Hell’s Consort

Was it the High Priestess or a lost siren?

A dagger had pierced the High Priestess' chest.

No mortal could have survived the wound.

The Vampire King's mind, still bearing the brunt of the shock, marveled at the dagger's craft.

It looked familiar, and his brain kept on searching for the memory.

Engraved in the hilt was a word that matched the fine craftsmanship.

"Hecate," he whispered.

The goddess of magic owned this dagger.

Did she meet the High Priestess and stabbed her?

Fortunately, the wound did not reach from the front to the back of her spine.

He stripped back the thin material of her bodice to examine her wound, but then he got distracted.

The wet clothes clung to the hills and valleys of her heaving chest like a second skin.

The Vampire King's gaze penetrated the fluttering layers of silk, his eyes caressing the ivory swell of her breasts revealed by her low-cut bodice.

He cursed softly as she stared at her small breasts waiting for the casual brush of a man's hands to free them.

He gave the top of her bodice a nervous tug, a feeble attempt to cover her breasts.

As he leaned toward her, those lips parted ever so slightly.

He inhaled the breath of her sigh, which was somehow even sweeter than honey and sugar.

The High Priestess was still alive and barely breathing.

She was missing for ten days.

'The more it stays embedded in her chest...' He scowled, disturbed by the direction of his thoughts.

He reached out and pulled the dagger without any hesitation.

The High Priestess drew a shuddering breath and yelped at the pain.

Blood flowed freely from the wound.

He swallowed audibly.

He could feel his fangs extending into sharp points.

The smell of her blood tantalized him too much.

He didn't dare breathe.

He focused on the smell of her hair instead, inhaling the scent of lotus and fresh spring waters.

He picked the High Priestess up, carrying her to dry land.

Her head drooped against the Vampire King's shoulder, her long silver hair, as bright as the moon, brushed the Vampire King's beard.

He held her so close that the thick ridge of his desire was pressing against her.

He just came hard a while ago courtesy of his concubines.

Now, he seems ready again.

He couldn't even have said what he was hungry for at that moment.

All he knew was that he was drawn to the fullness of this woman.

It would have been impossible to hide the fact that the High Priestess still stirred him in a way so easily as he could ever hope to do.

What an inconvenience.

The High Priestess's moans grew more frequent at the jolting motion of him carrying her.

She breathed a gentle sigh as the Vampire King lowered her head against a clump of earth.

The Vampire King settled her into the mossy bank, tore off strips of material from his silk robes, which was set aside by his eunuch, to staunch the steady stream of blood.

His tense fingers checked the bandages if they were wrapped correctly.

He ran his hand over the girl's arm.

It was a lean arm-smooth, taut, and strangely muscular compared to the sculpted cheeks and the shoulder blades that jutted out at sharp angles above her wound.

The Vampire King's fingers can't help but lay claim to the delicate curve of the High Priestess's collarbone.

He wanted her alive.

Sitting back on his heels, he slashed his own wrist and felt the slow trickle of blood oozing from the wound to the High Priestess's mouth.

He did it again every time his wound healed so that she could drink from his blood to save her life.

The Vampire King wiped the sweat from her brow.

Sooty lashes fluttered against the smattering of freckles on the lady's cheeks, then lay still.

He stopped feeding her his pure vampire blood. She will be as good as new, but he had to be very careful not to overdo it.

The High Priestess might turn into a rogue feeder, and that's another nasty problem for him to solve.

His gaze lingered on those lips, shockingly graphic images of the pleasure they might give him rioting through both his brain and his body.

In seconds, the temperature in the air went from mildly warm to sweltering.

The Vampire King's thumb traced the purity of the High Priestess's face.

She turned her face toward the Vampire King's hand.

Her mouth moved against his callused palm.

The Vampire King jerked his hand away, remembering it wasn't good to be fascinated by a lady who took a vow of celibacy.

With leather canteen in hand left by the concubines, the Vampire King moved a few feet to scoop up some cool and fresh water for her to drink just in case she woke up after his blood worked its way in her system.

The limp body coughed and came to life as Hecate's dagger whistled past his shoulder.