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.
━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━
[highest rank: #1 in feed...
[feedback, critique, and comments welcome; please point out any typos]
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Since he sunk his teeth into my neck, whenever we're together, we have to touch in some way. And it's making me crazy.
According to Atlas, this sort of intensity between Mark and vampyr should fade in time. Strong in the beginning, because the bond is so fresh. But as time weakens the bond, as is only natural, that intensity disappears. But the intensity between us has not lessened.
At breakfast, the King of Vampyrs rests his arm about the back of my chair, playing with the ruffles at my shoulder.
Across the table, Prince Laizef watches us with his reptilian eyes and a quirked brow. I shrink from his amused expression.
Beside me, Felice is as equally amused. But that something wicked to her features suggests that she thinks she knows what happened—something wicked, something lewd. I look away from her as well, face aflame.
"I must say," Prince Laizef begins, grinning, "it's nice to see that you've yet to leave the honeymoon phase."
"Laizef," drawls Atlas, exasperated.
Those snake eyes latch onto Atlas. "It is a simple compliment, My Liege. Do you harbor that much suspicion against me?"
Among the bites and kisses and touches, I had forgotten about the Prince's unusual behavior. Not to mention the frustration Atlas had been experiencing because of the mismatched numbers in the paperwork. He probably suspects that Prince Laizef is behind the conundrum.
A shiver courses through me. He only started acting like a nuisance once Atlas Marked me. I cannot shake the feeling that this entire thing is rooted in the fact that the King Marked a Sierv from a lesser district—and entirely by accident. It is my fault.
Despite the kindness of his smile, Atlas's eyes are hard. "You're unable to mind your manners. That is all. Why? Should I be suspicious of you?" He arches an eyebrow in challenge.
Prince Laizef chuckles and his grin broadens, fangs on display. "You need to develop a sense of humor, Atlas. You've never been able to take a joke. No offense, of course." With that, he steps from the table, three Feeders in tow.
Tense silence follows. But Felice muses, "He's right, you know."
Atlas and I snap to her, and she's smiling lazily. Head in her hand, she says, "You can't take a joke."
As she chortles to herself, Atlas rolls his eyes, and the tension in the air lifts.
After breakfast, we return to our private wing. Rather than settle in my room like usual, we retire to Atlas's chamber. We talk for a bit, though Atlas seems distracted. When the conversation ceases and I turn to the book waiting on the table, his gaze becomes both distant and troubled.
