Four

Ronan tossed in the massive bed, sheets tangled around his hips like chains. Sleep had finally dragged him under after hours of pacing and snarling at shadows, but it brought no peace. In the dream he was back in the mud of the battlefield, only this time there was no war around them. Just the two of them.

Elias was underneath him again, but the vampire’s eyes weren’t full of hate. They burned with the same raw hunger Ronan felt twisting in his own gut. Pale hands gripped Ronan’s shoulders, claws digging in just enough to sting. Ronan growled low and ground his hips down, cock sliding hard and hot against Elias’s thigh. The vampire arched up to meet him, mouth open in a silent snarl that turned into a moan when Ronan bit down on the side of his neck. Not enough to kill. Just enough to claim. Blood, hot and sweet, flooded his tongue while Elias’s hand fisted in his hair and pulled him closer.

“Fuck you,” Elias hissed in the dream, but his legs spread wider, letting Ronan settle between them. Their cocks rubbed together, slick with sweat and pre cum, the friction brutal and perfect. Ronan thrust harder, pinning the vampire king beneath his heavier frame, one hand wrapping around both their lengths and stroking rough and fast. Elias’s head fell back, exposing more of that long throat, body shuddering every time Ronan’s thumb brushed over the sensitive head of his cock.

The bond sang between them, golden and vicious, turning every touch into fire. Ronan felt everything, Elias’s pleasure, his anger, the way his body opened and begged even while his mouth spat curses. He wanted to bury himself inside the vampire, wanted to fuck him until neither of them could think about war or bloodlines or centuries of killing. He wanted to hear Elias scream his name while he came apart.

Ronan woke up with a gasp, cock throbbing painfully hard against his stomach, sheets damp with sweat and a wet spot from where he’d been leaking. His heart hammered like he’d run fifty miles. The dream still clung to him, Elias’s pale skin flushed, those crimson eyes half-lidded with lust, the way his body had felt under Ronan’s hands.

“Fuck,” he snarled, sitting up fast. His cock twitched angrily, demanding attention. He was so horny it hurt, balls tight and heavy, skin oversensitive. The bond pulsed in his chest like a second heartbeat, mocking him.

Rage crashed over the lust in a hot wave. Ronan grabbed the nearest thing, a heavy iron candlestick from the bedside table and hurled it across the room. It smashed into the wall with a loud crack, denting the stone. He followed it with a goblet, then a chair that splintered against the door. The noise brought guards running, but one look at his face and they backed out fast, closing the door behind them.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The bond, the dream, the constant pull toward that leech bastard. Ronan stormed over to the rope by his bed and yanked it hard, summoning one of the mistresses who lived in the east wing for nights exactly like this.

Lira arrived within minutes, dark hair loose, wearing nothing but a thin silk robe. She knew the look on his face. She always had. No words were needed. She let the robe drop and climbed onto the bed, pulling him down on top of her.

Ronan took her hard and fast, the way he usually did when the wolf rode him too close to the surface. He buried his face in her neck and thrust deep, growling with every snap of his hips. Her body was warm and soft and wet for him, but it felt… wrong. Empty. He fucked her harder, trying to chase the release he desperately needed, hands gripping her thighs hard enough to bruise. She moaned and arched, nails raking down his back, but all he could think about was pale skin and sharp fangs and the way Elias had ground against him in the mud.

Nothing. No real satisfaction. The edge stayed just out of reach, frustrating and humiliating. His cock stayed rock hard even after she came around him, clenching tight. He kept going, pounding into her until sweat poured down his back, but the bond kept whispering in the back of his mind. Wrong. Not him. Not enough.

Miles away in the Obsidian Palace, Elias froze mid-step in his private chambers.

The feeling hit him like a physical blow, waves of lust and frustration that weren’t his own. His knees nearly buckled. He gripped the back of a chair, breath coming short as phantom sensations rolled through his body. He could feel Ronan moving inside someone else. The slide of skin, the heat, the desperate thrusts. It made his own cock harden painfully against his trousers even as nausea twisted in his stomach.

“No,” he whispered, voice cracking. He knew instantly what was happening. The bond. That fucking bond. His mate, his enemy was fucking someone else right now, and Elias felt every second of it. Jealousy burned through him, sharp and ugly, mixing with unwanted arousal. His fangs ached. His hands shook. He wanted to rip whoever Ronan was inside apart. He wanted to be the one under the alpha, taking those brutal thrusts. The contradiction made his head spin.

Elias pressed his forehead against the cool stone wall, biting back a groan as another wave hit him. Ronan’s pleasure was hollow and angry, but it still bled through, making Elias’s thighs tremble and his hole clench around nothing. Tears of pure rage pricked at the corners of his eyes. He hated this. Hated how vulnerable it made him. Hated that some part of him still craved the connection even while his mate was buried in another person’s body.

Back in Eldridge Keep, Ronan finally gave up.

He pulled out of Lira with a frustrated snarl, still hard and aching, seed spilling uselessly across her stomach instead of where it should have. She reached for him, concerned, but he shoved her hands away.

“Get out,” he growled, voice dangerous. “Now.”

Lira didn’t argue. She gathered her robe and slipped out quickly, door clicking shut behind her.

Ronan stood there in the middle of the room, chest heaving, cock still throbbing painfully between his legs. The anger was back, worse than before. The bond hadn’t eased. If anything, it felt stronger, like it was punishing him for trying to ignore it. He could almost sense Elias on the other end, distant but raw, furious and aroused and hurting.

He didn’t understand it. Didn’t want to. But the need refused to die.

Ronan slammed his fist into the wooden bedpost, cracking it, and let out a roar that shook the windows.

The mistress was gone, but the hunger remained. And somewhere far away, the vampire king felt it all.