Page 49 of Blood & Bedlam

So I run.

I bolt, kicking off these ridiculous heels as I go, racing down the long hall of mirrors. I can hear the calm, stalking raps of his formal shoes over the floor, unhurried and calculated. I feel along the mirrors, not caring that I’m most likely smudging them as I search for pathways out. My heart beats frantically in my chest, my hair a whirlwind around me as I take off, twisting and turning in a labyrinth I won’t emerge from the same as I entered.

A low growl erupts behind me, and I turn, my steps faltering, but I can’t see him, can’t see anything but myself. They must have magic that enlarges this place, too, because it feels like I’ve been running for an impossibly long time. Part of me wants to stop just so he’ll ravage me, and another wants to keep being chased.

Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for you?

His words are in my mind, desperate, beastly, and it makes me weak.

Centuries. Lifetimes. But you’re here now, burning me alive from the inside out. Filling my lungs with the air you breathe, ripping apart the bones in my chest to displace my soul, until only you remain. And your body … Reine, your body. Punishing. Devastating.

His words caress against my mind, and I shiver, needy and buckling as adrenaline overtakes me, but I run, wanting, needing him to catch me. Needing him to ease the ache. I spin around, pulse thundering, my body convinced I’m running for my damn life.

I hit a dead end. There are mirrored walls to my left and right, and I turn, pressing against them, willing one to budge.

Footsteps grow louder, closer, but before I can turn, a hard body presses me into the front facing mirror, fisting my hair to bend me over. The glass fogs under my pants, and I am absolutely here for every bit of this. Vlad’s hard cock grinds against my lower back, his free hand trailing over my hip, over and under my thigh slit. I’m paralyzed in the most intense way as he moves, every pass of his touch leaving fire in his wake. His fingers trace over the lace panties that are soaked from him, and I whine when he snatches the fabric up, rolling it over my sensitive clit.

“Fuck!” I wheeze.

I’m wrenched away from the glass just enough so the hand in my hair can direct my vision down, to see the shape of his wrist and hand bulging under the fabric of my dress. His finger slides over my clit and I cry out at the shock of it, the need for more pressure, more him. He takes his time, dipping his fingers lower, until his long fingers spear inside. The heel of his hand grinds over my clit and it’s a perfect pressure.

My hand slaps against his forearm, nails clawing into the exposed skin of him, courtesy of the rolled-up sleeves he’s rocking now. Blood bursts from the crescent-shaped wounds of my nails, and I watch in wonder as the streams cascade down his arm, aided by gravity.

“So needy, soaking through these panties for me,” he mocks. I grunt in frustration, canting my hips against his hand. I need him to move, to ease this, but he just pulls his drenched fingers away instead. I cry out at the loss, can only watch as he brings his dripping fingertips to my lips and presses them around, smearing the lipstick with my taste.

“There. I want to taste you while I mark you.”

My frustration boils over, and I rear my head back, smacking hard against his nose. I hear the crunch and the curse he spits, feel the droplets of blood as they drip over my shoulder, warm on my skin.

“Quit fucking around and make me yours,” I demand. It’s an extreme response, but I know he’ll heal and the pain radiating through my skull is all but forgotten when his hand moves from my hair to between my shoulder blades, pushing me against the mirror with enough space for him to work. The clink of his buckle sends a shiver down my spine, and I’m aching and horny enough that the nudge of his foot against my ankle as he commands me to spread for him has me soaking through my fucking dress.

“Yes, that,” I pant.

I watch with my hands planted on the mirror as my dress rides up, bunches around my waist, and when he pushes inside, the collective groan we release shakes me to my very core.

“That’s my fucking girl,” he groans, teeth scraping against my shoulder blade. His hips grind into me, stretching me open wide, stuffing his cock as deep as it can go. He rears back, taking me off the mirror and hoisting me up, lifting my body with ease up and down his shaft. The gravity adds an extra depth that strokes me just the right way, and I know I’m going to come quickly. “Look at how well you take me. You want me to bleed for you, Reine? I’ve been bleeding for you for eternity. Look at what we create together,” he commands. My eyes fall to the space he occupies inside of me, and I feel the push against my belly. The corset is so tight that the added pressure makes me feel him. My mouth drops open as I shudder, but then I see him, see the bulge of his cock pressing through the fabric of the corset from the inside out, swelling inside of me with every thrust inside he makes.

Vlad sets one of my thighs down, but he’s so tall I have to stand on tiptoe to not be impaled by his cock to my fucking chest. One hand supports my lifted thigh as the other comes up past my head. I hear the sound of tearing flesh, see the splash of warm blood sliding down my chest as he brings his wrist to my mouth.

“Take all of me, and I shall give all to you, forever. This I vow.” His skin presses against my mouth and I groan as my own teeth descend, the lovely gifts of our coupling eager to taste the nirvana that comes with his essence. I take greedy, deep draws in tandem with his thrusts, watching it all in Technicolor. My chest heaves, tits completely free of the corset and on full display for him, dripping with rivulets of crimson.

My reflection is a portrait of gore and horror, but I’ve never felt more alive than in a dead man’s arms.

The pressure is too intense, too earth-breaking—I can’t hold out. My eyebrows knit together as his wrist drops from my mouth and slaps over my clit. The sting sends me into outer space, and I come on a howl, my throat raw from the force. My eyes roll back, and I’m floating, flying, my body twisting and turning. I’m so high off the Blood, the orgasm, that when I finally manage to open my eyes, I find I’ve been flipped around, my back to the crimson-streaked mirror. I tighten my legs around Vlad’s waist; I don’t question it. I trust him with my body, with my pleasure. The white of his tuxedo shirt is ruined with blood, his chest and neck and nose a mess, but he’s still too devastating for words. His hips slap against mine and I need to see more of him, see all of him. I reach up and tear away at his shirt, sending buttons flying against the mirror, but his chest is mine to kiss and lick and suck, and, fuck, does he feel good.

His fingers find my clit and massage, stringing me so tight I feel like I’m going to snap. The look we share is all knowing, all consuming, because this will be the moment we chose each other. His arms band around the base of my spine, arching me to him, presenting my chest. He bends closer, scraping his teeth over the hard peak of my nipple, then sucks hard as he moves faster and faster. My eyes roll and I must be close to passing out because his body starts to blur, and I can’t distinguish his thrusts. It’s constant, blissful pressure radiating inside of me, matching the beat of my heart.

The glint of his fangs has me tilting my head back, eyes cast down because I want to, need to watch him lose control. His fingers interlace with mine as he lowers his head and kisses his mark gently, reverently.

He bites, and the world explodes around us.

We’re coming together as he drinks deeply, so deeply he bypasses muscle and tissue and sips from the essence of my soul. Sinews and fibers rebind together and I feel his body, feel his mind as though it were my own. Explosions rock the base of our world as shards of glass rain down over us, slicing against my skin, but all I can feel is him. Our bodies crash to the ground, his arms strong around me, protecting me as the mirrors cascade down on top of us. My mind whirls, confused, sated, Bonded, with his fangs still buried deeply in my throat.

With the shuttering of my eyes, I see our life together. I see the pain and sorrow, the sacrifice—remember why I left him that day in Wallachia. As darkness closes in, I recall every glance, every touch, every fear, every joy.

They are mine as much as they are his, in this consecration of blood and bedlam.

Reine