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“Give me your word in blood!” Carsten growls.
If I’d blinked, I’d have missed Narcyssa piercing her wrist with her fang, leeching blood through the lace to the fair skin mirroring it. The Shifter Prince extends his muzzle and lowers his massive tongue to nuzzle her wrist in a lash of a bargain. As soon as he’s finished, he clenches his fists, hurls a growl at me, and departs with his shifters.
I don’t rise. Instead, I wait for Narcyssa to charge for me, and sink her fangs into my naked throat. What astonishes me is when she heaves a sigh, wipes her hands, and turns to lower one palm to me. “Come, little lioness. I believe Lord Allysteir is finally ready to meet with you.”
Despite slashedportions of her gown, blood traces on her low neckline, bruises prowling her wrists, and the scent of Shifter fur all over her skin, my little dove’s eyes have not lost their radiance, their rapture. First, I center my gaze on Mathyr who nods from my right-hand side. Her eyes flick to Aydon standing behind the girl along with the guards flanking her.
“The Shifter Prince...” Aydon merely states. I tense, caging a snarl at the mention of Carsten. “It seems our tribute survived an attack mostly unscathed.”
I’ll deal with the beta later.
The girl doesn’t react or respond to Aydon’s statement. Nor does she shift within the Ithydeir shadows. When I advance toward her with the scarlet-robed elders trailing in my wake like pumping hearts prepared to bleed in service to Kryach, she does not lower her chin.
Once my shadow engulfs the girl, and she lifts her head, posture as sovereign as an Isle-goddess, Kryach’s spirit stalks my mind, breathing her scent through my nostrils.
Hmm...he inhales, cherishing the black death rose perfume, the fading fragrance of lust and Sythe wine, and the pungent aftermath of violence.Her blood and flesh will be a glorious feast, Allysteir, he coos to me, salivating, thirsting for her more than any past bride.
I narrow my eyes upon my little dove, waiting for her to shrink, to sink to her knees, anything but her high chin with her proud throat exposed like a beauteous offering.
“Kneel and pay homage to him who bears the God of Death!” Aydon barks the command behind her.
Not only does the girlnotkneel, instead she squares her shoulders and steps toward me. Steadfast, her eyes brandish brutality with enough power to rival mine: a deep violet?the color of nightshade flowers.
“Lord Allysteir,” she dares to address me, a strong and beautiful soprano lilt. Mathyr and Aydon drop their jaws, but my heartbeat quickens in admiration. “While anyone would be a fool to offend Aryahn Kryach, I believeyouare inmydebt as it is nearly the Bite Offering when all know I have signed mydeathwarrant by volunteering to be your bride.”
On all sides, the elders seethe from the girl’s defiance, Mathyr and Aydon argue, the soldiers grip their swords, Kryach pants with unbridled craving. But I simper behind my corpse mask, appreciating this showdown. Damn, this will be difficult.
I like her. I fucking like her.
I raise a gloved hand to silence the group, carefully curve and settle my hand beneath the girl’s chin and lower my head to inquire, “What is your name?”
“Isla Adayra,” she pronounces, lashes lowering in a sultry invitation.
My throat grows thick with her name’s celestial sound. Before anyone interjects, I brush my glove across her cheek?so fair, perhaps her skin will erupt with moonlight?and dictate, “You are correct, Isla Adayra. I am in your debt. But before I may add my signature to your bridal death warrant, you must understand the necessity of a certain...trial.”
Elder Kanat bristles next to me, and Isla does not miss the gesture. “A virginity test,” the elder dictates pointedly.
Her chuckle is the fluttering of silvery wings before she declares, “How interesting, considering I was snowy enough for you to claim me as a Feyal-bride not an hour ago.”
The elders hurl outraged accusations at my intended, at Kanat, their voices overlapping like a gaggle of strutting peacocks. Isla merely crosses her arms over her chest which plumps her breasts. Elder cheeks redden to her growing cleavage, but someone must intervene as I’m tempted to sink my teeth into this hot-blooded fire flower’s beguiling throat...careless whether she’s a saint or strumpet.
Ever the political mastermind, Aydon approaches the girl and lights a hand on the center of her back, fingers traipsing across her hair. I growllowfrom his invasion. He flicks his eyes up, surprised by my action. I can’t blame him, considering I’ve never shown this intensity of possession. But as I’d clarified before Elder Kanat: she is mine.
Ours...Kryach reminds me, his breath a deathly poison in my mind. I wince but cannot rebel. Always resigned to my fate, this curse I’ve accepted. Nor will it be the first time I sate him with blood but wait as long as possible for a bride’s flesh. Isla will challenge me more than any other.
“This is not an offense against your honor, tribute Adayra,” Aydon addresses her, his blue eyes pacifying her. Her shoulders sink, though she maintains crossed arms. Yes, my damned brother has that effect: a silk-wrapped venomous snake. “It is the first time such a thing has happened in centuries. Please forgive the bluntness of our questions and subsequent trial: are you a virgin?”
Easing a sigh, Isla turns her chin back to me, taps a finger to her bare arm, and responds, “I am not unfamiliar with the pleasurable throes of blissful climax, but I have never once been penetrated by a man’s anything whether his tongue, mouth, fingers, nor a thick and rigid cock.”
My chortling snort is drowned out by the elders’ shocked gasps and yelps. Aydon kneads his brow while Mathyr stiffens, eyes wide. Isla simply shrugs as if to say, “what can you expect from a Cock-Cross girl?”
Fuck. Kryach latches onto my lust, driving it onward till my damned member responds, but I don’t betray myself, grateful for my robes.
“Your Majesty, please!” Elder Kanat interjects, needling his eyes onto my bride. “Let us proceed with the test and reveal what a petulant tramp this girl is. Surely she must be a trickster aligned with our enemies. How convenient she escaped the guardian detail only to survive an attack of four shifters, including the vigorous wolf Prince.”
“Yes, these introductions have finalized,” Mathyr commands, stepping forward, her voice harder than winter bones. “I will accompany Isla Adayra to the garderobe where we may commence the procedure, provided she accepts.” Her war smoke-gray eyes burrow onto Isla’s, forceful enough to cow her sons into submission but not my little dove.
“What must I do?” she wonders.
