BLOOD LUST

I knew how it would end before it started. Not because I possess the gift of the sight—I don't—nor did I pay someone who does to tell me what my fate with the green-eyed, stumbling boy would look like. No, I knew how it would end because I planned for it, and things always go according to my plans. When my handsome, distant cousin came strolling into the castle that winter afternoon, plucky and completely unexposed to the brutal reality of the world, I knew exactly what I would do with him.

This is the horrifying story of how I got everything I ever wanted and then lost it because I’d done the one thing I swore I never would.

I fell in love.

***

I could practically see the untapped potential of his magic wafting off of him in deep crimson waves as he met with my father, explaining to the King of Velmara how his parents sent him here to train his blood magic. As he handed my father the letter from the distant Vicant relation, I held back my sneer as I watched his hands tremble in fear.

“Vattoria, take your cousin to the housekeepers and have them find him a room. He’ll be staying with us until I decide he won’t,” my father said to me. I stood, bowing my head in mock supplication before striding toward the boy and curtseying.

“If you’ll follow me,” I said, then I turned on my heel and strode out of the throne room. He shuffled awkwardly behind me, struggling to keep up as we wound our way through the endless hallways of the Velmaran castle. He didn’t talk to me, a fact I found insulting as he stared at my backside in what I considered one of my most flattering gowns.

Once the housekeeper gave us his room assignment, I escorted him there, deciding to walk beside him and make conversation.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Forty-six,” he replied stoically, eyes facing forward. I giggled, hoping the delicate feminine noise would get a reaction from him. “What’s funny about that?”

“You’re so young. Most fae mages don’t realize they can use blood as a conduit for the aether till they’re entering their first century. It’s very impressive, your age. Not funny.” I batted my lashes and quirked my lips in a seductive smile. When his cheeks reddened, I knew I’d found the way to his heart—flattery.

Males are all the same.

“I’ve been working with blood since I was nineteen. My father says the King is the most talented Mage there is. If that’s the case, then I need to learn from him.” The words were matter-of-fact, like there was no doubt in his mind he deserved the attention of the sitting monarch.

I’m the most talented Mage alive, but I don’t tell the boy that. All we females have in the Mage-run kingdom of Velmara are our secrets, and I guard those with my life. Ours is a culture that celebrates male superiority, especially amongst the mages. The Order, which is nothing more than an old and powerful family who likes to pretend they’re more, preaches that only Vicant-born fae males possess the ichor-blessed magic, willfully ignoring any evidence to the contrary. The truth is, powerful female mages emerge all the time from our large family, and I planed even then to be the most powerful among them.

“I’d love for you to show me your skill sometime,” I said, lowering my eyes, like I was embarrassed. “I can’t imagine how impressive it will be to watch such a young mage.”

“I think that could be arranged,” he said as his chest practically puffed out with his ego.

“Here’s your room,” I said with a gesture. “If you need anything, or want to show me your spells, I’m around.” I winked at him, then blushed and covered my mouth with my hand, like I couldn’t believe what I’d done. Then I left. The best way to manipulate a male is to leave them wanting more, after all.

***

It took six months for him to kiss me. Six months of delicate and suggestive touches. One hundred eighty-two days of pretending to coo and awe over his magical prowess. His focus was unparalleled, I’ll give him that. Never had I worked so hard to woo one of my conquests.

“You’ve been with us exactly six months today, did you know that?” I asked, leaning over where he crouched on the ground to gather his supplies. Wearing my best square cut dress for the occasion, I knew what my cleavage looked like from his vantage point. He glanced up once, twice, dropping the vial that contained some sampling of blood he acquired.

He stood abruptly. “Ah, yes, well, time flies.” By this point I was used to the awkward, fumbling way he moved about the world. I stepped closer, pricking my finger behind my back with one of the pins I hand sewed into each and every cuff of my clothing. Then I rubbed the silken liquid between my fingers and whispered the spell in my mind. Nothing like the showy magic the boy was learning from my father. My magic was self-taught, every spell meant to achieve useful ends with as little blood as possible. This particular spell darkened my lips and tinted my cheeks.

I stroked my fingers down his arm. “You’re the most talented mage my father’s ever trained. And yet you stay so humble. How do you do it?”

He didn’t step back, and his eyes darkened with lust even as his words remained unsure. “I—I’m just focused on the work, that’s all.”

“You could take a break sometimes though, right? Maybe to walk the gardens with me?” I licked my lips sensuously.

“Well, yes, I imagine I could find time. When did you have in mind, Miss Vattoria?”

“No time like the present.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him along before he could protest, leading us to the most secluded part of the garden in minutes. He followed without protest, his weak-willed mind content to be led to his slaughter.

Another prick of my finger, and I cast a confusion spell meant to keep him docile and so high on lust for me that he couldn’t think of anything else. I pushed him against the stone wall of the outer garden, letting my curves press into him. Pupil-blown eyes met mine, his jaw so slack I thought he might drool on me.

“I’ve hoped you would kiss me since the moment you walked into the throne room, you know.”

“Rr-really… M-miss Vatt-tt-toria…” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

I pressed my finger to his lips. “Shhh…” Then I leaned forward, just enough to make it easy for him to reach my lips with his own. That’s the trick with seduction—they have to remember it was them who took that final leap. Must think it was only their own poor choices that led to their downfall.

He crashed his lips onto mine with a hungry grunt, practically devouring my face with an aggressive and wholly unpleasant sucking. I let him, though, needing to distract him from what I was about to do.

With the boy grinding his bony hips into my upper thigh, I procured a needle with tubing and a vial attached from the inside of my dress sleeve. Then, carefully, I lifted his tunic, placing my hands on his exposed back. That made him moan in ecstasy, like he’d never been touched by a female before. He probably hadn’t. I gave my own reassuring moan, then I delicately inserted the needle.

Blood mages are ordered to protect their own blood, but in my experience, as soon as they’re engaged in other carnal acts, they forget all about that most important commandment of the Order. I wonder if female mages have the same vulnerability, or whether we—who so often must control and hide away our desire—possess the strength of will required to actually follow the laws of the Order who shuns us.

As the crimson gold we mages worship filled the vial in my hand, my skin tingled and my heart beat faster. I was—exhilarated. My brows furrowed, and I quickly smoothed my expression to keep the boy oblivious. The act of stealing blood always comes with a certain thrill, but this was different. This was electrifying.

I offered one more fake moan as I pulled the needle out. I’d perfected this act, having performed it dozens if not a hundred times over the century and a half I’d been aware of my affinity for blood magic. I learned quickly—and accidentally—that blood stolen from an unwilling mage has a certain enhanced magical ability found nowhere else. With my father’s never-ending supply of young blood mages and his indifference about them, the lifeblood of our world was mine for the taking.

I had a plan for what happened next—the same as countless times before. Cast a small spell with the stolen blood to ensure it was viably enhanced, then kill whatever poor soul had fallen prey to their better. I’d make up a story for my father about how I’d seen the boy with a servant, suggesting he ran away for love, and my father would simply move on to the next cousin who showed up. That was always how it went, how I knew it would end the moment he walked into the throne room with his hopes and dreams written so plainly across his face.

And yet…

The moment I cast my minor spell with this boy’s blood—a cloaking spell to ensure no one around us saw what happened next—a wave of the purest, most intense magical power I’d ever felt washed over me. With only the tiniest drip of blood—whatever remained on the tip of the needle, really—I nearly collapsed with the power of the aether as it flooded into me.

“Vattoria, are you okay?” the green-eyed boy asked with genuine concern, sensing my body tensing. I recovered quickly, deciding on my next step and adjusting my mental playbook accordingly.

“It’s just that, aethers, you feel so good,” I moaned as I ground my hips into his. Not a lie. His blood felt incredible. I led him to a bench and straddled him. He moved one hand from my hip and tentatively cupped my breast in his palm, squeezing. I moaned again, this time involuntarily, the scratchy material of my dress providing the perfect friction over my breasts.

“Oh. Oh. Oh,” he said awkwardly in progressively more sensual cries. With another thrust into my hips, he relaxed and his eyes closed in satisfaction.

“Uh, did you just…you know?” I asked softly, like it embarrassed me to ask. Mentally, I snickered.

“Yes,” he said dreamily, and for a moment, barely a breath, I found his naïve adolescence endearing. “You did too, right?” He looked at me hopefully, making something in my chest squeeze that I decidedly did not like. I nodded, not trusting what I would say, shaken from the momentary suspension of my unflappable cruelty. “Good,” he sighed.

He might have been the most bumbling of all the boys I’d ever played, but I let it slide. Because instead of killing him, I was going to keep this one around as my pet. I needed his blood, and the best way to control him was to keep him simpering and stuttering at the thought of having me.

***

And so it went, for years. At first, I visited him once a week to replenish my store of blood, telling myself it had nothing to do with the orgasmic way it felt to steal it from him. I had other lovers, real ones, but nothing could compare. Over time, it became an obsession, an addiction I couldn’t shake. I needed to satiate it daily, and he was more than happy to oblige. Our couplings became more and more intimate as the boy matured into a male, the once awkward and gangly adolescent learning to command me in the bedroom and satisfy my every need. Eventually, I stopped taking other lovers altogether.

His own magical ability grew under my father’s tutelage, and my own strengthened as well, fueled by his blood. All my plans shifted to include him, even the deepest and darkest desires of my heart.

You must have the blood again. It had only been an hour since we’d found pleasure in one another’s bodies and I’d taken the magical elixir from his veins. Now. It was a command, one that I desperately tried to ignore as I worked in my rooms to perfect a spell that would stop the heart of anyone within a ten-foot radius of me.

You must go now.

“Be silent,” I screamed.

“I-I didn’t s-say anything, Y-Your Hi-highness,” a pathetic voice answered. I whirled around, ready to erupt on whomever had walked in on me, only to find a tiny female chained to a table. “P-please let me g-go. I won’t tell any-anyone. I s-swear.”

Right. I’d forgotten about her. My most recent test subject.

Kill her and return for the blood.

I trailed my hand through a cut on her abdomen, something thrilling about the idea of using her own blood to kill her. Then, with a snap of my fingers, I stopped her heart, my spell finally working. Then I turned on my heel and went to search for my male.

***

“I’ve been keeping a secret from you,” I said with a seductive purr after we finished joining. I hadn’t even drawn blood from him yet, too enamored with the pleasure of his flesh.

“Is that right,” he asked with a smirk from where I had him tied to his bed. Bondage had become one of our favorite ways to pleasure one another.

“Yes,” I said, licking a single bead of blood where it dripped from the chafing wounds on his wrists.

Yes, yes. The blood. His blood. More. Now.

I buried the infernal need, willing it to quiet.

“I’ve been stealing your blood from you for years. I’m a mage.” I expected him to flinch or laugh in disbelief. Maybe become angry. Instead, he only grinned wide.

“I know, love. You didn’t think I’d been oblivious all these years, did you?” He winked. Gone was the awkward boy I’d once pitied, the difference never more stark than in this moment.

“You knew?” I asked, all I could stutter out. He shrugged.

“I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. It doesn’t change anything. I’m yours. You’re mine. We have millennia for you to tell me the rest of your secrets.”

At that confession, I whipped out my dagger and sliced his upper thigh. I wasn’t sure whether it was in punishment for his words, a way to distance myself from his vulnerability, or to reward and pleasure him for the same thing. Regardless of the reason, he moaned in ecstasy as I alternated between collecting the blood, drinking it, and writhing in pleasure at the wholly new sensation of blood given willingly.

***

The need for his blood drove me mad, always demanding more, demanding I never let him leave my side. I didn’t, and he never complained. His blood was mine to command, mine to own. When I revealed my plans to overthrow my father, he didn’t stutter as he pledged his fealty.

We launched our war on the whole Order and their ruthless monarch side by side. When it was over and I rose as the Blood Empress, he was my Consort.

Each time the crimson liquid flowed from his flesh, I walked closer and closer to the edge of insanity. Needing it, craving it, almost killing him time and time again when I took much. He begged me to wean myself off it, not for his own sake, but my own.

“You’re destroying yourself, Vattoria, my Empress, my love,” he pleaded.

Chain him up. Be done with this traitor to your ambition.

I listened to the voice that was both me and not me, only visiting his cell when it was time to collect the draught that fueled my magic. When my flesh craved his, I found new lovers to satisfy my carnal desires, each coupling darker and more gruesome in the way it ended. I could no longer seek pleasure without drawing the blood of my partner, almost always killing them in the act.

I told you that this was a love story. A horrifying, gory and gruesome tale of love and loss. I rose as Blood Empress. Challenged all who opposed me and achieved the desires of my heart. But I fell in love. I fell in love with his blood. Couldn’t live without it.

And now—I’ll do anything to get it back.