Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
She hadn’t seen it open, but her trainer stood there, face etched with disappointment and confusion, waiting to escort her away from the chamber, away from the Warrior King of the Vampires.
Chapter 4
“Damnaigh sé go léir don diabhal!” Kael’s damning curse roared through the empty chamber.
Fucking hell, he’d lost his goddamned mind. Lost all control. Fed from her.
The knick of his fang against her sweet tongue hadn’t been intentional, at least he didn’t think so, but once he’d tasted her luscious blood, there was no going back. Each pull had warmed his chest, flooded him with power, and reverberated directly to his cock, driving him to get in her in his desire. He’d imagined the tight velvet clenching of her pussy around every inch of his length, unleashing the urge to thrust against her, seek out her wet entrance. Her allure was like a siren spinning dark promises in the night. Promises of paradise in the slick heat of her womanhood.
Promises that, just maybe, forever existed in the cradle of her thighs.
And then she had come. If he’d thought her beautiful before, it was nothing compared to her magnificence at the peak of ecstasy.
But as he watched her ride out her high, his mind came back to him in starts and stops.
He’d kissed her. She’d embraced him. He’d drunk from her. And he’d been about to fuck her standing right there in the center of the room as he devoured her lifeblood down his throat.
And to top it all off, his hands fucking tingled.
No. No.
Kael paced and tugged at his hair, spitting out a stream of expletives and plaintive pleas for guidance and assistance in his native tongue. “Cén bhrí atá ann? Cad é cuspóir an Céilí Dia ann?” If only the gods would answer him and explain his purpose—and why he felt so lonely fulfilling it.
Ancient grief joined the raging river flowing through him and filled him with the need to destroy. He glared at the offending goblet of Shayla’s blood, but couldn’t bring himself to waste something so precious. Instead, Kael whirled, nearly upsetting a long mahogany console table, and unthinkingly cleared it in one violent swipe of his arms. Candlesticks and a vase of flowers clanged and crashed against the floor.
The ornate door exploded open and a trio of massive bodies filled the entryway, guns and blades drawn.
“My lord?” Liam rasped, his eyes wild as he surveyed the room. Braeden and Daire followed suit, braced for a fight.
Kael shared a blood connection with the highest-ranking warriors that gave them the ability to sense his emotions, so he wasn’t particularly surprised by their appearance, though the last thing he wanted was an audience for his stupidity.
He glared at the bewildered men. The scene was almost comical. Liam, still in his full regalia associated with the feeding ritual, Braeden and Daire dressed only in boxing shorts, their taped fists revealing they’d come directly from a sparring match in the compound’s massive training facility.
“Jesus, smell that,” Daire whispered to Braeden as he lowered his weapon.
Kael leveled his narrowed gaze at the young warrior. Braeden placed a warning hand on his mouthy brethren’s chest.
Liam watched the exchange and turned to his men. “All is well. Leave us.”
Braeden bowed his head and stepped back through the door first. “Come on, Daire,” he bit out.
Daire inhaled deeply, taking the myriad scents still so thick and fragrant in the room into himself. Finally realizing everyone was waiting for him, he shook his head, bowed it and retreated.
Liam secured the door before nailing Kael with a questioning stare.
The king turned away and resumed pacing and ranting under his breath.
“My lord, how may I be of service?” came Liam’s voice after a while.
“You can leave.”
“I cannot.”
Kael flashed in front of him. “You can very well fucking leave.” His fangs elongated as he lashed out.
“I will not!” Liam stepped forward, apparently refusing to be cowed. “You really want to do this?”
They hadn’t come to blows in ages, but it had happened before. The king bored his gaze into Liam’s, but finally stepped back.
Liam eased his stance. “Where is she?”
“Gone,” Kael said as he looked down at the ground. His shoulders sagged as some of the fight went out of him. Everything just felt so…wrong.
“Did you—?”
Kael rolled his eyes at Liam. There was no way he didn’t smell that goblet of blood. “What do you think?”
“And, why—?”
“Christ, what are you? The Inquisition?” He drilled his angry stare into his brother in arms. Guilt flooded him. Minutes passed. “I hurt her.” He shook his hands where they hung by his sides, the phantom tingle still racing through his nerves.
Liam tracked those movements, his brow cranked down low, and frowned. “What happened, Kael?”
The thought of recounting all the ways in which he’d failed Shayla exhausted him. “It doesn’t matter.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Liam sheathed the silver dagger and holstered his weapon. “I’ve known you my whole life. You would never hurt a female. Not intentionally.”