Page 50 of Little Mate
Placing her on her feet, I take two steps back and motion with a hand to the door. “You are amazing and more than I deserve, but I’ll prove myself worthy. Every minute—every second of the day—and I’ll start now by worshipping that tiny pink cunt until you cry and beg, but even then, I won’t stop. Your scent will be embedded into my flesh. Your pleasure is my greatest reward, pretty girl.”
“Theo, I—”
“Go and present for your mate, sweetheart. I’m going to prove to you with my mouth how perfect you are in every way.”
Music plays in the background a few nights later, the cacophony of instruments creating a melodic cadence that a group inside the room sways to in celebration of their king’s mate. The pairs, many traveling from as far as America, twirl in a circular fashion while spectators talk quietly amongst themselves dressed in their best garments—sizing up their counterparts and how they can climb a little higher on the vampiric social ladder.
Greed. Lust. Hunger.
Each infiltrates the room as a hedonic edge of pleasure ripples through the air; my pretty girl watches this from her rightful seat at the center of it all. The choreography follows the light tone, the band keeping those celebrating appeased as those within the circle count steps and twirl, clapping at the end before bowing to their queen.
She’s the main event.
The one they clamor to gain favor from after doubting her intentions.
Idiots. Not all of them, though. Tero and Marcia watch from the sidelines while Brodej and his wife each stand by a doorway. Then you have the elders who came forward and welcomed my soon-to-be wife—because I plan to tie myself to her in every fucking way—with open arms and a gentle demeanor and who keep away those attempting to move closer.
My girl is too smart for them, though.
Too cunning and unapologetic while seeing through each attempt. Her uninterested stare tells them as much.
My eyes cut to Veltross from my place behind a curtain, the drapery shadowing my face, but my subjects know I’m here. He’s nursing his hand while speaking with a young blonde—his daughter—who’s giving my mate her back, and the loss of an appendage, a wound to his ego, wasn’t enough of a lesson it seems.
I smirk, knowing this won’t be the last time I hurt him.
I’m going to enjoy it. Putting him and anyone who dare put a toe out of line in their place.
Those dancing switch partners then, their well-practiced hand maneuvers tapering into a more sophisticated waltz. They fall in line, and their forms, the aristocratic posture in their stance, become poised and full of finesse. Each step is refined, their pivots regal while onlookers give small applause that lasts no longer than three of Gabriella’s heartbeats.
Silence follows. My pretty girl is riveted, yet nothing is more beautiful than her.
Simply sitting and breathing; two actions that on her I find captivating.
They do their best to ignore my presence, but hers they can’t deny. She’s dressed in an extravagant gown a deep shade of red reminiscent of the color of blood with a golden lace overlay. It’s strapless, the bodice tight from her chest to knees where it then flares out a bit. The silk is soft, so feminine, but I do appreciate the lace that’s provocative in its simplicity.
Gabriella stands out amongst the crowd; a modern to their more Victorian style, indicative of when most of these women were born.
Pretty girl’s eyes traverse the room, her head held high, and shoulders pulled slightly back. She’s making eye contact with many, not shying away from the bright red eyes or the hungry black of those who still haven’t been fed. If anything, I feel amusement through our bond, but no reproach or disgust while the humans in the room shiver in fear.
She’s also tired. Her weariness is heavy.
“Not very nice of you, pretty girl,” I say, my voice husky as her cherries and vanilla cream scent with a hint of arousal infiltrates my senses. More so when I drag a finger from her right shoulder to the left, my sharp nail leaves a minute scratch behind. No blood, just a slight pink. “You want me to paint the walls red before the others have eaten? Or kill my people.”
“Well, you’re no fun tonight.” There’s a pout on her lips, which pulls a chuckle from me. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve laughed today alone. I’m a completely different man with her. “I thought indulging me was the highlight of your life. Besides, the auras of your dining choices are dark. So rancid. What hell-hole did they crawl out of?”
“It is, and they are. Many come from the human jail or were caught misbehaving.” Goose bumps rise across her skin where I skim my nails, then dip the tip of my fingers under the thin material of her dress over the ridges of her spine. Caressing her back, I enjoy the way she leans into me and the soft sigh that escapes those sweet berry lips. “But I’m a beast, sweetheart. A possessive one at that, and I don’t want anyone to smell you—how wet for me you are.”
“Can’t help myself when you’re close. Even if it’s a few feet away.”
Her confession makes me pause. It dawns on me. “You can sense me? How?”
Tipping her head back, Gabriella's eyes smile. Crinkle just the tiniest bit at the corner. “To me you are this force, an uncontrollable wave of pleasure that constantly licks at my flesh, pulling me in its direction. You are vibrant and strong, and the pulse never ebbs no matter how near or far you are.”
Screams rend the air, and four male bodies fall to their knees, each one simultaneously cupping their necks while vampires hiss. Blood pours from a thin line, the scent creating a small frenzy that pulls the attention from my queen.
Many laugh. Others lick their lips.
She’s not affected by any of it. Instead, her eyes remain on mine. The upward curve of her lips is directed solely for me. She really accepts me.