Kings of underland a bri.., p.18
Kings of Underland: A Bride for Beasts, page 18
My voice is rough, edged with sex but firmer even than I mean it to be.
Now that I’ve said it though, I know it to be true: I won’t be tricked by monsters with pretty faces.
“Relax, Boss’ Wife,” Raiden murmurs with a violent half-smile, one sharp fang showing over his lip. “I’m offering you more power: take part in the Eternal Tea party and become my Escort.”
“Your … slave and your escort?” I’m not even mad about it, but I’m also thinking that maybe it’s time to leave the room, so I don’t wring this man’s neck. “You asked me in here for that?”
“I said servant, and only loosely.” Raiden strokes my hair back with two fingers. It seems suggestive somehow, like he’s insinuating that he might want to part my swollen flesh with them. “Let me give you my mark”—he taps at the side of my neck with those same two fingers, right over the spot where he bit me—“and become my Eternal Escort. It’s a position in name only, really. It gives me the opportunity to take from you what others have to kill for.” He draws his mouth near mine, and then he bites my lip with that single fang, making me bleed. The pheromones make it so that it doesn’t hurt at all, so that it only feels good. Exquisite. “As I said, to kill a monster, you have to take his heart.”
“Eternal Escort?” I echo, and Rab sighs, pausing with his hand over his crotch as he stares at me with narrowed eyes. He’s ready to get to the dirty parts of this tea party, and apparently, I’m not picking up the hints fast enough.
“If you let him do this, you’re linked for life. When he drinks from you during sex, he can draw your magic and longevity to the last drop without hurting you at all. Eventually, when you die—through old age, accident, or design—you’ll become a vampire. If you die again, you’re both gone—permanently. And vice versa.” Rab gestures between the two of us with a single finger. “If he dies, you’re out, Sonny. That is the exchange. As for him, he’ll never become one of the true undead—a vampire whose heart is held by a necromancer and controlled.”
The way Raiden’s peering down at me now, I wonder if I’ve been missing this all along. Those vampires at the castle, the ones that turned to dust in the dungeons, were they undead then? Somebody had hold of their hearts?
I remember, too, what he said about killing a vampire, about soaking their hearts in boiling tea. He might’ve been being literal—this is Underland, after all—but he might’ve been figurative, too. In order to kill a vampire, you have to destroy the heart.
Somebody killed those vampires—remotely? Is that it? If so, I’m certainly not the first person to have thought of it. That would explain why Raiden was acting strange about the entire scenario. The cold air in the hallway, the strange black blood. Interesting.
“If I give my heart to someone else, nobody can ever take it from me.” Raiden slides his hand down the curve of my waist, and I shudder at the contact of his hot palm on my naked flesh. “You would be my escort to eternity, Alice. And I, yours. Escort, as in someone who guides or leads.” He leans in and puts his mouth to my ear. “Not escort, like in hooker, but if you want me to fuck you like a whore, I certainly can.”
My cheeks flame, but I’m intrigued despite myself.
“You want to know the best part?” Raiden continues, before I can decide whether to slap him or kiss him or accept this insane offer he’s making me. He looks me dead in the eyes as he says this. “We’d never have to live a day without the other.”
“He’s a drop-dead romantic, isn’t he, Doll?” March drawls out, having moved from the muffin to a peach, one that looks a little too plump, that’s just a little too juicy. His lips are shiny, and there are a few droplets on his chest, over his nipple, making it shine. He pretends to be surprised by it and then proceeds to wipe himself off with a wet napkin that he drags over his nipple until it’s nice and hard. “You should accept: it’s a good deal.”
“If it’s such a good deal, then why haven’t you done it?” I snap back, head reeling. When I die, I become a vampire? Essentially, this is a deal to give me a second chance if something catastrophic happens. On the other hand, it gives Raiden an immense amount of sway over the group: if he can feed from me without draining me, he can drink until he’s full.
In the case of a vampire as powerful as Raiden, that means more power, more control.
“Well?” he queries, voice kissed with impatience. He knows I’m going to accept, and I know I’m going to accept, but I at least have to pretend to think about it. Now I understand why the King in particular might not like this: it shifts the advantage in our marriage that Red thought he had by being the King of Hearts.
It makes perfect sense to me why he was initially reluctant to get married: because of this. They’re all kings now, not just him. But this? This is a uniquely Raiden advantage.
“Mm …” I drag the sound out until he yanks me so hard against him that I almost come just from the friction through my panties. “If you die, I die …” The chances of the Mad Hatter being taken down anytime soon are slim to none. Even less than none. It’s not a bad deal, not at all. “We’ll never live a day apart, huh? Are you sure that I even care about that?”
He shark-smiles at me.
“Does it even matter? That’s just an add-on, Alice. You see this for what it is, right?”
Raiden Walker.
He intrigues you, doesn’t he, Dear Reader? Don’t you want to know what it feels like to be laid out on a table, underneath him? Don’t you want to feel what it’s like when he bites? Don’t lie to me: I know that you do.
But don’t worry: I’m not stupid.
I’ll do it for us both.
“Fine.” It’s the clearest, most concise way—also the snippiest—for me to agree without sounding eager. “If you truly believe this is best for our family, then go ahead.” I lift my chin, exposing my neck. My words are steady, but he can see my pulse, hear it, feel it. There’s no lying to be done here.
“For the good of our family, eh?” Raiden glances over at March before letting his gaze swing to Rab. “Hmm.”
He turns back to me. His eyes are what draw me in at first, the color, the shape, the slow, suggestive way he blinks those long lashes at me.
Oh, Raiden is beautiful, no doubt about it. He’s beautiful in the way that most predators are, like both an invitation and a threat. He is, quite literally, in the span of a single salacious blink, inviting me to submit myself to being eaten, to being used.
I want it.
There’s no shame in admitting that the very idea of being devoured by beasts is appealing.
No shame in admitting or submitting … in the bedroom only, of course.
Raiden uses my hips to push me back, placing his palm on the center of my chest and lowering me down to the table. Dishes go flying, clattering to the floor, and a vase of flowers spills, wetting my long hair. He runs that ravenous gaze of his down the length of me, and then drops his hungry mouth to the sweet, white skin of my inner thigh.
He nips me there, drawing blood, smearing red across my skin like paint on a canvas. He then swipes his fingers through it, pushes the crotch of my panties aside, and inserts them inside of me.
“Delicious,” he murmurs, dropping his mouth down for a taste. He devours me through the lace, but it’s not enough. It’s just a hint of enough, and I want more. My fingers dig into his hair, and he laughs, almost hysterically, nuzzling the nook between my leg and pelvis. “I was going to mark your neck, so it was visible to the world, but … this is better. A secret for you and me.”
He latches down on my leg, and I scream, more from anticipation than pain. It doesn’t hurt at all. Instead, it feels so good that my body goes taut, like a string pulled from my skull to my pelvis. I can’t breathe, and I’m coming from being eaten.
I’m a feast for a beast, and I don’t even care. I’m having an orgasm, and he’s just barely gone down on me, just barely slipped two fingers in. It may very well be the best one I’ve ever had.
The buzzing sensation of magic stirs in my belly, traveling through my blood and into Raiden’s mouth. I swear, I can feel that. He draws back slightly, bites down on his own wrist, and then offers it up to me. This isn’t the first time we’ve exchanged blood—he uses it to heal quite liberally—but I can sense that something about this time is different.
My mouth slips over his wrist, our eyes locked as I drink from him. It doesn’t taste as bad as usual, like nectar as it slides down my throat. When Raiden pulls his arm back, I’m almost sad to see it go. My gaze drifts down to my thigh where a black and red mark remains on my skin, like Raiden’s teeth seared into my flesh. A tattoo where nobody can see it.
And all the while, Rab and March watch, silent but present in the moment.
“Not up for a taste then?” Rab challenges, unbuttoning his pants with a flick of his thumb. “What with the Mad Hatter’s form in you, I imagined you would be.”
March is stoic, leaned back and smirking. He licks his fingers to clean off the peach juice, sliding them all the way in to the knuckle. He turns his eyes to me as he does it, too.
“Oh, but unlike you, Rab, I know how to control myself.” March scoots his chair back and stands up, moving over to the table to kiss my forehead. I’m panting now, soaked in sweat, boneless.
But hungry, too.
“Where are you going?” I ask as he turns and makes his way toward the exit. I tilt my head all the way back so that I’m looking at him upside down. He lifts up his right hand and gives a dismissive, little wave.
“Only came in here to make sure he behaved himself. Now that you’re his Eternal Escort, you don’t need me as a referee anymore. Later, mates.” March heaves the wooden door open and slips out before I can figure out what to say or even understand his motives.
A pressure on my waist draws my attention back around as Raiden takes the crotch of my panties in his fist and gives them a hard yank. The fabric tears easily, and he tosses it aside like trash. His eyes still on mine, he drops back down and presses his bloody mouth to my naked pussy.
Raiden consumes me in more ways than one, tasting my blood and my nectar, pausing only to drink from my thigh. Getting drunk on my body, contaminated by it. He gets rough with my pussy, nipping and licking and biting, and then when it’s sore and swollen and aching, he rises up and drives hard into me.
My back scrapes against the rough wood of the table, his heavy heat pinning me to the surface. It creaks as he moves, echoing strangely in that seemingly endless room with its missing walls and its missing ceiling and its hissing fireplace.
Raiden takes my left wrist first, drawing it up to his mouth and biting down, lapping at the wound with his sharp tongue while he continues to fuck me. And then he switches to the right wrist, drinking and thrusting and groaning as he smears my flesh with red.
“Oh, this is going to be so much fucking fun,” he growls, and then he stretches over me, dropping his mouth to mine and keeping my wrists pinned with his hands. His thumbs dance over the bite wounds that he left, adding extra pulses of pleasure to the already overwhelming surge.
The lace of my bra makes for rough friction against my nipples as they’re crushed beneath his hard body. Each movement of his hips drags them between us, making me writhe and buck.
I’m peaking higher and higher, my mouth open to Raiden’s kisses, eyes squeezed shut against the incoming onslaught. And then he groans, and laughs, and he’s drawing out of me and clutching his cock in a fist, drenching me with white ropes of cum.
“Like you said, Escort.” He grins at me, and I reach for Chevalier, yanking her from the sheath and swinging the blade around to press up against his throat. Her one lavender eye opens and then immediately slams shut. “Kill me and you kill us both.” Raiden cocks his head at me with a smile. “What a shame for you.”
“You’re done,” I tell him, using the sword to point. “Get off of me and piss off.”
“You’re right: I am done,” he says with another laugh, sliding off the table and leaving me in a frenzied rage. I almost chase him down with the sword and kill him anyway. Fortunately for him, he pauses beside the table to look down at me, a serious expression etched into his red-stained mouth. “Thank you, Alice.” He puts a hand to his chest then shatters into a cauldron of bats.
That’s what a group of bats is called you know, a cauldron. Like a murder of crows. A pack of wolves. A conspiracy of ravens. A kindle of kittens. A wake of vultures.
“Ugh.” I sheathe the sword, setting it aside and running both palms over my face as Rab appears at the end of the table. He grabs onto my ankles with both hands and drags me down toward him, yanking me into his arms, and then pressing my ass into the edge of the table.
His pants are down around his ankles, his waistcoat shucked, his brows lowered and lips pressed into a tight smirk.
“You better be careful, Sonny. If you start making deals, then we’re all going to expect bargains.”
“What is it that you want from me?” I demand, breathing hard, my hands on his shoulders. His cock is sliding between my outer folds, using the blood and the slickness of my own desire to slip back and forth with the slightest rocking of his hips.
“Besides your pussy?” he queries back, like how dare I ask such a stupid fucking question. “Only Time will tell, don’t you think? Or do you believe Time keeps all his secrets?”
“I think you might do something better with the time,” I murmur, trying to be flirtatious, “than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.”
My lashes flutter as I curl an arm around Rab’s neck, reveling in the heat of his skin even as his voice is as cold as ice. He pulls back before I can kiss him, lifting a black brow in query.
“If you knew Time as well as I do,” Rab whispers, “you wouldn’t talk about wasting it. It’s him.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Now I’m getting annoyed. I expect a certain level of whimsy when it comes to these men, but not in the bedroom. Err, figuratively in the bedroom. When sex is involved, I want straightforward answers, not riddles.
“Of course you don’t!” Rab replies, tossing his head contemptuously. “I dare say you never even spoke to Time!”
“Perhaps not,” I cautiously reply, sensing that I’m on the verge of getting some real information out of this nonsense. Sometimes, when these men are playing word games, it’s best to retaliate with more of the same. “But I know I have to beat time when I learn music.”
“Ah! That accounts for it,” Rab responds, running his lascivious tongue across his lips. “He won’t stand beating. Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he’d do almost anything you liked with the clock.” He laughs and then leans his forehead up against mine, dropping his voice to a whisper. “For instance, suppose it were nine o’clock in the morning, and you thought fuck me, I really have to get up? You’d only have to whisper a hint to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling! Half-past one, the slacker’s moment to rise!”
Rab exhales heavily and then strokes a gloved hand down my hair.
“Is Time really the name of a person or are you fucking with me?” I ask finally, wiggling my hips and relishing the way his lids flutter with the movement of my slippery pussy against his rock-hard dick. I know that the White Rabbit has access to time magic: he can literally stop time. Of course, it comes at the expense of his life. One second of time stopped for one hour of his life lost.
I find that to be a fool’s bargain.
“When the Time comes, promise me that you’ll have my back,” Rab asks, his voice a frantic plea. I don’t understand what he’s talking about—when the time comes doesn’t seem like a mindless adage in this particular case. “I’ve never had anyone who cared about my back unless it was my backside, and they were keen for a quick fuck. That’s all I’ve ever been, Sonny. Good for a fuck or a suicide mission. You’re the first and only person that’s ever been mine, that wanted me to be theirs.”
Oh.
I put a hand up against the side of his vicious face, wondering if he’s ever shown this level of vulnerability to anyone else in his life. I could very well be the first.
“Time …” I start, but Rab just shakes his head again.
“Waits for no one,” he finishes, but there’s a flicker of fear in his words that makes me wonder. Time isn’t just a concept in this conversation. I get the idea that Time might be the name of a person. In a world where the Dean is named the Dean, and the Duke is the Duke, I don’t see why not. Underland isn’t subtle in its branding or naming. Did I mention that the capital of our kingdom is called the Capital of Hearts? Another aptly named but not particularly creative locale. “When he comes, you’ll support me, won’t you?”
“Rab, I’m on your side. We’re married, remember? We’re a family now.”
There’s a flicker in his red eyes before he blinks, and there’s nothing left but twin red flames, drawing me in like a moth. If my wings turn to ash, so be it.
“A family …” Rab makes a sound that could be a laugh or could also be a scoff of disbelief. Maybe it’s both? He’s a give-no-fucks villain with a penchant for violence and an appropriately tragic backstory.
All I know of it is the mouse … He had a pet mouse. And that mouse met a very tragic ending.
Rab, of the red eyes and the too dark hair, a smile like a shark’s-tooth necklace. His tattoos harden his already sharp edges. They adorn. They decorate. They taint.
Rab is everything I’ve ever been told to stay away from. He’s the quintessential fix-me-up bad boy with haunted eyes and a “fuck-me-till-I’m-all-better” pout. He is undeniably dangerous and yet, he makes me feel safe, like he’s a storm, but I’m the eye, like he’d kill the world but never me.
That is Rab’s appeal, being in his confidence in a way few others—if any—are. I have become the center of Rab’s world, the locus of his everything.
“How is it that you want to be fucked, Sonny?” he inquires simply, utilizing an old childhood nickname of mine. Allison. Sonny. Get it?
