Bite Me Royal... (Mature Vampire Romance 18+)

Chapter Thirteen

Yalifah, forgive my sickly acts of revenge. However for this transgression, I grant sanction," he speaks, turns to tread towards chaise where he sits himself ever so peacefully.

Yes, in this moment I feel conflicted. Truth, I have loathed the man Jafari, hated down to the very name of him. Detested the very expensive perfumery scents of him on those evenings he'd lock me inside his private chambers and coerce me to fall on my knees and pleasure him. I resented -still do- the unholy memories of women from whom he took and took and bathed in the glory of their innocent natures.

But truthfully, watching as his bones snapped so mercilessly, observing as the scarlet leaked and trickled and poured profusely from his flesh made me feel things disturbing. Not sympathy, not empathy, no. But a thing akin to furious disgust. I should have nightmares from the violence and grotesqueness of it all.

Door glides open and shut and in proceeds another lad, a man so tall, so large I crane my neck to look upon him whilst he passes me and pads over to where Amir remains plastered. He bows head, clasps veiny arms to his backside. His fingers appear coarse and dirtied.

His fingernails are chipped and bent and broken. A scar so deep runs from his elbow down to his wrist. It causes my brain to stir. How should he have acquired it? From wars and battles won or lost? From slaying another or from defending self?

"You sent for me, my prince," man speaks, his voice deep, heavy, somewhat raspy.
"I have, Mahaleel."

And as the response tumbles so very smoothly past Amir's lips, he rises upon him so that he towers the soldier by mere inches. Still, what does he scheme? What is his intent with the lad?

"You shalt forget that which you see, feel, hear, till you cross past my chamber doors, Mahaleel. Stay calm, stay still."

Once his monotone rings, once those words glide past his mouth, he spares me a moment's worth a glance. There is a glint to his eyes as he looks upon me. All humor drains from his facial features. I take notice of how his fingers tremble so subtly. Hunger. A desperate need to feed. And he does. Right before my eyes his canines elongate past his lips and glimmer like little steel blades.

And yet the soldier remains put, hardly budges, is hardly fazed. Amir draws nearer to him. Teeth sink past flesh and my eyes widen as they do. Amir's palm cups man's neck a tad bit too firmly. He drinks, sips and sips and sates his animalistic urges. All this he does whilst he gazes upon me.

His eyes are of an unholy blackness yet I cannot avert gaze and look elsewhere. It's as though I remain entrapped, glued to floors. I should fear. The horror should jolt down each vein and course through my blood till it burns my body. But no. Perplexity. Fascination. I feel these emotions. Not terror.

He draws away from the soldier and the lad turns and treads towards doors where he slips right past. Not a single word. Not a moan or a grunt of displeasure or disdain. Just an empty shell of a man. I turn from the shutting doors to Amir who now dubs lips using a simple cotton clothe.

"Do not look upon me in that manner, Yalifa. I take only what is fitting, nothing more."
"May I ask a thing, my prince?" I tame my voice whilst I question.

He tilts head, gazes upon me in a manner that has me questioning my question. Then, he smirks. 'Tis a subtle gesture, nearly unnoticeable but there still.

"You may, Yalifa."

I tread carefully upon deathly grounds. I swallow. I speak.

"If I were to down my blood in a flute and hand it over, should you know if the scarlet were mine or another's?"

His smirk turns to smile. An alluring one that strikes a fear within.

"Mhm. I should. As I said to you before. The blood of a gypsy witch is like the ground leaves of tobacco. Addictive. Trust and believe. It should not only be addictive but a vampire's downfall."