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“Please forgive me, Your Majesty, and allow me to prove myself worthy to count myself as belonging to House Isador.”
“What are you comfortable with?”
Hesitantly, he lifted his gaze to my face, eyes tight, as if expecting to find a trap. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”
I kept my arms wrapped around my other two Blood, not touching Warwick in any way. Even with blood pouring down his throat in a steady, unchecked stream. “I take consent very seriously, Sir Warwick. I only take Blood that I love, and because I love them, I will never do anything to anyone that makes them feel uncomfortable, unsure, or, goddess forbid, afraid. You aren’t ready to be touched. Can you tolerate touching me enough to cement a bond? Or would you rather have my blood in a cup, as I evidently enjoyed yours last night?”
Before he could answer, Durandal snuggled closer to me, rubbing his face against the skin bared by my bodice. His voice was a velvety purr. “I eagerly consent to anything and everything my queen desires, Your Majesty. Please do as you wish with me.”
I slid my hand down his back, teasing him with the drag of my long nails. “I appreciate your willingness, Durandal, though this isn’t a competition. I endeavor to enjoy all my Blood—within their limits and comfort, of course. Though with so many, we do often combine forces. Would that bother you?”
“I prefer to fuck, rather than be fucked by someone else, other than you, of course. But I’ll gladly fuck anyone in your court. Even humans, though in my day, they didn’t tend to handle our attention very well. They’re such fragile creatures.” His breath caught on a soft groan, but his bond burned like a steady stream of glowing lava pouring from his forge. “It’s been a very long time, Your Majesty.”
Warwick rose up on his knees, his hands lightly on my lower thighs. Again, with a tight, narrowed look, he watched my face for any sign of rebuke or reaction. Perhaps he feared any moment I would simply grab him and start feasting. As if I couldn’t control myself with an Aima bleeding so close.
Sure, I could feed. My mouth watered at the thought of tasting him. For the life of me, I still couldn’t remember what he tasted like, even though he’d poured blood into me last night. But I wasn’t desperate and ravenous after feeding on my new Blood to restore what he’d taken. I certainly wouldn’t ravage Warwick like a mindless beast.
:I eagerly await being ravaged by your beast,: Durandal said in his bond.
:Trust me. You don’t want to meet the cobra queen.:
He chuckled. :Now I only want to meet her more than ever.:
“I can feed directly,” Warwick said with a slight embarrassed cough. “If that’s not too presumptuous, Your Majesty, given my own… limitations.”
I loosened my grip on Sekh and pulled my arm in closer to slide my wrist forward for Warwick. Grave eyes dark and solemn, he cradled my hand in both of his. Slowly, he lowered his head, rolling his eyes up to watch my face. Or perhaps to check and make sure I wasn’t preparing to attack him.
Though at the first taste of my blood, his eyes fluttered shut. My blood flowed into him, and I allowed my consciousness to glide through him gently. Slowly. Not barging my way into the dark, secret places he wasn’t ready for me to look. Memories flickered past like pages from a book. Mostly the grim, cold realities from the time of the Crusades. Quiet moments between him and his warhorse, sweaty and muddy, steaming in the chill air as he stripped off his tack. Rubbed him down and gave him a bit of grain. His hands calm and steady, his voice low. “You did very well today, Tommy boy. Thank you for carrying me safely through to fight another day.”
War after war. Riding the land, seeking another conflict. Sprawling stone walls with thick squat towers rose on the hill. Krak des Chevaliers. The place he’d called home for more than a century. He sat on a nearby hill so he could look at the gray walls. Yellow wildflowers bloomed in the sparse grasses.
:Every horse I ever rode had the same name, whether mare or gelding,: he finally said in his bond. :Tommy boy. Tommy girl. Too many to count. Most died on the battlefield. Speared. Broken leg. Broken neck, once, when we fell into a crevasse. I walked away. He didn’t.:
In the vision, I simply sat beside him in the grass as if we were enjoying a picnic on a bright summer day. Not touching him. Just listening. I placed my hand on the ground between us, allowing his memory to give me the sensation of coarse, wiry grass and warm earth. The breeze smelled faintly of baked bread mixed with savory herbs and salty olives.
:I returned here in my mind as often as I could. It saved me from the darkness. I counted the towers one by one. Remembered walking the walls on guard duty. Retrieving my mount from the stable to ride to the next battle. I wish I’d known then that I would never see it again. Then I would’ve taken a better picture of it in my mind, so I could count the individual stones. Etch them into my mind.:
The image of Krak des Chevaliers wavered. Faded. As if drawn in charcoal pencil and chalks, now smudged by the passage of time.
:I suppose this place doesn’t even stand any longer. It’s been so long.:
:I’ll ask Sekh,: I promised him, keeping my touch feather soft in his mind. :He’ll know if it still stands. We can even go in person if you’d like to see what’s left.:
Lightly, carefully, Warwick’s finger brushed mine as he inched his hand closer. Then linked our fingers. One by one. :I would like to see it with you, Your Majesty.:
:Then we will go.:
Blinking as if waking from a dream, Warwick gazed up at me as I lowered my wrist back to my lap. Durandal bent low to lick over the tender skin, making sure the bite was closed. Cleaning up any traces of blood as if he could still feed.
:If you need—:
:I’m fine, Your Majesty. Though I will always hunger for even a drop of your blood.:
“Are we ready to move?” I asked aloud.
“Your human team waits downstairs,” Rik replied. “Nevarre is with them. I didn’t notify your siblings, my queen.”
:I’m finishing up here,: I told Carys and Leonie. :I’d like to head to New York City shortly.:
