Vampire Romance

A Taste of Forever

Soft silk against her skin awakened Rachel, along with the predawn glow faintly filtering in through the half-drawn curtains. For that instant, she forgot where she was. Then the scent of sandalwood and something darker—something ancient—wrapped around her, and memory crashed in like a breaker against a seawall. Sebastien's estate. His rooms. His bed.

She sat up slowly, clutching the sheet to her chest. The other side of the mattress was still warm but empty, and the only evidence he had slept at all was the faint imprint of his head on the pillow. On the low table near the balcony rested a silver tray bearing a single cup of steaming coffee—human coffee, bless him—and a folded square of parchment sealed with scarlet wax. Luna recognized the wax seal: stylized bat, wings forming an intricate crown. She unsealed it.

R—

I did not wish to wake you. Dawn is painful for me, even behind these walls. I will return before sunset; Erik will see to anything you need.

Trust me.

—S

Trust—a small word but felt heavier than any copper mixing bowl in her bakery.

She was still staring at the note when a polite knock sounded. Erik stepped in uninvited, balancing a breakfast tray in one hand and a garment bag in another. Today, his suit was dove-gray, set off by his lazy smile.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. The king ordered a human breakfast—croissants, strawberry jam, and enough caffeine to jump-start a morgue.” He set the tray down, amusement playing on his face as his eyes settled on her tangled hair. “Also, you’re invited to the Council Hall at dusk; Sebastien wants you to meet the Elders before the Bonding Ceremony.”

Rachel's stomach lurched. “The what ceremony?”

“Relax.” Erik unzipped the bag, revealing a putrid wine-colored gown of silk velvet, off-shouldered, and slit high enough to blush. “It’s not the wedding. Think of it as… engagement with teeth. Literally.” He flashed his fangs at her in a playful grin. “You’ll be fine. They only bite if you run.”

She swallowed. “Comforting.”

----

By late afternoon, she had showered, eaten three croissants out of nervousness, and argued with Erik about the daring neckline of the gown she wore. She lost. The velvet clung to her curves like liquid wine; tiny onyx beads sparkled with runes that shimmered as she walked; Erik has finished her look with the delicate platinum torque around her neck twisted like intertwining thorn—the crest of Sebastien’s house.

“It’s a claiming collar,” he said as he fastened it. “Symbolic. Subtle. Lets every vampire in the city know you’re his.”

That word sent a wave of heat skitting across her skin. She could not tell if it were desire or terror. The two seemed in equal measure.

----

The Council Hall held the entire top floor of an Art Deco skyscraper downtown. Rachel pulled up in a black sedan with tinted windows, Erik sturdy at her side humming an old jazz tune. Noisy silence existed in the elevator cab until she found herself in another world upon exit.

Moonlight streamed through a domed glass ceiling, broken by iron fretwork formed like flying bats. A circular black marble table formed the room's heart, with six high-backed chairs around it—six occupied, six vacant. At the far side, dressed in somber black, Sebastien stood, the red lining of his coat flashing like blood with his every motion. His eyes found hers across the distance. The mate bond stirred within her, warm and possessive, as if his hand slipped inside her ribcage to cradle her heart.

“Come,” he said, voice low yet effortlessly penetrative.

The seated vampires turned. Rachel did not recognize any of them, yet their gaze combined felt like winter wind on naked skin. Closest was a woman with waist-length silver hair and glacier-ice-green eyes; next to her, a man dark as obsidian was showing off fangs inlaid with gold.

Sebastien extended his hand, palm up. "My mate, Rachel Teague."

A ripple passed around the table—some curious, some hostile. The silver-haired woman rose and curtsied. "I am Lysandra, Speaker of the Northern Clans. We have waited long for our king's choice." Her tone suggested that Rachel was not worthy.

Rachel held her chin up. "I didn't know I was auditioning."

A momentary low chuckle from the obsidian-skinned man. "Spirited. All good. A queen needs fire."

Sebastien gripped her fingers tighter. "Tonight is a formality. The first blood exchange just has to be witnessed by the Elders before the Bonding may take place."

First blood exchange. Rachel's heart thudded to a stop. "You mean—"

" A taste." Lysandra took a step closer, producing a slender crystal dagger. "From him to you and then you to him. Afterward, no other vampire may touch you without his leave. Your life becomes his. His becomes yours."

Rachel's attention centered on the blade; memories swelled-Christians lifeless eyes, copper tang of violence. But Sebastien's thumb traced across her knuckles, anchoring her.

"Do you consent?" he asked quietly. The room held its breath. Rachel gazed into his eyes-emerald flecked with gold, ancient and pleading. Croissants in the morning were reminiscent to her of the way he had watched her pipe buttercream as if conjuring miracles. Loneliness she had not known she carried began to surface the moment he walked in.

"Yes," she whispered.

Lysandra held the dagger out to Sebastien. Then he drew the knife across his palm without flinching; dark crimson welled. Then he handed the blade to Rachel. Her hand trembled only slightly as she mirrored the cut. The sting was brief.

He raised his bleeding palm to her lips. Blood was warm as it entered her mouth, tasting of wine and thunderstorms. A jolt of power slammed through her-visions of centuries, battles, starlight on snow-capped mountains. She gasped, swaying, but in his other arm, Sebastien ensured her balance.

Then it was her turn. She lifted her hand to his mouth. His tongue swept across the wound, slow, deliberate; the mate bond flared white-hot, binding them tighter than any vow. A low growl rumbled in his chest-approval, possession, love.

The Elders bowed as one. For the briefest moment, Lysandra appeared softened by the act. "The Bond is witnessed. Long live King Sebastien and his queen."

Later, on the penthouse balcony with the glittering city below, Sebastien wrapped his coat around Rachel's shoulders. The cut on her palm had already healed to a thin scar. "Are you afraid?" he asked. "Terrified," she admitted. "But also... exhilarated. It's like I've been waiting my whole life to step off a cliff and discover I can fly." He brushed a kiss against the torque at her throat. "We will rule together. Bake together. Fight together. And when the world grows too heavy, I will remind you how it feels to be alive." She tilted her face to his. "Show me." "With pleasure, my queen." His fangs glimmered in the moonlight as he smiled. The velvet sky stretched above them, infinite and starlit, as the vampire king claimed his mate's lips in a kiss which tasted of forever.