. “You think you’re really of that bloodline? I mean, after all that we’ve recovered in these books and compared to others in the library here, that would technically make you the rightful heir of Grandmere.”
He laughed, muttering under his breath, “Not where I was going with that, Dante.”
“Ashton,” I corrected. “Speaking of which. He’s been rather dull to read until this page.”
“Oh?” John took a bite of bread, chewing it.
“Listen to this,” I mused, pulling myself off the shelf to walk closer. “‘How could he! How could she! I did not give them my blessing! One can’t just marry into obscure diplomacy through marriage without the powers involved agreeing to … and what would Grandmere and a clan in the Old Continent be able to do with this? And worse! To find them consummating the marriage when I barged into the Warlord’s tent! By the Fates, what did I do to deserve this turn of events?’”
John choked on his bread, managing to croak, “Who is he referring to?”
“Oh, that’s the fun part.” I leaned closer, whispering the next bit, “‘I did not name her after the love of my life and good Saint Raphael for her to give the Traibon title to that fucking ogre!’” I licked a fang, entertained as I went on. “He was rather miffed about this ordeal, but I suppose he was simply concerned.”
Swallowing his food, John scoffed. “Sounds like he’s about to kill someone. What makes you think it was more worry than anger, knowing the things we’ve encountered about your brother thus far?”
I raised a hand, silencing John as I continued my reading, “‘Does he love her? I never wanted her to be sworn into her status as crowned princess for the sake of politics and especially not like this! How am I to explain this to my father, Frank, hell, the whole of Grandmere when we return? Raphaëlle insists it was not against her will, but she should have known I would come for her! When I am finished with Fallen Arbor, I will address this diplomatically or by force with Sebastian. He may have kept her safe, even smuggled me into the country and brought me here but … I never wanted her to be with a warlord. I never wanted her to end up with someone like me who would kill without regret. I am losing patience with her. As is the way of a parent, I suppose. What shall I ever do with this life you have left for me, my love?’”
“Raphaëlle?” John took a sip of water before standing to peek at the pages. “Who is that?”
I made a dubious expression. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you. She’s been travelling with us the whole way.” John took the book from me, but I backed up to make distance when the scent of his sweat sent a chill across me. “I am pretty sure our…”
John came closer to give chase as I sank back into the dark corner. “You mean this is the Master Assassin? Red Wine is…” My back hit the bookshelf, and he pinned me, whispering in a husky tone, “Why are you running away from me, Dante? Tell me now,” he demanded, staring at my li
ps.
“I don’t trust…” I started, taking in his scent before confessing, “…myself.”
“That’s not for you to decide.” His thumb rubbed my bottom lip. “Did I ever tell you … I’m losing my patience waiting for you? You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to be with you these few weeks, do you?”
“You’ve made it known in heated glares on more than one occasion.” I gripped his wrist and pushed his hand off my face. “John, I can’t … not after—”
He rolled his hand, now gripping my wrist in counter. “I want to feel your touch…” Willingly, I let him lead my hand to the bulge awaiting me under his pants. “I’ve already told you, I’m not afraid of you … I love you, my prince, my assassin, my love.”
“John,” I breathed, cursing the bookshelf and books pushing into me from three sides. “I don’t know if I can keep myself in check. You know that. Look what happened—”
“Then let me decide how far we go,” he purred.
John’s lips were like fire as he suckled on my neck. I moaned, groping him, and he grunted, tilting to press himself hard into my palm. His fingers made quick work of my shirt’s buttons then my pants—and I cursed his name for it. It’s so blasted hot in this place I stopped wearing my armor. He makes me feel so … vulnerable. Teasing, his fingers glided across my torso, my breath catching at the wave of arousal he invoked. The way now open, he licked and sucked across my collarbone and down my chest. He shoved my arms out of his way, and I braced them on either bookshelf, my knees weak with thoughts of what would follow.
“John…” I panted, but he paid me no heed.
I watched him as he descended my torso, tugging my pants open to reveal my own throbbing bulge, my body on fire. His fingers wrapped around me, a firm thumb stroking the underbelly making me moan. The bookshelves creaked and cracked under my weight and pressure. I will not dare to let go… I will not make a move in fear… The silken heat of his tongue rolled over the tip before he took all of me between his lips. Goosebumps cascaded across my entire body as he started slowly. Blue eyes shot a glance upward, and I throbbed in reply. It was enough to goad him to pick up pace.
“Shit, it’s been too long…” My words were stolen from me as I teetered on the edge of an orgasm too soon. “…Slow down,” I huffed. “I don’t want to come so soon,” I confessed.
He pulled slowly off with a pop of his lips and grinned. “And here I thought you wanted to be quick as to not be caught.”
I shot my eyes away, heat rising in my cheeks. “No one ever comes here, you said that yourself, and Montgomery sleeps like the dead on the far end so…”
John snickered, undoing his own pants. “So, we agree on that much.”
As he took me back into his mouth, my fangs ached, and my heart raced. Engrossed in the building pleasure, he worked slower all the while stroking himself. I throbbed, and he moaned until he pushed me deep inside. Tilting my hip, the back of his throat sent shivers of bliss through me. A hand snaked up across my torso, and I gripped the shelves harder, fighting the urge to grind deeper across the wiggling tongue. I took a deep breath, John’s lustful desire and pleasure seeming to fill the air. The saliva in my mouth built as if anticipating a meal.
“We need to stop,” I exhaled.
Again, the agonizingly slow retreat and release of his lips. “I already told you…” He rose to his feet, hands gliding over me and sending a shudder through me. “…I get to decide when we stop.”
“You don’t understand.” I looked away, too afraid to let go of the shelves. “I want you in so many ways it’s impossible to pick apart the hunger from the…” John’s tongue lit my skin on fire as he licked up to me ear. “J-john…” His pulse throbbed in my ears like pounding drums, turning my head only gave John more access to suckle my earlobe. “You should keep your distance.”
“I’d ask, but I promised not to say those words,” he whispered. “So, tell me, my assassin, what other things do you thirst for from me other than what flows in my vein?”
Again, one of his hands were back to stroking my hardened length, and I moaned. “Three years I sat in here amongst these shelves imagining a moment like this between us, Dante. What of you? Did you ever … think of me?”
I inhaled swiftly, arms aching as I refused to let go, blood rushing when John pressed his body against mine as his lips tickled at my ear. “I tried so hard to convince myself it wasn’t love … that I was there on that farm waiting for you because…”
“We knew what it was between us when I showed you the scythe.” He snorted, his breath washing over my neck, making me shiver. “The way you stuttered, and both our hearts raced in that moment—I knew and so did you. We had plenty of chances to do the lesson, but avoided it because it meant we’d have to be too close to one another…”
I broke my hold, arms rushing in to lock lips with him. Now he found himself pinned between me and a shelf, my tongue diving into the folds that had brought me to such a state. He moaned, cock pressing into me as I suckled his tongue. The sweet flavor of him, of his blood, of his lust with the heat of his body and racing pulse. It broke down the wall I had tried so hard to put back in place. Damn you… You knew before I was willing to even accept it…
“I want to tell you to turn around so that I can break you…” John whispered before kissing me once more, pressing something into my hand.
“What’s this—when did you?”
“You took it from the brothel, right?” He had stolen the flask of oil from my quarters. “You can’t tell me you weren’t thinking about it…”
Licking a fang, I turned him around and licked across his shoulder. “I take pleasure in this.” My hand rolled over his ass, and my cock pressed between his cheeks. “This is the way I prefer to take you but will gladly submit to how you see fit, my priest.”
John reached up, gripping the bookshelf. “Don’t you dare deny me this moment, Dante.”
“I won’t,” I huffed over his shoulder, oil slick across my cock and hand, fingers teasing him as his pants began to slide down.
John shifted and my finger slipped inside, my cock throbbing. “Stop going so fucking slow,” he demanded.
“Yes, my priest,” I purred into his ear as two fingers slipped inside. “But be patient. I haven’t taken you, and you’ve grown so tight again.”
John grunted, his body shuddering as I stroked in and out of him, stretching him. “I like this better,” he confessed. “Though I might want to take you again later.”
“I am yours,” I whispered, my hand retreating, slick with oil as I glided over his hip to stroke him. “I’ll teach you all the dark secrets of passion if you wish.” The tip of my cock slid inside him, and his heart fluttered in my ears. “Only you may ever take me in such a way,” I promised, rolling my thumb over the dripping tip of his cock as I pushed deeper inside him. “Don’t you dare come so soon, not until I have a taste.”
“D-Dante.” He began panting as I started grinding slow against him.
I throbbed in the heat of his body, thrusting ever faster as I held onto his own hardened length. His hand cupped mine, encouraging as I stroked him in rhythm of my fucking, and I followed suit. Every muscle tensed as I sucked at his neck, thoughts of feeding replaced with the needed to release and lay claim to the man I loved with every part of my being.
Is this how I can overcome the thirst?
Pleasure shot through me, pounding hard and fast with the shelf creaking from our efforts. Every muscle tightened as I pressed firm against him, sliding deep one last time, and I released. His cock jumped in my palm at the sensation, and I slowed the stroking. It was a slow return to grinding, just enough to keep him panting, moaning, his heart fluttering when I slid slightly faster at times. His hand gripped mine tighter over his cock as he leaned back into me.
“Please…” he breathed, “…so close.”
I
broke away from him, my hand firm on his wrist as I marched him to the table. Pushing him on top, the cups spilled and rolled to the floor as I tugged his pants full off.
“D-Dante!” John inhaled swiftly as I pulled his cock deep into my mouth.
Fangs teasingly touched the hardened flesh that throbbed between my hungry lips. I sucked, bobbing fast and taking him deeper with each swallow. More items fell to the floor as he struggled to sit up until at last he gripped the back of my head. He grinded in sync with me, and when the muscles in his thighs tensed, his cock stiffened and released. I swallowed yet didn’t slow my task. Another round of swift breaths, and he bucked and folded onto me as he came a second time.
“Dammit,” he hissed. “That’s too much. I can’t keep going like you…”
“I’m not done,” I announced, rising to my feet and shoving him onto his back against the books.
“The books—”
“Fuck them. They don’t have answers to the questions I’m wanting.” Hooking an arm with a knee, I parted him so I could push back inside.
I towered over him, and once I found my stride, I leaned into him, locking eyes, nose-to-nose. The smell of him was intoxicating, and all the flavors of what he could offer like the sweetest of wines drove my desire. I braced on the table, thrusting hard into him, watching how his face flushed deeper until I came once more. As I throbbed and pulsed inside him, he pulled me down and kissed me deeply. Breaking it, I began burning a trail of kisses and suckled down his body, salty sweet filling my senses until I licked at his cock once more.
“No more,” he flustered. “You win. I’m satisfied.”
“I am not.” I began kissing and sucking, the vein in his inner thigh teasing me as it pulsed. “May I have a taste?”
“There of all places?” He propped up, musing over it before rubbing the scar on his neck. “Only if you promise to be gentle.”
I sank my fangs in, the flesh here less resilient, parting gently. His cock jolted, and I began stroking it, feeling how aroused my drinking made him as I drew long gulps. A moan escaped him, his blood hot and sweet as it slid over my tongue and down my throat. Another jolt drew my attention away, satisfied with the little I had taken before pulling his length back between my lips. I took barely three or four deep sucks before he released a third time, cursing me for ruining him in such a way. Swallowing, wiping my face on my sleeve, I threw his pants at him.