Fated to the Vampire Prince

18 • Fantasmer

Fantasmer (verb) to fantasize

Despite Shreesa's inn marking the halfway point between my chateau and Marius's, the second leg of our journey was slow. The colder it got, the more we needed to stop and allow the humans in our company time to warm themselves, and the more blood my vampires required.

This far north, the sun's rays were dulled by heavy clouds, but traveling during the day depleted us. For a week, we'd made camp at dusk. And each night, after my nightly meeting with my council, I returned to my tent to greedily feed from Claire as she laid upon a mountain of furs.

Truthfully, I didn't need to eat every day, but I couldn't stop myself. Not when she was right there, so warm and soft, and feeding had become my excuse just to be close to her.

If I was feeding, I could throw her trembling legs over my shoulder. I could kiss her thigh. I could twist our fingers together. I could wipe clean the wound and ensure she ate. I could keep her company and learn more about her before she drifted off to sleep.

But touching her and holding her and stealing laughs with her late into the night wasn't the only thing I wanted.

I needed her. All of her. Needed to be inside her. Claiming her. Pleasuring her. Fucking her. Coaxing more than little whimpers from her lips. Giving myself to her over and over. I needed to hear her scream my name. Needed to feel those soft thighs around my waist as I came deep inside her.

But those were only the things I imagined. It was harder to ignore reality.

Smelling Claire's desire was nothing compared to seeing it soaked through her undergarments every single night when my face was between her legs. It was torture. If only my enemies had this information, they'd know exactly how to bring me to my knees.

I'd give up blood for a month just for a taste of her sweet pussy. I'd sacrifice my life to make her smile.

The slow smile that had spread across my face shrank, and I cursed myself for being so weak-minded. It was truly pathetic how desperate I'd become.

Claiming her was an instinct I had to ignore, but doing so was like holding a lid over a boiling pot. The pressure building inside of me was unbearable.

At times of weakness, I considered showing her my bloodstone and confessing the truth. That we were meant to be, if only we wanted it.

But I kept the words behind my teeth, because I didn't want it. Couldn't want it. There was too much on the line, and Tyson's presence was a constant reminder of my oath to protect. If I gave in and told her, I'd lose it all. To him. And he was incapable of doing my job.

But at the same time, she was all I could think about. Even now, as I sat in this very important meeting with people I cared about and respected, I was distracted. Keeping my senses focused in the direction of my tent in case anything happened to her in my absence.