Claimed by the Vampire King

Chapter 8: Eternal Hunger

The hunger wasn't just his anymore.

It was mine too.

Every touch, every look from Damian lit me on fire.

That afternoon, after the council call, he found me in the shower.

I didn't hear him come in.

Cold hands slid around my waist from behind.

I gasped, but leaned back into him.

"You scared me," I murmured.

"Good," he growled against my neck. "I like you on edge."

His fangs grazed my skin.

I turned in his arms, water cascading over us.

His eyes were crimson, full of need.

I pressed against him, feeling how hard he already was.

"Take what you want," I whispered.

He lifted me, pinning me against the tile wall.

Legs wrapped around his waist.

He entered me in one thrust.

I cried out, nails digging into his shoulders.

Water made everything slick, intense.

He bit my neck as he moved — deep, rhythmic thrusts.

Pleasure built fast.

The bite sent me over the edge.

I came hard, clenching around him.

He growled, thrusting faster.

When he came, he bit deeper — claiming, possessive.

We stayed like that, breathing hard, water cooling around us.

He pulled back, licking the wound.

"Your blood tastes better every time," he said, voice rough.

"Because you're addicted."

"So are you."

I kissed him, tasting my own blood on his lips.

It should have been wrong.

It felt right.

Later, dressed and composed, we faced the real problem.

"The council won't wait," he said.

"What do we do?"

"We run. Or we fight."

I looked at him.

"I don't want to run anymore."

He smiled — proud, dark.

"Then we fight."

That night, we planned.

His trusted vampires gathered.

The cult was moving — witches and rogues united under a new leader.

They wanted my blood to create an army that could walk in daylight.

To overthrow Damian.

To rule the vampire world.

"We strike first," Damian said.

The plan was bold.

Infiltrate their lair.

Take the leader.

End it.

But as we prepared, Damian pulled me into his room.

"One more time," he said. "Before the battle."

I didn't argue.

We fell on the bed, frantic.

Clothes ripped.

Fangs and nails.

He took me from behind, hand in my hair, pulling just enough to hurt in the best way.

Biting my shoulder as he thrust deep.

I pushed back, meeting every move.

The bond flared — pleasure shared, doubled.

We came together, screaming each other's names.

After, he held me tight.

"No matter what happens tomorrow," he said, "you're mine."

"And you're mine."

But as I fell asleep, the hunger stirred again.

Not for him.

For power.

The voice whispered.

"Take it all."

I pushed it down.

But it was getting harder.

The battle was coming.

And so was the darkness inside me.