Chapter 12
The taste of her blood was intoxicating—warm, rich, and utterly divine. Rhydian had never experienced anything like it before. Every drop that touched his tongue sent a rush of pleasure through his veins, making it nearly impossible to stop. He was lost in the ecstasy of it, in the pulsing rhythm of her heartbeat beneath his lips, and in the way her soft, delicate body trembled against him.
His fangs were buried deep in her neck, and he drank greedily, savoring the way her essence burned through him like a drug. The fever raging inside him from the spell she had cast finally dulled, his body no longer aching with unfulfilled hunger. He could have stayed like this forever—drinking her in, feeling her melt against him—but then her weak, trembling hands pressed against his chest.
"Stop... I can't take it anymore," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Like a spell being broken, her words jolted through him. His fangs retracted immediately, but even as he pulled away, the raw urge to claim her still clawed at his control. He couldn't stop himself from what he did next—his lips brushed over the puncture wounds, his tongue tracing over the small bites in slow, deliberate strokes.
A shiver ran through her, and then—
A soft moan slipped from her lips.
Heat coiled in his gut at the sound, his body reacting instantly. Her voice, her scent, the way her skin flushed beneath his touch—it all sent his instincts into a frenzy. His hands tightened on her waist, his breath growing heavier as he trailed featherlight kisses along the sensitive skin of her throat. She smelled too good, tasted too good.
She was driving him insane.
But then, just as quickly as she had given in, she pushed him away.
Her breath came in soft pants, her fingers gripping the fabric of his clothes as if trying to ground herself. He didn't resist, instead stepping back with a smirk curling at the corner of his lips.
He brought his thumb to his lower lip, wiping away the last traces of her blood before licking it off in a slow, deliberate motion. He wanted to see her reaction—to see her flustered, furious, anything.
"You taste amazing," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.
He expected her to snap at him, maybe even slap him for biting her without permission. But instead, something unexpected flickered in her eyes—concern.
"You're burning up. Are you okay?" she asked, her voice softer than he'd ever heard it.
Rhydian frowned. Was this an act? Some kind of trick to lower his guard? Or was she truly worried about him?
Her fingers brushed against his forehead before he could react, her warm palms cupping both sides of his face as she studied him intently. His breath hitched at the sudden intimacy, his heart giving an involuntary stutter.
What the hell was she doing?
His gaze traced over her face, mapping every detail—the sharp glint of her violet eyes, the delicate curve of her nose, and her lips… Gods, her lips. Plump, red, slightly parted as she assessed him. He wanted to taste them again, to claim them fully.
"Your fever seems to be coming down," she murmured, tilting her head slightly. "My blood really did the trick, I see..."
His jaw clenched.
Did she have to check his temperature this way? There were plenty of other ways to do it—ones that didn't involve tempting him with that mesmerizing face of hers.
She started to pull her hands away, but before she could, he caught her wrist, stopping her.
She looked up at him, startled.
"If you wanted to check my temperature, you could've done so in a simpler way," he said, his lips curving into a playful grin. He tugged her closer, his grip firm but gentle. "Are you trying to seduce me, Purple?"
Her heartbeat stuttered against his chest. He could hear it. Feel it.
Then, to his surprise, she didn't pull away.
Instead, a slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. She leaned in, her body pressing against his just enough to make his muscles tense.
"What if I am?" she whispered, deliberately biting her bottom lip.
Rhydian's breath caught.
The last of his control snapped.
"You asked for it," he growled.
In the next second, he crashed his lips against hers.
The kiss was deep, desperate, consuming. His hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head to deepen the angle as his tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her fully. She responded instantly, matching his hunger with equal fervor.
She wasn't perfect at kissing yet—he could tell she was still learning—but she made up for it with pure intensity, and damn if it didn't make his blood boil.
His other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him as his lips moved against hers with feverish need. His tongue tangled with hers, teasing, tasting, drinking her in as if she were the only thing that could satiate him. He bit down softly, drawing a gasp from her, and that little sound sent a violent pulse of arousal straight through him.
He was already rock hard, aching with need.
He hadn't touched a woman since the marriage arrangement was made. Maybe that was why he was losing control so easily. Or maybe it was just her. Maybe it had always been her.
His grip tightened, his kiss deepening, rougher, needier—
A sharp knock shattered the moment.
"Your Majesty, the ceremony is about to begin. Everyone is waiting," Irene's voice called from the other side of the door.
Rhydian exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against hers as they both caught their breath.
He wasn't ready to stop. Not yet.
He wanted to kiss her until her lips were swollen and bruised, until she was trembling in his arms, begging for more.
But then, she pulled back.
And just like that, the spell was broken.
Rhydian clenched his jaw, suppressing the irritation that flared within him. If there was one thing that killed his desire instantly, it was an unwilling partner. He would never force anything. The more eager a woman was to please him, the more he wanted her. But if she hesitated, even for a second, he lost interest immediately.
His gaze dropped to her lips—red and slightly swollen from his kisses. A possessive surge ran through him at the sight.
Still, there were more pressing matters to attend to.
"Come in," he ordered.
As soon as Irene entered, he gestured toward Seraphina. "Redo her hair and makeup."
Irene nodded, immediately moving to fix the mess their reckless makeout session had caused. Rhydian watched for a moment before stepping closer.
He leaned in, brushing a lingering kiss against Seraphina's nose, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper.
"I'll be waiting for you at the altar, my beautiful bride."
Then, without another word, he turned and left.
As he walked away, one thing became clear—he wasn't just gaining the loyalty of the witches through this marriage.
He was gaining something much, much more.
And soon enough, he would claim her. Completely.