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I slide my hand down between us, desperate to work my clit into oblivion.

Kole’s eyes flash with hunger.

He wants to bite my neck. I can feel the urge beating against his ribcage.

He wants to drink me dry, but he’s not letting himself, and the fact he can hold back because it’s me and he loves me makes me want to give it to him even more.

I come hard and slow, slicking his dick with my wetness.

He punches the wall when he comes.

A chunk of plaster breaks off and hits the ground.

He is leaning against me, bloody and panting and sweaty, when a voice says “I’m not sure playing blood games in the presence of a one-thousand-year-old vampire is a good idea.”

When I open my eyes, Lucien Thornfield is staring at me. And he looks hungry, too.

37

LUCIEN

ONE THOUSAND YEARS AGO

Blood drips down my chin. It is warm, and wet, and feels like heaven.

Except heaven doesn’t exist for creatures like me.

I lick my teeth and look down at my palm. The heart I’m holding is still beating, even though it is not attached to a person anymore. It is hot, and silky, and it feels like power.

I sink my teeth into it and tear off a chunk of muscle.

Kneeling in front of me, Zephyra pulls down my pants and takes my cock into her mouth. Her mouth, too, is full of blood, and she coats my shaft with it as she sucks.

I grip her hair and thrust deeper. Harder.

She grins as she looks up at me, her eyes flickering with wickedness.

A wickedness I seeded in her when I made her like this.

Pulling her mouth off me, I feed her a piece of the vicar’s heart. She rolls it on her tongue then swallows without chewing it.

I throw the heart aside as she pulls down her dress for me.

Her breasts are small and pale in the moonlight. I slick her nipples with my tongue. Then I spin her around and fuck her on the altar.

When will humans understand that the rumors about vampires not being able to enter churches is nothing but fairy stories? Constructed to make them feel safer in their pews.

As she comes, she knocks the holy water flying.

I spin her around and hook her legs over my shoulders.

She yells at the top of her voice. It is not sexy or alluring, but animalistic. And the animal in me wants to hear it louder.

“Brother.” A deep voice from the back of the church makes me grunt and stop.

Zephyra puts her legs down.

“What a mess you made,” Jacob says, shaking his head as he takes in the dead vicar and the seven dead villagers.