Bound by Blood and Fang

Chapter 16

Alora

Jenny enthusiastically agreed that the wine-colored dress was the one. And before I could even second‑guess my decision, on the dress and on my plan, she was already out the door to fetch the omegas. Within the hour, my room is filled with omega wolves scurrying about the space like a well‑rehearsed storm.

Two males carried in a gleaming copper tub, the metal catching in the firelight as they set it directly in front of the hearth. The scent of heated metal and pine resin now mingles with the lingering, soft perfume of the dresses that are still strewn across my bed. Steam soon curls upward as pitchers of hot water are brought in and poured into the tub, filling the room with a soft, misty warmth that clings to my skin.

It was… a lot.

Before I fully register what’s happening, I’m stripped out of my dress and eased into the tub, the lavender‑scented water rising all the way to my neck. I moan as the heat seeps into my muscles, loosening knots that I didn’t know I had. The omega maids work with quiet efficiency, washing me from head to toe with gentle, practiced hands.

I barely have time to protest before I’m lifted out of the warmth and wrapped in a thick linen towel that is still warm from the fire. I tuck the end securely between my breasts, the fabric soft against my damp skin, and step out of the copper tub.

While the omega maids were busy fussing over washing me, Jenny has also been busy doing what can only be described as magic — procuring a few accessories, combs, oils, and things I didn’t even know existed.

I wanted to ask her why she was so enthusiastic about helping me tempt the vampire instead of her Alpha, but I decided against it and bit my tongue. There’s no need to question her motives beyond the fact that she clearly wants to see the undead become very… very flustered.

Eventually, the omegas disappear, leaving only Jenny and me in the quiet, fire‑lit room. The dress is laid out in the center of the bed like an offering to the Fates — deep wine-colored silk, black lace, and a ruby red teardrop pendant glinting beside it in the soft furs.

Jenny claps her hands once as she fights to hide her enjoyment. “Alright. Sit.”

I obey before I can think better of it.

She moves behind me, her fingers threading through my damp hair. Her touch is gentle but sure as she works through the tangles with a carved wooden comb. The scent of lavender and warm air surrounds us as she separates sections of my hair, twisting and curling them with practiced ease.

I let my mind wander while she works. What would my mother think if she saw me right now? Even if the purpose is just a ruse to slip by the two of them, would she think less of me for what I've done so far?

“Perfect,” she says some time later, her voice pulling me from my head. “Now let’s get you into that dress.”

She helps me step into the soft silk, lifting the fabric so it doesn’t drag or catch on anything. The material slides over me like cool water before settling against my skin. Jenny helps adjust the neckline, smoothing the strip of black lace along the front of the bodice before lacing the back of the dress.

I hold my breath as she tugs on the laces, making sure that everything is tight enough so that the fabric doesn't fall. Then once I am safely cocooned in silk, she fastens the ruby pendant around my throat. The stone rests just above my collarbone, the stone cool as it rests against my skin.

When she finally steps back and looks at me, her smile widens in approval.

“There,” she whispers. “Now that is how you make a vampire forget how to breathe.”

She steps aside, giving me space, and for a heartbeat, I just stand there, almost too afraid to turn around. The fire crackles behind me, casting a warm glow across the room, and when I finally turn and lift my gaze to the mirror…

I freeze.

If the purpose was to make the Vampire unable to breathe, what does that say when I, too, can not seem to draw a single breath when I see my reflection? Because the woman who is staring back at me looks nothing like the one who had been dragged into a ritual against her will and forced to run. Nor does she look like someone who is actively plotting her escape.

No. The woman before me looks… powerful.

Like she belongs here amongst Kings.

The dark red silk clings to every inch of my curves in a way that feels both elegant and dangerous. The black lace tracing along the bodice is delicate and beautiful in the way that it has been stitched into the bodice. The slit in the skirt is daring even for normal fashion; it reveals just enough of my leg to make my pulse skip in excitement, and the ruby teardrop pendant clasped around my throat, resting above my collarbone, glows like a drop of captured fire in stone.

My hair — Fates, my hair — it falls in soft waves over my shoulders and down my back, the color catching in the light like tiny threads of pale gold. I barely recognize it. Hell, I barely recognize myself anymore.

For a moment, I just stood there completely transfixed by my own image in the mirror. My hands trace along the line of my sides as if they, too, are trying to make sense of what is before them. Jenny steps up beside me, her reflection appearing just over my shoulder. She smiles warmly, her eyes twinkling with a look that says she is going to enjoy this even more than I am.

“There she is,” she murmurs. “The girl who’s going to knock the breath right out of him.”

I tilt my head to the side and can't hide the smile that slowly appears on my lips. I don't plan to stay here for too much longer, but I am going to have fun flipping the script on the two of them before I slip from their grasp.

I deliberately waited an extra fifteen minutes past six o’clock before leaving my room.

I wanted to make him sweat.

If the Vampire King thought barking his orders at me was going to get him what he wanted…well, he was about to be very disappointed to learn the truth. The entire house is eerily silent, and I make my way through the halls, the soft soles of my shoes giving a slight echo as they tap against the stone flooring. The sconces on either side of the dining room doors flicker as the heavy wood swings open when I arrive.

Right on cue, King Dimitri halts mid-pace. The movement is sharp — predatory — his head snapping toward the doorway… toward me when he hears me enter the room. Or did he smell me? Do Vampires have the same intense sense of smell that werewolves do? They must, after all, if they are able to smell the tiniest drop of blood.

Satisfaction curls low in my stomach at the look that flashes across his face the moment that his eyes lock onto me.

For a long moment, he just stares. His gaze rakes down the length of my body with a hungry fire, his eyes swimming in red. Jenny’s tea is still in my system, but once again, it is as if my body has a mind of its own and still reacts to the heated look in his eyes when they finally find mine again.

For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe when I take in his appearance.

Because he’s…

Fate’s, it’s unfair just how godly this creature looks.

Dimitri stands there like some ancient portrait that has come to life — all sharp lines and impossible stillness — and my eyes betray me by drinking in every inch of him. The black silk of his shirt outlines his shoulders in a way that makes it impossible not to notice how broad they are. To the tailored waistcoat that narrows at his waist, emphasizing the long, predatory lines of his body.

Even the way he stands — with his weight balanced perfectly, his chest rising in slow, controlled breaths — power radiates off of him in a kind of lethal grace that no one should be allowed to possess.

His hair is loose tonight, darker at the roots before falling in soft waves that brush the collar of his coat. A few strands catch in the candlelight, gleaming like polished obsidian, and I have to fight the urge to cross the room just to touch them, to feel their softness in the palms of my hands.

And his eyes…

Fates help me.

His eyes are a molten red, the color swirling in like embers that have been fanned by a sudden gust of wind.

He looks like sin wrapped in expansive silk.

Like danger dressed for a coronation.

Heat slowly prickles across every inch of my skin; the feeling is completely traitorous and unwelcome. I feel my fingers curl at my sides, the points of my nails biting into my palms as if the pain will anchor me, to keep me from reacting to him the way my body clearly wants to.

I force my gaze to hold his hopefully without drooling in the process — and the way he’s looking at me…

It’s enough to make my knees threaten mutiny. Tonight, Dimitri Valecourt is dressed like the King that he is.

I lift my chin a fraction higher on instinct, even as something entirely unhelpful flutters low in my stomach. Pull it together, I can't let one heated look undo me. I am supposed to be stronger than that. Even as the thought flickers across my mind, the threads of the bond around my wrist tighten, reminding me that the Fates have a hand in this feeling I'm having.

His gaze drags over me once again, slower this time, like he is making sure to memorize every inch of my body, and when he speaks, his voice is smooth as glass and almost as cold.

“You’re late, Love.”

The cold, lethal drop in his tone sends a shiver shooting down my spine before I can stop it. My fingers curl against my skirt, a desperate attempt at trying to ground myself, but the reaction is already there—visible, obvious, humiliating just below the surface of my skin.

His lips curve upward in a slow and dangerous smile when he sees it, and I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough that I taste copper. His gaze doesn’t leave my face now. Not for a second. It's like he’s waiting to see whether I’ll obey… or bare my teeth.

“If you wanted my attention, Alora… you definitely have it.”

He straightens even more somehow, every inch the monarch he claims to be.

“Come here.”

Two words meant to be an order. Softened, yet they hit like a hand closing around my wrist, the threads tugging at me to do as he asked. My breath seizes in my lungs when my feet begin shuffling before I’ve even decided to move, my body being drawn forward by something I refuse to name.

His smile grows when he sees this—subtle, knowing, and infuriating.

A heat spikes across my skin, and my pulse stumbles.

How does he already have so much power over my body?

At the last possible second, I managed to force my heels to pivot, redirecting my steps toward the opposite side of the table instead. The threads of the bond scream at me, but I force my feet to stay on their new trajectory. The thin fabric of my dress whispers around my legs with every step that I take, the slit brushing cool air against my thigh, reminding me that I am still in control of my body.

Barely.

I lower myself into the chair with deliberate calm, refusing to look at him until I’m settled and have my wits about me. Only when I finally lift my gaze, his eyes burn even brighter. The red deepened, darkening to a maroon that almost matched the color of my dress.

Suddenly, it feels like I’ve just stepped into the lion’s den wearing a piece of meat around my neck.

“If you wanted me closer, Your Majesty… you should’ve asked nicer, instead of issuing demands.”

The air between us tightens, sharp as a pulled bowstring. His jaw flexes — the muscles on either side flickering rapidly, the movement small, almost imperceptible, but it is enough to send a spark of satisfaction curling low in my stomach.

I've hit the mark.

With a calming breath, I smooth my hands over my thighs, letting the gesture look casual even though my pulse is still thundering. His eyes track the movement like I thought that they would, darkening, and something inside me thrills at the reaction even as I pretend not to notice.

“Shall we get this over with? I’d like to return to my room sooner rather than later.”

For half a second, he looked like he might actually crack. Like his carefully crafted exterior would crumble, and he would stalk across the room, pin me to the nearest surface, and remind me exactly what kind of creature he is. A thrill shoots through me, and I make a note to see if I can increase the amount of Jenny's tea because something tells me I am going to need it.

The tension in his shoulders coils tight like a predator that is deciding whether to pounce.

But he doesn’t.

Not yet, at least.

He grinds his teeth again, the muscle in his jaw ticking once, twice, before he turns sharply. His coat flares behind him as he stalks to the opposite end of the table, movements clipped and controlled. He snatches up his crystal‑cut glass with a grip just shy of violence, the liquid inside trembling with the force of it.

Then he returns to the chair beside mine, lowering himself with a composure so precise it feels almost like a threat.

"Careful, wouldn't want you to chip a fang now, would we?" I say in mock sweetness.

My chair is suddenly jerked from underneath. The legs screech across the stone as it’s yanked closer, the sound sharp enough to slice through the air. A startled yelp escapes me before I can swallow it down, my hands flying to the edge of the table to steady myself.

He did that.

Without touching me.

Without even looking like he moved.

My pulse stutters, then hammers as heat rushes up my throat. I force my spine to remain straight, refusing to let him see the way my breath catches — but Fates, he feels it anyway. I can tell by the way his eyes narrow, pinning me to my chair, with the faintest flicker of satisfaction crossing his face before it’s buried beneath something colder.

Damitri leans forward until his face is just inches from my own. One hand resting on the arm of my chair, and the other still wrapped around the stem of the crystal-stemmed glass.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Love.” His tone is as cold as a glacier as it washes over me. “One that I promise you, you won't win.”

A chill skates down my spine, goosebumps now warring with the heat that is still coiling low in my stomach.

Maybe it's stupidity. Maybe it's a death wish at this point. I really have no clue, but I lift my chin anyway, even though my heart is beating far too fast.

"I guess we will just have to see about that, now won't we?"

Because if he thinks I’m going to bow just because he growls pretty threats…

He’s about to be very disappointed.