Page 51 of Revenant

“Seems like you should pray a little harder.” Any stubbornness in her tone is long gone, instead replaced with breathless defiance.

“Is that what you want? Me on my knees, confessing all the sinful things I want to do to you?” I flash a fang, the urge to sink them into her growing stronger. Her breath hitches, but it’s not fear. She’s curious. The scent of her arousal hits my system like a drug, my cock pulsing with need. My hand moves down from her chin to around her throat. I apply a little pressure, just enough to get her heart to spike—and feel the insatiable pulse in her carotid.

Her chest heaves, but still, she doesn’t try to escape. She stays perfectly still, like she wants to be completely at my mercy. I lean in, slow and methodical, before swiping my tongue across her bottom lip. I can’t resist and suck it into my mouth, eliciting a moan from her. My fang nicks the inside of her lip as it pulls back to her. The smallest drop of her blood landing on my tongue. A wicked smile spreads across my face before I whisper against her, “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Her breaths grow heavy, but she surprises me by returning the gesture. The moment her tongue makes contact with my lip, I feel my control unraveling. She pulls back just a hair, enough for me to see the gleam in her eye as she speaks, turning this into a challenge.

“I guess it’s a good thing I don’t lose.”

Then I go against all rational judgment and slam my mouth onto hers.

My grip tightens around her throat, her hands finding their way into my hair. It’s more than I ever imagined. The sweet taste of her, the way her body molds to mine like she was meant to fit perfectly against me. Both of my hands move under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly as she wraps her legs around my waist. Carnal urge takes over, and I slam her with more force than intended against the adjacent wall. Moving from her mouth to the side of her neck, I can’t resist and scrape my fangs against the delicate flesh.

“Bastian,” she says breathlessly, arching her back, practically begging me to take what I want. She craves the chaos, the rush of what this would mean.

Alicent Calder, a junkie addicted to the rush.

A knock sounds at the door, and her body locks up instantly. The haze vanishes from her eyes, regret setting in. She tries to push me away, but I press my rigid cock against her center, her body grinding against it on instinct.

“Get off,” she demands, but it lacks conviction.

“She’ll go away,” I try to convince her, kissing between her breasts.

“Seriously, I have to go.” She pushes a little harder, and I relent, letting her drop to her feet while I attempt to collect myself.

“Alicent?” Her friend Moriah’s voice calls out from the other side. And I’ve never wanted to kill someone more than in this moment.

“Be right there!” Alicent yells back, trying to fix her hair and makeup as quickly as she can. “You,” she whispers, “Hide until I leave.”

A smirk creeps across my lips. “Careful, spawn. Being someone’s dirty little secret could give a man a complex.” She rolls her eyes, grabbing my arm and shoving me back by her wardrobe. Once she’s out of sight, I look around for mere entertainment, and to my surprise, spot Koen’s shirt neatly folded with the rest of her pajamas she must’ve set out for tonight.

I pull my black T-shirt off, replacing it with Koen’s, and throw his into the laundry basket. When Alicent pulls open the door, I exit my supreme hiding spot, just in time to see Moriah’s eyes grow wide.

Alicent looks back at me in panic, noting that I’m now no longer wearing a shirt, and I use all my strength not to laugh as her mortification sets in. “This isn’t what it looks like,” she tells Moriah. “He just stopped by. Thought I was lying about having plans tonight.” Her explanations are quick and to the point.

“Don’t be so modest,” I tell Alicent, stepping between the two of them. I lean close to Alicent’s ear, whispering just soft enough for only her to hear. “While you’re out grinding on whatever bottom feeder you find, just think about what I’m doing to myself at the thought of you choking on my cock.” Her mouth pops open in complete shock. “Now I have a visual.” I wink then turn around before she can say anything else.

Moriah stays silent, but her thoughts are loud. I give her a knowing look, letting the unspoken truth pass between us before stepping around her. I don’t leave until they’re both out of sight, heading back down toward our wing, itching to tell the guys exactly where our little witch is running off to.

16: Alicent

The door swings open and the place hits me in a rush—heat, perfume, and the kind of money people pretend not to notice because acknowledging it feels tacky. Moriah laces her fingers through mine, pulling me past the bouncer with the confidence of someone who’s never had to wait in line in her life.

“Thanks, Brian,” she says, tossing him a wink. “Do me a favor and report back to my dad that I’m alive.”

“Enjoy the Mooncut Lounge, Ms. Carrow.”

I stop so fast someone behind me clips my shoulder and curses. “Carrow?” I repeat, staring at her like she’s been hiding a secret identity. That name doesn’t just belong to normal people. It belongs to Fifth Avenue window displays I used to stare at on my way to the subway in New York.

Moriah doesn’t even look back. “Keep up, Calder. You walk like you’re sightseeing.”

I pick up my pace to catch her, the light shifting as we move deeper—warm gold dissolving into a cool blue, the kind of curated glow that makes everyone look like they’re having the time of their lives. Perfect. A room full of people pretending they’re not miserable. My type of crowd.

The sunken seating area opens beneath us, all velvet and shadows, low tables lit from within. People lounge across couches as we pass, their eyes tracking us with that bored, predatory interest rich people have perfected.

I’ve seen a club or two in passing while living in New York, but this? This is money with lineage. Old money. The kind that smells like generational trauma and tax evasion.

“Let me get this straight,” I say, still trying to process. “You’re a Carrow? As in Carrow & Sons? The Carrow & Sons?”