Mara's bloodmark makes her a servant of the Royal Court of Vampyrs - until the King accidentally marks her as his mate. Meanwhile, dark unrest stirs among the royal vampyrs, with Mara caught in the crosshairs.
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The fear returns as I pace my room, surprised my feet have yet to dig out paths in the floor. My hands fidget, toying with my clothes and threading through my hair. My heart pumps in time with the nervous somersaults in my stomach. A cold sweat drenches my palms.
Can I truly let Atlas feed from me? Allow those fangs to pierce my skin and steal my blood? While a part of me barks that I should just get it over with—that overanalyzing and fretting will only make it worse—a louder part whispers resistance.
My thoughts spiral into ridiculous territory. What if my blood tastes bad? My bloodmark may not repulse him, but my blood might. What if he's allergic to my unique blend of copper and salt? What if, by feeding, it weakens our blood bond?
What if it intensifies it?
I already thrum when we share a room. My Mark stretches, as though reaching out for him. My skin tingles with need, with want. Propriety and the nagging belief that Atlas does not want me in that way keep me from acting on those urges. If they intensified, I doubt my convictions will remain strong—I could do something I'd regret.
A huff releases. A gentle reminder prods my racing thoughts: I do not have to feed him today. Getting myself so worked up helps nothing. With a relaxing breath, my hands fall to my side. And I decide: not today.
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When I push the bathroom door open, it doesn't register that it's in current use. Rather, I preoccupy myself with pressing my hair to my eye and sifting through my whirlwind of thoughts.
A cough ceases the storm. My gaze lifts, and lands on a shirtless Atlas.
My heart hurls itself at my ribs, trying to break through. It constricts my lungs, making my breath shallow. Heat consumes me from head to foot. And though propriety implores me to look away, I openly stare.
Water from the bath drips along his arms and chest. The droplets gather at the towel wrapped about his waist. Muscles press against the smoothness of his skin. His large shoulders guide my eyes to his developed pectorals, down to his abdomen, and then to the defined V of his hips. He's mostly hairless, aside from the bit around his bellybutton and the strip that disappears beneath the towel.
