Her scent was different now. The air was laced with the copper tang of blood and the salt of her tears. The mountain’s roar had quieted. I had marked her. I had etched the price of her curiosity into her very flesh. As I watched her shudder beneath the weight of my gaze, the hunger didn’t fade. It merely changed shape.
I tasted her. My tongue was hot and heavy as I dragged it across the first welt on her shoulder blade. She gasped, her fingers curling into the silk sheets. She didn’t pull away though. The heat of my saliva acted like a balm, drawing the sting from the skin as I laid a new claim.
Mine.
With every slow lap of my tongue, I felt the mountain’s restless energy drain out of me and into her. This was the secret the books didn’t tell. The Queen was a vessel. She didn’t just
