What if the vampire truly would treat a mate differently? Wasn’t that the way of matehood?
Mirceo’s lids slid shut, the brew about to drop the hammer. “Caspion, I was proud of you tonight. Proud that you’re mine.”
The prince continued to see him as strong and capable, having no idea what a wretched creature his mate had once been. Mirceo’s description of royal intrigues just reminded Cas how ignoble his blood was.
He’s the heir to an ancient line from an extraordinary realm; I don’t even have a family name.
Mirceo murmured, “Before I pass out, I give you full permission to take advantage of me. You know I’m not shy. Look your fill. Touch. Do whatever you want to me.”
Here for my use. All night Cas had been half erect; now he grew painfully hard.
“And I’m always ready to blood-take if you need my services.”
His words brought on a mixture of irritation and lust. Again the vampire was eroding Cas’s control. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He yanked the covers up to Mirceo’s chin once more.
“Maybe I’ll sleep for just a moment. . . .” Any remaining tension drained from his body.
Down for the count. So leave him. Go to another property. Get away.
Cas stood to pace. The last thing he needed was to get in even deeper with this male. At least leave the fucking room.
Instead he returned to the chair, pulling it even closer.
Mirceo’s lips were parted, his lashes thick against his cheeks. He was always smirking or laughing, his expressions changeable. At rest, he seemed even younger than his thirty years.
From the very beginning, Cas had found Mirceo Daciano’s face spellbinding, but right now there was a sweetness to it that called to him.
He didn’t know how long he’d stared, but gradually the vampire began to grow restless. He changed positions, then again, and moisture dotted his forehead. Sweating out the brew.
Cas traced to the bathroom and wet a cloth. He returned to sit on the edge of the bed, then smoothed the cloth over Mirceo’s brow.
Though Cas’s body still thrummed with desire, caring for the sleeping prince soothed his mind. He brushed the backs of his knuckles Mirceo’s cheek, testing this affection.
More than instinct was at work here. When he imagined Mirceo as a scared teenage boy in Dacia, tenderness and protectiveness surged inside Cas. Those feelings reminded him of his frenzied thoughts when they’d been trapped in that gulg: I’ll make this monster choke on my fucking bones before I let it have the vampire. I’ll die for Mirceo.
A gust of breath left his lungs. No longer could Cas deny what he knew was true. He was a vampire’s mate, and Mirceo was . . . a demon’s.
Mine. Acceptance. This male is mine.
Without attempting him, Cas couldn’t confirm their connection a hundred percent, but he felt their bond. He’d never been so sure about anything.
This sleeping prince is my fated one.
For so long Cas had wondered what his mate would look like. Why not explore Mirceo? The vampire had all but dared him to.
Drawing down the sheet, Cas bared his torso. Running the cloth lower, he let his gaze roam over Mirceo’s lean body.
The elegant column of his throat. The broad chest with not an ounce of spare flesh. Those flat, dusky nipples.
All of this pale, sleek perfection is mine.
He gave himself permission to study Mirceo’s body—with intent. He’d never assessed another male with the thought of enjoying him—of fighting or killing him, yes, but never considering the things he fantasized about with Mirceo.
He imagined kissing the vampire’s neck, nipping it with his fangs. His lips would travel down Mirceo’s chest, following in the wake of the cloth. He’d suck those dusky nipples raw. He’d dip his tongue to that shallow navel. Nuzzle the trail of black hair beneath it.
Cas would play with the prince, teasing him, dominating him. At the thought, his cock pulsed in his pants.
He audibly swallowed as he inched the sheet down to reveal Mirceo’s member. The veined shaft was semihard, the taut crown a shade of plum. The vampire’s size was generous, nearly as long as Cas’s but slimmer. Back in their days of debauchery, more than one immortal had screamed while riding it.
Again, Cas looked at it with . . . intent. What would that flesh taste like? What would it be like to suckle that length? Cas grazed his fingertips over his lips as he envisioned pleasuring another male with his mouth.
He would pin Mirceo’s hips down, then tease and tongue him for hours. After much suffering, Mirceo would be allowed to come.
Cas recalled the addictive taste of Mirceo’s seed and knew he’d drink the vampire down.
The idea made his shaft throb.
Just as Cas reached for his mate’s cock, Mirceo turned to his front, revealing the planes of his back. And lower. Cas groaned.
He’d never been the type to obsess over a woman’s ass. Yet Mirceo’s flawless ass held him rapt.
The small of the vampire’s back rose to curves of sculpted muscles with shadowed hollows on the sides. The flesh at the cleft was so taut that Cas wondered if he could even graze a fang there.
He’d enjoyed anal sex with females, but he’d never been with a virgin—in any sense of the word. Mirceo would be so unbelievably tight. Cas would need to go slow. Lubrication would be key.
Fantasies arose. Inching his oiled shaft into Mirceo’s virgin channel . . . feeding his length in to the hilt . . . fucking moans out of the prince . . . marking the vampire’s neck . . . ejaculating inside his mate for the first time . . .
An involuntary growl burst from Cas’s chest. In a lather to mount Mirceo, he clenched his fists.
Realization struck: he desired Mirceo more than he did females. More than all others put together. The last time he’d yearned for something this much, he’d literally been starving. Cas was starving for Mirceo. He did not make that comparison lightly.
How much longer could Cas resist the irresistible? His gaze flicked to the pale column of Mirceo’s neck. For all of the vampire’s perfection, he lacked one thing.
My mark.
What if Cas seized what was right before him? His mate. Their future. I could claim and mark him as soon as he wakes.
But if the vampire later strayed . . . There was supposed to be no greater pain than a fated one’s betrayal.
A mate’s death? That pain would be short-lived because a demon would follow.
Yet a rift in the bond between mates delivered anguish without equal.
His arousal flagged. The prince will leave me broken.
Before Cas did anything stupid, maybe he should explain to Mirceo the harsh realities of matehood.
The totality of it. The eternity of it. The monogamy of it.
He’d have that vampire running in the opposite direction.
TWENTY-FOUR
Mirceo dreamed. Even in sleep, he knew he was experiencing his mate’s past.
A memory arose from a time years ago when the demon had been just a pup—a time before he’d been known as Caspion. . . .
Standing on his toes, Beggar stared through the tavern window as a barmaid brought steaming food to a nearby table.
Why was he doing this to himself? Seeing what he could never have just made his hunger worse. Look away.
From a tray, the female set out platter after platter. Haunches of venison. Fat sausages. Juicy suckling pig and roasted boar.