Reaping The Red Heir

37. Love Bites

Pierce's voice was softer than usual, almost reverent. His arms were still wrapped around my waist, his grip firm yet gentle, as if afraid I might disappear if he let go.

"I'm awestruck," I said, even as my gaze remained ensnared by his.

He smiled a warm, genuine smile that seldom found its way onto his face. "It's a rare sight," he admitted. "The glades only reveal themselves a few weeks out of the year. You have to know exactly when and where to find them."

"How did you discover this place?" I asked, my words murmuring softly, as though a louder tone might fracture the enchantment of the moment.

"I stumbled upon it fourteen years ago," he replied, his voice equally soft. "I had come across references to it in texts, glimpsed it on a handful of ancient maps, but it was by sheer chance that I found it after an evening of drinking," he shared with a soft laugh.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the image of Pierce stumbling around drunk in the wilderness. I mused that it must have required a sea of whiskey for him to accomplish such a feat.

"That's quite the adventure," I said, my eyes dancing with amusement. "I'm trying to picture you, the mighty Red Prince, stumbling through the forest with a bottle in hand."

"Oh, it was far from dignified, I assure you." He gestured with a nod in the direction of the forest. "I tripped over more roots than I care to admit and scared off half the wildlife with my cursing."

I chuckled at the image. "What could possibly drive you to drink so heavily?"

Pierce's eyes darkened, and his smile faded, the lighthearted moment evaporating. "I watched my father destroy innocent lives that day,"

His words, heavy with sorrow, lingered in the space that separated us. "That must have been..."

"Unbearable," he finished for me, his tone bitter. His face, once clouded, eased into calmness. "Yet, I discovered beauty amidst the bloodshed that day," he murmured as his eyes searched mine.

"I must confess, these days, something more captivating eclipses even the Glades for me."

His forehead grazed mine, and a grin tugged at my lips, though it resembled more of a smirk. "Me?" I asked, a teasing lilt to my voice. "Surely, you don't mean me, Your Highness."

The corner of his mouth twitched as if he were suppressing a smile. "What do you think, little Reaper?" he murmured, his voice a tantalizing whisper.

What did I think?

I wanted to kiss him—oh, the horror! The sheer, unadulterated nightmare of it all. In an effort to keep my treacherous lips in check, I repeated a mantra in my head like a broken record.

"Do not kiss the insufferable, arrogant vampire prince,"

As if my heart would suddenly realize, Oh, right! He's the bane of my existence, not a potential romantic interest.

"I think," I began, my voice laced with feigned innocence as I tugged playfully at the collar of his shirt, "that you, the Red Heir, have fallen in love with a Reaper."

It was a joke, a playful barb meant to lighten the heavy air between us. He knew it, and I knew it.

Vampires couldn't love like humans. Alongside their enhanced senses, their capacity for emotion was diminished, a reason many were merciless.

Still, this fact didn't stop the ridiculous flutter in my heart— what a traitorous organ—at the thought it could be true.

He cocked an eyebrow, his piercing gaze holding a hint of challenge.