Bound by Blood and Fang

Chapter 9

Alora

I let my eyes drift over the vampire king, completely unable to stop it. For a king, I expected him to be dressed in something more… extravagant.

He isn’t dressed like a king who is preparing for court.

He’s dressed like a king who doesn’t need to prove he is one.

His shirt is loose‑fitted, the kind woven from soft, expensive fabric that drapes rather than clings to his athletic frame. The color is a deep, muted charcoal — dark enough to echo the shadows of a room, yet light enough to catch the faint glow of the sconces in the hall. The collar is unlaced, the ties hanging open at his throat, revealing the strong lines of his neck and the faintest glimpse of an old scar tracing down toward his collarbone.

I have the sudden urge to run my finger along it, tracing the edges. I wonder if it still hurts? It looks as if it has long since healed, but I have heard that significant wounds can still carry pain for years.

Get it together, Alora. Now is not the time to be drooling over the arrogant king.

But my eyes do not listen as my gaze drifts anyway, and the heat within my body begins to soar in a way that I don't appreciate right now.

The sleeves of his shirt are full and gathered at the wrists, the fabric billowing slightly when he moves, giving him the effortless elegance of someone who has worn this style for hundreds of years. The cuffs are embroidered with subtle metallic thread — not too flashy, but still unmistakably royal if you know what you’re looking for.

His trousers are fitted, cut from a darker material that molds to his long, powerful legs. They tuck neatly into the soft leather boots that rise to mid‑calf, worn enough to show use but cared for with the precision of someone who values function as much as appearance.

The whole ensemble sits on him like it was made for him — because, well, it was.

He looks relaxed, but undeniably regal at the same time.

A king at rest… which somehow makes him even more intimidating than if he were dressed in a full royal garb.

When my gaze finally meets his again, there is a tiny smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Like, he finds all this far too amusing to catch me drinking him in so blatantly.

I don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how flustered I have become just from looking at him. Carefully, I turn my attention to the newest arrival. This vampire feels more like the ones that my mother warned me about as a young child.

Who am I kidding? He looks exactly like the kind of monster she meant.

His hair is blonde, not the pale ash kind that mine is, but a metallic blonde. Like winter sunlight reflecting off ice. It falls just past his jawline in straight, deliberate strands. But his eyes are what get me. Where King Dimirti’s eyes are a deep bronze, his lieutenant’s are a cutting glacial blue that borders on silver.

Sharp.

Observant.

They are the kind of eyes that make you feel like he’s already mapped out every exit in the room… and every weakness you have within five minutes of meeting him.

Where King Valecourt is shadow, slipping through the darkness with a practiced ease. Cassian is precision, eyeing everything around him for weakness while simultaneously looking approachable.

His smile is just as sharp when he turns to face me again. “Please excuse my master’s bad manners.”

The vampire king snarls, and for a moment I genuinely think he might actually attack his lieutenant right in front of me. But Cassian doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink. He stands there like he’s immune to Dimitri’s aggression — or too old to care.

My gaze slides past him — to the Vampire King.

He hasn’t spoken a word since I opened the door. He’s just standing there watching me in that quiet, assessing way that makes your skin prickle. Like he’s trying to read every thought I’ve ever had. His jaw is tight, and a muscle flexes as he fights to let Cassian lead the conversation right now.

“Why do you need my name?” I ask, lifting a brow in challenge.

He didn't think to ask earlier when he said I was theirs. When he made it clear that every monster within these walls — and on the grounds — would drag me back if I tried to leave again. Nor did he think to ask when he dumped me unceremoniously on the bed in this room when I tried to sneak out of the house again.

The silence stretches between the three of us for several heartbeats.

“Because it’s yours,” Cassian finally says, breaking the silence. “And because no one here has bothered to ask yet.”

I snort softly, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning my weight back against the door frame, deliberately casual. Deliberately slow.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Cassian’s mouth twitches, like he’s fighting not to smile. King Valecourt does not move. The vampire looks as if he has been carved from marble. His bronze eyes swirl with red, the color bleeding through like a warning.

Good. Get mad. You piss me off too.

The red deepens as he drags in a breath through clenched teeth, the muscle in his jaw ticking once, hard.

There is the sharp sound of a door slamming somewhere in the house, followed by the sharp sound of boots on the stone floor. The air shifts as the footsteps grow closer. The Vampire King and his lieutenant both turn their attention toward the sound, and his lip curled to reveal a single fang.

“What the actual f*ck is going on here?” the Alpha King snarls the second he rounds the corner and sees who is standing in front of me. “And I told you to stay the f*ck away from her, didn’t I?”

"And I believe I told you to shove your orders up your ass," The Vampire King snarled. "Well, maybe not in those exact words, but close enough."

I roll my eyes at the sharpness of his tone. “Great, it's a real party now,” I snap once again, trying and utterly failing to not notice the wide expanse of muscle now on display. Does he ever wear a shirt? I swear I have yet to see him in one yet.

That unwelcome heat begins to stir again, curling low in my stomach, and settling right between my thighs. I can feel them slicken, and I press my legs together carefully, refusing to let either monster see how my body betrays me.

I hate this.

I hate feeling like a bone caught between them.

I hate even more how my body responds to their possessiveness, as if it likes it.

Treacherous body.

The bond is complete now— so why does it still feel like something is crawling under my skin? Why does every breath feel too warm, too shallow, too aware?

Their voices start to blur behind the pounding in my ears.

The wolf snarling.

The vampire growling back.

And the lieutenant murmured something sharp and amused under his breath.

The whole time I am standing in the doorway, feeling as if I am drowning all over again. The world begins to shrink beneath the rising pressure inside me — heat and panic and something electric threading through my veins like a live wire.

My fingers curl against the door frame.

My pulse stutters like it is having a hard time keeping rhythm.

The room tilts, just slightly, like the air has been sucked out of it.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t think.

I can’t control this.

The bond shouldn’t be doing this.

The potion is gone.

The ritual is over.

I'm bonded.

So why does it feel like my body is still caught in the aftermath of the ritual, like every nerve is still tuned too sharply, like every inhale drags their scents deeper into me until I’m drowning in them?

If I can’t even keep my own body from betraying me, how am I supposed to find a way out of this mess?

Another growl rumbles through the hall — low, territorial, vibrating through the floorboards — and something inside me snaps.

“Enough,” I choked out, louder than I intended, yet my voice still cracked like a whip through their arguing.

All three of them freeze.

I drag in a breath, fighting the suffocating heat clawing up my throat the entire time.

“If I give you my name,” I bite out, “will you all just leave me alone?”

Their attention turns to me, and I swear to the Fates that my entire body jolts with the way the two King's gazes rake over my body. They know.

Stupid, girl. Why didn't I just retreat while they were too preoccupied arguing with one another to notice me slip back into my room and close the door? Too late, the opportunity is long gone, and from the way both of their nostrils flare, and the way Cassian lowers his gaze and refuses to look anywhere in my direction tells me that the three of them are well aware of my current state.

The Alpha moves first, just a fraction of an inch in my direction.

I take a step back into my room with my hand on the door. “No.”

The wolf king stops dead in his tracks, and I don't miss the way the vampire chuckles under his breath when he does.

“Alora,” I say through gritted teeth as a wave of need washes over me. “My name is Alora Wells.”

I don't give them a chance to say anything further. I don't think that my body could handle standing there for much longer without doing something that I was sure to regret once the feeling passed.

I slammed the door closed, sliding the lock into place, though I knew that if they truly wanted in, the iron bracket would do little to stop either of them. My back slides down the back side of the door. My body is rolling with need again. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out, tasting the sharp tang of blood filling my mouth.

I tell myself that this will pass. That this feeling is nothing more than just the echo of old magic from last night, burned too deeply into my skin and just needs an outlet.

But the heat doesn’t ebb with the distance I've just put between me and my bonded's.

It coils tighter. Growing sharper, as if something is waking up instead of going to sleep.

Panic curls its way low in my chest. Because I know my body well enough to recognize the difference between aftermath… and escalation.

And this is definitely the latter.