In the Service of the King
Laura Kaye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Kael, Warrior King of the Vampires loathes the Night of the Proffering. He needs the blood of either his mate or a human virgin to maintain his strength, but hasn’t enjoyed the ritual since he lost his mate centuries ago. Kael doesn’t want a new companion, yet his resolve is tested when he lays eyes on his new offering, Shayla McKinnon. He is drawn to Shayla’s beauty and poise…and the submission she offers. She is eager to give him anything he wishes, including her innocence, to please him. Will Kael give in to their overwhelming desire—even if it means risking Shayla’s life?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter One

Kael paced the length of his private sleeping chamber, avoiding the plush emerald carpet and keeping to the uncovered stone floor at the edge of the room. After an hour of ceaseless movement, the cold of the large polished slabs bit into the flesh of his bare feet and gave him something to focus on besides the Proffering, which he loathed but required. Three months had passed since his last feeding, and the Warrior King needed the blood of either his mate or a human virgin to maintain his immortality and the strength of his humanity. He had no mate, and no intention of acquiring one. But Kael the Fair never felt less like his name than when he stepped into his feeding chamber and found the Proffered waiting within.

“My lord? It is time.” Liam’s deep voice sounded through the door.

Kael halted before the wide carved mahogany door, his layered dark green and navy tartan robes settling around him. He rolled his shoulders, tilted his head to the side to stretch his neck. The familiar weight of the intricate jeweled braid on the left side of his head moved as he tried to release the tension seizing his muscles. The jewels were the most obvious of the physical marks of his royal rank; the rest were written into his skin. Tonight, of all nights, he felt the burden of the duty and obligation they represented.

“My lord?” Liam pushed the door open and stepped back.

Kael sliced his fangs into his tongue to keep from snapping at the man who had stood at his side for the past seven hundred years. Equally ancient and nearly physically matched, Liam was the brother Kael never had and knew the king as well as any living being could. On many occasions they had stood together against their enemy, the Soul Eaters, so named not just for draining the blood of their human victims, but for consuming their souls as well by drinking through the last stutter of their hearts. Then removing and eating it. All vampires required human blood, but only the Soul Eaters gave in to the lure of exsanguination, became addicted to the kill, and murdered their human prey. And their selfish and increasingly brazen actions were making it harder to hide their collective existence from the mass of humanity.

Kael and Liam didn’t speak as they navigated the worn stone corridors of the king’s ancestral estate. The underground compound was located far beneath the ancient walls of Castle Dunluce, within the craggy cliffs on the coast of County Antrim in Northern Ireland. Kael’s clan, the MacQuillans, had inhabited the land since the late sixteenth century and transformed a small existing tower house into a sprawling, indomitable fortification meant to provide Kael and his vampire brethren the privacy and security they required. In modern times, Kael chose to dispel unauthorized prying of the aboveground ruins by turning over their management to Northern Ireland as a state historic site. The arrangement provided maintenance to the castle remains and landscape during the problematic daylight hours, dedicated security, and humans loyal to the MacQuillan “descendants” who visited the site occasionally and supported its preservation with large, regular bequests. It was rather like hiding in plain sight.

The normally busy halls of the castle’s central manor house were empty, as Kael preferred on the Night of the Proffering, and only dimly lit by occasional wooden torches. The compound possessed every modern convenience and security mechanism, but firelight comforted the Warrior King, and put him in mind of times of old, before the conflict with the Soul Eaters had become so constant and tiresome.

On the castle’s walls, medieval tapestries hung next to Renaissance portraiture and modern art, but Kael gave his priceless collections little regard. He wanted the strength that feeding provided, but hated the means by which it was obtained. To be sure, the Proffering sustained him. He required it. But it also reminded him of all he’d lost, and what he’d never have again.

Finally and too quickly, they arrived at the antechamber to the set of apartments used by the Proffered when on the grounds. Liam opened the door and stood back, bowing his head of shoulder-length brown hair—braided at the left in the way of the warrior, and allowed the king to enter ahead of him. “After you, my lord.”

Kael stepped into the oval room and huffed. “Would you cut the ‘my lord’ crap already?” He rolled his neck again. As a room, it wasn’t particularly remarkable—it was bare except for a small altar at one end and hooks for his robes and a few ceremonial implements at the other. But it was so loaded with everyone’s expectations that the air felt thick as he drew it down his throat.

Liam grinned before schooling his expression. “As you wish, my lord.”

Kael growled and rolled his eyes, knowing even as he’d uttered the words Liam wouldn’t heed them. Fat lot of good being king was sometimes. But Liam was too steeped in the traditions of their people. He often treated Kael just as one of the warriors—which only a handful of the warriors were comfortable doing—but not on the Night of the Proffering. Tonight, to Liam, he was Kael the Fair, Warrior King of the Vampires, Chieftain of Clan MacQuillan. Like it or not, he had a role to play for his people, obligations to his men, and needs that required fulfillment. Out of tradition and deference, once the Night of the Proffering was scheduled, the rest of the clan warriors would not feed until their king had his sustenance, so despite Kael’s desire to put this night off—and his ability to go punishing stretches without feeding—he was acutely aware that denying himself meant denying his men. And the war with the Soul Eaters required well-blooded warriors. So Kael fed even when he might have gone without, and Liam’s adherence to the traditions helped him remember the significance of the night. It was bigger than his needs, his desires, his fears.

A familiar clattering sound drew Kael from his thoughts. He turned to find Liam on his knees, carefully covering the jade dais with hundreds of small, faceted emeralds. The stones looked nearly black in the low light of the single torch, but Kael could see their exact vivid shade of green in his mind’s eye. The emerald was the sacred stone of his people, representing life and renewal. Liam recited an old Celtic prayer to the spirits of the Chieftains as he worked, then he swiftly backed away and cleared the altar for the king’s sacrifice.

With purpose, Kael stepped up to the dais, opened his robes, and knelt onto the jewel-encrusted alter. The traditional pose required his knees, shins and feet be flush against the surface, and that he sit back but not relax his bottom against his heels. He had to hold the position for ninety-three minutes—one minute for each day since his last feeding—but his massive thighs never quivered for an instant, never once belied the strain his muscles endured as they settled his six-and-a-half-foot frame in a semiseated position.

Crimson and emerald mixed together on the platform almost immediately as the king’s blood dripped out of the dozens of cuts and punctures the jewels inflicted as a sacrifice on his lower legs. Liam stepped up behind him and removed the robes. Kael centered his mind and concentrated, easily tuning out the quiet sounds Liam made as he crossed the room to hang the garments. Later, after the Warrior King entered the feeding chamber, Liam would collect the bloodied stones into an ancient glass urn for display in the Hall of the Chieftains—the ceremonial center of the compound. The urn’s contents reaffirmed the ancient belief, “life gives blood gives life,” and its appearance in the hall signaled the warriors they could feed.

Kael chanted these ancient words in his head, words of life, bonds, sacrifice, honor. His focus was absolute—neither pain nor apprehension nor Liam’s efficient movements around the room distracted him from the precision of his position and prayer.

Instinctively, he knew when he’d served his sacrifice. He blinked open his eyes, which strained a little against the flickering yellow light. Liam was long gone, but he’d readied everything Kael needed, as he always did. Carefully, the king rose to his feet, stepped off the jeweled dais and gently removed the stones that were embedded in his flesh then returned them to rest with the others. He retrieved the cloth laid out on the edge of the altar and wiped the blood from his wounds. He healed quickly and cared little about the injuries, but there was no sense scaring the Proffered with unnecessary gore. She was probably already nervous enough.

His skin cleaned, Kael picked up the leather knife holster and strapped it to his thigh. The dagger it held was lean and vicious, but used correctly offered a quick and nearly painless cut that saved the Proffered from the piercing of his fangs into her soft flesh. Or, perhaps more accurately, the knife saved him from learning whether the woman could be his mate. Only by fully joining his body with the Proffered—by feeding directly from her veins as his cock took her virginity, could he determine if she had the potential to walk beside him as his partner in leadership, life and love.

But Kael didn’t want to know. Kael didn’t want a mate.

He’d had one. Meara and their newling son had died in childbirth following the stress of an attack by the Soul Eaters on Dunluce, the very attack that brought ruin to the castle and drove them to expand the existing underground apartments into a full-out compound. While Kael and his men had eradicated that fiercest and most troublemaking band of Soul Eaters of the eighteenth century, his clan’s losses had been great. Ever since, Kael had vowed never to chance again the lives of those he loved. Given the dire state of the war in recent years, that meant never chancing love again.

Yet, Kael’s very biology yearned to seek out the mate connection so strongly it was nearly painful—his fangs throbbed in search of the satisfying pressure of teeth slicing mated flesh, his balls clenched for the release of his unrealized progeny, his chest tightened against the centuries-old loneliness.

Still, he held fast, wanting to protect himself and the Proffered and her family. He would take only what he had to from her, and no more. He wouldn’t take her affection. He wouldn’t take her humanity. He wouldn’t risk her life. No matter how much she or his people might want—no matter how much, in those dark, nearly forgotten corners of his mind, he might want—he wouldn’t fall in love.

So the dagger was necessary. He’d soothe the Proffered using his hypnotic words and eyes, then bleed her into a goblet before sealing her wound with a quick swipe of his tongue—the closest he allowed himself to drinking from her, and then, only out of necessity. As the virgin blood from the goblet infused his system, his ancient chemistry would allow him to do no other than slake his body’s primal thirst for carnal connection with the woman in front of him. But there would be no biting, no feeding directly from her vein and, therefore, no chancing the mate connection.

The Proffered were specially groomed for this role by human families around the world in alliance with the vampires. The seven surviving vampire kings, related by ancient kinship ties or blood rites, each ruled over a region of the world. Together, they coordinated their offensive campaigns against the Soul Eaters. Over the years, one strategy they’d developed was the careful cultivation of influential human allies, known collectively as the Electorate. In exchange for the Electorate’s silence on the vampires’ existence, their assistance where necessary in diverting human attention from the war, and their providing of the Proffered—required because a vampire could only be born and not made, and all vampires newlings were male, the vampire kings repaid them with their protection and their blood, which cured disease and slowed the aging process significantly. The Electorate understood that mating their human daughters with the kings and their warriors would enshrine the Vampire-Electorate Alliance for all time, cementing a partnership through familial relations that otherwise existed through diplomacy alone.

But, as with Kael, the war had left many of his vampire brethren hesitant to develop emotional ties that could be used against them. Without mates, fewer newlings were born every year.

Knife holster in place, Kael walked to the hooks at the rear of the room and retrieved the innermost robe—a dark green silk that skimmed over his weary body and billowed behind him as he walked. He tied the belt around his waist in a careless knot and approached the feeding chamber.

Taking a deep, centering breath, the king eased the heavy wooden door open and stepped inside.

Kael pierced his tongue with his fangs to keep from making an utterance he had no business making. But for the love of all that was holy, the creature before him was magnificent.

Perfectly posed despite the thundering sprint of her heart, her long black-brown hair was braided and intertwined in the traditional way, ribbons and flowers threaded throughout. The sheerest of white silk robes did little to hide from his vision the sexy muscularity of her body. She was not thin, which pleased him. He had once turned away a Proffered for being too thin—he was 250 pounds and nearly feral once blooded, and he’d feared crushing her. Instead, this woman appeared strong, athletic. She was young, to be sure, but also womanly, with curves where women should have curves, with rounded flesh that would fill his exploring hands and strong grip.

He stepped before her kneeling, submissive form and swallowed the blood his fangs had drawn into his mouth. “Tell me, young one, what is your name?”

Chapter Two

After years of imagining this very moment, he was speaking to her. And, oh, God, what a voice. Deep, resonating and slightly accented, it dragged over her like a caress.

Oh, he asked me something…what did he ask? Her brain engaged again and her lips fell open. “Shayla, Your Highness, Shayla McKinnon.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Shayla. I am Kael, Son of Iain, Warrior King of the Vampires, Chieftain of Clan MacQuillan.”

His introduction set her insides to trembling. Vampire. At one time, the concept had been impossible to conceive. But she’d been forced to confront the reality of their existence one cold winter night when men in uniforms and dark suits had arrived at her family’s home and delivered the news her older sister had been murdered. At fourteen, Shayla had been completely devastated. Though she realized her father’s position as editor in chief of a major Irish newspaper made him a prominent figure in their community, she’d known nothing of her parents’ high-level role in the Electorate Council. Hadn’t known it existed at all.

But once she found out, knowledge was power, and the only thing that provided any solace to her grief was learning there were other vampires, good vampires, who fought the vile creatures who had harmed Dana.

From that moment on, purpose and a sense of mission filled Shayla’s life. She vowed to find a way to join that fight, a role she could fill in advance of inheriting her parents’ positions on the Electorate Council upon their deaths. So, when the offer to become one of the Proffered arrived, she jumped at the chance. If she could do nothing else, sustaining the warriors battling evil would make a contribution, if small. But she wanted to do more. A restlessness to help fueled her, driving her to overload classes and take summer school such that she graduated high school before her sixteenth birthday. She began university and the Proffered training in tandem, completing the latter at nineteen, readying her to perform her duties for one of the vampires some time during her twentieth year. College graduation occurred soon after. Toward what end she did all this, she didn’t quite know, but it felt right. And the fire in her gut demanded action, cried for vengeance.

The king padded across the mostly bare floor, circled her. The weight of his observation settled over her. She girded her muscles to brace against the tremors she almost couldn’t help. “Do you know why you are here?” he asked as he stopped before her once more.

Shayla inhaled to speak, but froze. You’re going to have to try harder than that. She mentally high-fived herself for not making such an elementary slip. He hadn’t specifically told her to respond, now, had he?

Excitement and adrenaline made her stomach flip-flop. How Shayla had hoped this man, this vampire king, would live up to her years of fantasizing. Once she’d learned, during her Proffered training, of his incredible exploits against the Soul Eaters—and his losses—the idea of meeting him, serving him, had quieted her restlessness like nothing before. She’d busted her butt working to the top of the class of Proffereds, earning the notice and mentorship of the most experienced and connected trainer. Her interest in this Warrior King ignited an academic curiosity about Celtic history and culture, and she’d built on her training by pursuing those studies at the graduate level. All for the chance of serving Kael the Fair, a chance she was so very thrilled to have this night.

Just being in his presence was a dream come true, and she determined to face her duty with strength and courage no matter what else happened. Though, the thought he would need her, might find her attractive, desirable even, was such an incredible turn-on she’d had no problem protecting her virtue from her few suitors over the years. Imagining what he’d seen in his long lifetime and what she could learn from him inspired her interest in the medieval history of the British Isles, now so central to the intellectual identity she’d developed for herself. So, her innocence was his to take, if he would have it. She felt no shame in that.

She only wished he would want her time and time again, but knew that wasn’t his practice.

Shayla frowned and internally chided herself for letting her thoughts run away with her. If she wasn’t careful, she would make a mistake. She inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and cleared her mind, assessed her position. She held the pose just as she’d been taught: knees on the floor and spread, bottom resting on her heels, back and shoulders erect, hands resting on her thighs palms up, head down, eyes diverted. Her submission was part of her offering; it communicated the voluntary nature of her presence before the Warrior King. As she knelt there, the thin white silk robe the only barrier between his blazing eyes and her flesh, she’d never felt more brave, more in control of herself…more alive.

She drew strength from those feelings and awaited the king’s command.

Kael smiled down at the top of her head, and felt a little like testing her. He didn’t practice domination with all of his sexual partners, though the challenges inherent in it thrilled his intellect and his libido. But, given how tightly he had to control himself in order to restrain his natural instincts when in the presence of the Proffered, he’d long ago realized restricting their behavior, words and actions would enable his own control.

“You may answer my question, Shayla. Do you know why you are here?”

A light pink bloomed on her pale cheeks. “I am here to offer myself in whatever capacity might please you, Sire.”

The king tilted his head as his gaze raked over her, absorbing every detail of her appearance, observing every quiet shift in her downcast expression. “Indeed,” Kael murmured. He reached down and grasped a long braid, stroked his thumb over the length of it. Her hair was silky and fine even through the weaving. He tightened his fist around it to break his urge to plunge his hand into the beautiful mass of hair.

Finally, he dropped the fine strands of dark chocolate and came round to stand in front of her. “Look at me.”

She responded immediately to the direct command, tilting her head back but keeping her expression passive. That didn’t stop him from noticing the dilation of her eyes as they settled on him.

He sucked in a breath. He would’ve been impressed with her responsiveness if he hadn’t been so completely enthralled by those eyes. Her left iris was a brilliant emerald, nearly rivaling his own in the intensity and clarity of green. Her right, however, was a bright turquoise, touched by green to be sure, but without question a deep, dazzling blue. The effect of her mismatched gaze, paired as it was with her fair, creamy skin and dark tresses, was arresting. His mouth gaped in rapture of her beauty.

Powerless to resist, he leaned down and cupped her left cheek in his hand. He stroked his thumb across her cheekbone, his finger playing with the ends of her eyelashes. “You have been touched by magic.”

Her breathing stuttered and her eyes grew glassy. She blinked the threatening tears away. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she whispered. She pressed her face into his hand, just the tiniest bit.

That one small movement seemed weighted with emotion and affection, drawing Kael into personal conversation he rarely offered the Proffered. “Am I to understand that tonight actually marks your birthday?”

Shayla bit her lip and nodded.

The image of her teeth buried in plump flesh made his body tighten. Her birthday, how wonderfully unusual. It happened, of course, though the Proffered’s blood was most potent any time during her twentieth year. “Well, Shayla McKinnon, I will try to make it a good one for you, yes?”

Her smile was warm, glorious. “Thank you, Sire.”

The way she looked at him sent ripples of electricity through his blood. His fangs elongated. Kael pressed his lips together and dropped his hand, backed away.

Something like confusion shadowed her face before she straightened her expression and lowered her gaze once more.

Those eyes are going to be a problem. He was drawn to them, to her. He wanted to pull her up from the floor and onto the bed, and lay her out on her side as he rested facing her. He wanted to learn about her as he stared into those magical eyes. And he never wanted to learn about any of the Proffered. He never allowed himself to imagine them as companions. He was on dangerous ground.

But her face was like a mask of his people’s mythology. One eye offered the green of their sacred stone, and the other the hue they cherished for its representation of fidelity, loyalty. Her porcelain skin reflected the purity of intent the diamond in his hair stood for, and her dark red lips were the color of life-giving blood. Her face was a mirror of the sacred stones—emerald, sapphire, diamond, ruby—hanging in his hair.

It had to…mean something. Didn’t it?

No!

He hadn’t realized he’d growled in response to his thoughts until Shayla jumped. Kael resumed his earlier pacing, growing more frustrated at himself and the situation as he thought about the dangerous impossibility of his emerging desires for her. He was half tempted to send her away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. And that turned his frustration into anger.

He marched to the large cabinet in the corner and wrenched open the doors. The left one banged against the wall and ricocheted back at him. He yanked out a drawer and drew a heavy black eye mask from among the items displayed within. He had to hide those eyes.

He stalked across the room and stopped just behind Shayla’s now-trembling form. Remarkably, he noted in passing admiration, it was the first fear she’d demonstrated since he’d walked into the room….

He shook his head. “Rise, Proffered.”

Shayla complied immediately, but was as confused by his suddenly harsh tone as by him calling her by her title rather than her name. She’d been warned he might do so, but he’d been using her name so freely just moments before. Not only that, but his declaration—you have been touched by magic—had been so affectionate and earnest it filled her heart with the acceptance and appreciation of her appearance she hadn’t always found growing up. Kids had teased her about her “mutant eyes,” and it wasn’t until adulthood that she’d come to prize their uniqueness and ignore the mean comments and staring gazes. The admiring tone in his words had fueled the secret hope she harbored that tonight would lead to something more, something meaningful.

Blackness cut off her thoughts. Cool fabric covered her eyes and she swayed at the unexpected loss of her vision. His large hands on her shoulders steadied and inflamed her, and she immediately regretted the loss of their heat when he drew them away.

“Hold out your left arm.” His voice held none of the warmth of before, none of the soothing welcoming tone that had calmed and reassured her earlier. She followed the command, reining in her rising disappointment as she did so. How stupid of her to read anything into his kindness. She’d been warned what would occur this night—and what wouldn’t. And yet, she’d allowed her imagination to run away with her, and she’d formed impossible expectations.

“Come.” Kael supported her arm and led her across the room. She resisted gripping onto his wrist, despite the instincts that implored her otherwise, and soon she was following his command to sit.

The chair was hard and forced her into the straightest posture. Kael arranged her arm on the wide downward-slanting surface of the armrest. Her wrist and hand hung off the end. Knowing what was coming, Shayla’s heart rate spiked and her breathing became shallow.

Something threaded between her arm and side, and warmth grazed her left breast. She barely restrained a gasp. A stretchy band bit into her bicep over the silk of her robe. None of this was unexpected, though she had thought she would have the use of her eyes to watch him work. She took a deep breath and forced her shoulders to relax.

Focusing on her memory of his appearance helped. God, she’d barely been able to breathe when she’d first laid eyes on him. He was…the most fascinating man she had ever seen. The vibrant deep green of his eyes was surreal. Dim lighting seemed to reflect out of them and, like an animal’s eyes, they glowed and flashed. His amazing mane of bronze hair hung down over his shoulders, and a braid with green, red, blue and clear stones tied back the hair on one side of his head, revealing the incredible angularity of his masculine face. His brow was strong, pronounced, and his cheekbones were high and sharp. His square jaw framed a mouth so full and expressive her own mouth filled with saliva at the thought of getting to taste him. Lust and desire had barreled through her veins, making his mood change all the more disorienting.

No matter. What she wanted wasn’t their purpose. A cold wetness washed over her wrist before being wiped away. What mattered most was what he needed—to maintain his strength in the war against the Soul Eaters. And she was willing to give. It was why she was here.

Kael needed to get this over with. Shayla’s—no, the Proffered’s—presence seemed to be sucking the very air out of the room and, with it, his control. There was just something about her. He needed this to be over and for her to be gone.

That would fix everything.

He rushed through his preparations, not taking the usual time to reassure the Proffered, to ease her fear. He appreciated the sacrifices they made for his well-being, and so his normal practice was to take every precaution to limit their fear, reduce their pain. Now, he did the minimum, drawing solace from her poise and calmness. She didn’t seem to need the same bolstering as some of the other Proffereds. He admired her for that, which was the problem in a nutshell.

Kael pulled the wooden stand holding the ceremonial goblet in front of the corner of the Proffered’s chair and positioned it to catch the blood that would flow from her wrist.

“Listen to my voice,” he began. Normally, he would’ve used his eyes too, the combination of voice and eyes being the most effective at completing the hypnotism, but he just…couldn’t. “I wish to have your blood. You will not feel pain, and I will make it so you bear no lasting injury. Do not be frightened. I wish you only to feel pleasure in giving me this most sacred of gifts and to know how much I appreciate your offering.” Kael rushed through the words and felt a little odd he couldn’t see his assurances reflected back in her expression.

He removed the blade from its holster.

“Do you give your blood freely, Proffered?” The knife hovered over her wrist.

She didn’t answer, and he glanced from her wrist to her face.

He hadn’t given her permission to answer. Such discipline, despite the stressed scent of her adrenaline in the air. Just who was testing whom here? “Answer me.”

“Yes, Your Highness, I give you my blood freely. It is yours.” Her voice was clear, firm.

He had no idea what possessed her to add on that final declaration, but he had no business liking the sentiment as much as he did. An odd tingling skittered over his right hand and his cock stirred under his robe. He shook off the rising fog of arousal. He had to do this. Now. Kael drew the dagger across the soft unblemished skin of her wrist. A red ribbon bloomed immediately, along with the rich, spicy aroma of her lifeblood, and Kael placed the knife on the edge of the stand next to the golden goblet.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. He glanced at her face. Her cheeks had paled, but otherwise she was silent, still. Her heart sounded out the same staccato beat as before. “You are doing so well, Proffered. Be at ease.”

As crimson droplets pooled in the deep cup, Kael reached up and released the tourniquet, increasing the fragrant flow. He swallowed thickly, his body anticipating, responding. Desire set his muscles on edge.

The cup filled steadily, perfectly. Kael inhaled and the heady scent of her offering collided with every nerve in his body. He gasped and his mouth dropped open. Though he wouldn’t need them, his fangs elongated further and demanded he taste the thick warm liquid, quench his endless thirst. Ancient instincts whispered dark promises in his ear and urged him to claim her, skin to skin, mouth to throat. His erection roared to life at his imaginings and pushed easily against the thin silk of his robe. Nearly panting, he licked his bottom lip repeatedly. Had he ever felt such hunger?

When he glanced up at Shay…er, the Proffered’s face, her bottom lip was quivering.

Kael frowned as his mind raced and unease settled like a rock in his gut.

Though the cup was not quite filled, he bent immediately and licked his healing saliva across her wound. The exquisite flavor of her lifeblood exploded inside his mouth and his cock twitched and wept.

A single tear rolled out from under the right side of her eye mask.

Kael’s loins deflated as he sucked in a breath. Dread slid like ice down his spine. He reached out and eased the mask up and off her eyes. The strap on one side tangled in a braid and pulled it loose. A white flower fluttered down into her lap.

Her eyes, so beautiful, so expressive, told him how badly he’d messed up.

What have I done?

Chapter Three

Shayla couldn’t meet his eyes. If she did, she knew the tear she’d been unable to restrain would turn into the first of many. The relief of his tongue’s caress had just been so beautifully complete, easing her after the slicing cut of the blade had ignited a conflagration up her whole arm. She hadn’t really believed the bloodletting would be fully painless—how could someone make a knife wound painless, after all? But she also hadn’t expected it to hurt quite so bad. She’d been worried she wouldn’t be able to hold out against the stinging pain, that her weakness would disappoint him. When it was finally over, she’d lost control, just for a moment. She was so pissed at herself for crying in front of the king.

“You must tell me—” the king’s voice was tense, words clipped “—did you feel the blade?” Dark energy rolled off him like a storm. The hair on her arms and neck raised, prickled.

Not meeting his gaze, she nodded once.

“Say it.”

Shayla inhaled a deep breath. “Yes, Your Highness, I felt the blade.”

He shot to his feet and held his hands out from his body, imploringly. “And you did not think to say so? You must have known from your training that wasn’t…right.”

She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. His disappointment in her was like a punch to the gut.

“Answer me!” His voice reverberated around the stone room.

Her gaze turned to his. It was the first time she’d violated her submissive role, meeting his eyes without permission, but his anger stirred up hers. “I endured it for you. I did not wish to displease you, but it appears I have done so anyway. So, I’m sorry I have not lived up to your expectations, but I didn’t know what else to do.” She held his gaze, annoyed that she found him so damn sexy even though she was angry. None of this was her fault. Was it? No.

Preternatural light reflected out from behind the emerald of his eyes. She could only describe his expression as bewildered, and his loss of control, even if only in hiding his reaction, softened her anger. Finally, when she could take his intense observation no longer, she dropped her gaze back into her lap.

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