Chapter 81: Cruel Velthornes & Fiery.
Alaric carefully laid Salviana onto the cushions in their dimly lit chambers. He took two steadying breaths, his gaze sharpening as the faint, metallic scent of her blood began to fill the air.
Every instinct within him flared, each inhale torturous as he fought to keep himself composed. She kept her head bowed, her expression clouded with shame.
Removing his gloves with slow precision, he lowered himself onto one knee before her. He stretched his hand toward her, his voice slipping out rough and strained, "Your hand."
Salviana blinked, momentarily lost, before hesitantly extending her palm. As he held it, his eyes flickered over her hand, taking in the thin scratches streaked with fresh blood, each wound stark against her soft skin.
His brow furrowed, and he looked at her as though the marks had carved through her very bones.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice softened now, his gaze meeting her glassy, pained eyes.
She swallowed. "It stings a little," she murmured, her voice trembling as she fought the sudden urge to let her eyes close, to find comfort under his gaze.
Alaric gently lifted her hand to his lips, his warm breath sending a soft breeze across her palm, soothing the wounds.
Then, with measured slowness, he pressed his mouth to her skin, his tongue brushing over the cuts with a tenderness that made her suck in a sharp breath, caught between surprise and the slight sting.
He could feel her pulse race beneath his touch, her entire form tensing yet yielding in the same beat.
In that quiet, intimate moment, the tension between them seemed to swell and fade, her pain soothed, and his hunger and anger fuelled by the little taste of blood that he had gotten from her.