01: The Male That Belongs In The Past

THE PRESENT.

LADY BAEVERA.

“I still cannot believe a blood-bond finally formed for you after all these years. I was beginning to think it might never happen!” Helory squealed once again.

I huffed, casting my best friend a side glance where she lay sprawled across the bed like an overexcited child.

My maids moved around us; fastening my clasps, adjusting pins, and smoothing silks as they dressed me in my ceremonial gown. I slipped my arms gracefully through the sleeves they held open.

“Don’t look at me like that, young lady,” Helory clapped her hands, kicking her feet. “I am just so excited! At over a thousand years old, I am fairly certain you are the last blood-virgin in all of Vallen Falls—possibly even all of Urai. Most of us were bloodhosts before we reached three hundred. It is such a thrilling thing, Bae. I am giddy for you!”

“I am excited too.” And I truly am.

Helory sat upright. “By the Goddess, you are so beautiful.”

“Oh, please,” I rolled my eyes, though a smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “Though I must admit, this silk is very flattering.”

“Of course it is. Everything looks exquisite on you,” she snapped her tongue. “Some days, half of Vallen Falls and I wonder if Ukrae set aside an entire separate day just to create you. The perfection is glaring, and frankly, a little bit offensive. You make the rest of us feel woefully inadequate.”

I gave her a flat look. Helory was the reigning queen of flattery.

“I just wish you would stop staining that fiery red hair of yours black," she lamented, mourning my hair like she had for centuries. "It is one of your loveliest features.”

I cannot do that.” I hated the color red with a passion, and Helory knew it. I would gladly dye my hair black all my life, if it meant I never have to look upon the vivid red strands ever again.

She sighed softly. “I understand.” Leaning in a little, her tone dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. “So you wonder what he will be like? Your bloodmaster, I mean.”

As she continued, she had a dreamy smile. “I hope he is handsome, rich, and unmated. If you are going to be saddled with a male who gets to drink your blood for the rest of your life, the least the gods can do is make him pleasing to look at.”

“I do not care for such things,” I told her.

“Well, I do,” Helory stated, without shame. “You were specific in your letter, right? About the meeting place?”

“Let us meet beneath the Union Tree, within the woods of Perching Hollow, as the sun begins its descent, at the fourth bell,” I recited.

“Perfect. Very poetic.” She nodded in approval. “This is exactly the kind of thrill you need in your life. You are always shut up in this big, boring manor, stepping out only for business, living the life of a cloistered old maid when you are arguably the most stunning female in the city. I worry about you, you know. Every day. But finally, the gods have heard me.”

“I do just fine,” I protested.

“Oh, please. If not for your betrothed's occasional visits, your life would be as lonely as they come.” She grinned, hopeful. “Who knows, maybe the bloodfeeding will awaken something in you, and you may begin to feel sexual arousal again. Real lust, Bae. Not the shallow imitation that vanishes the second their fangs leave your skin.”

I slid my foot into my shoes as she rambled enthusiastically.

“Then again, those others were not your bloodmaster, but this one is. Once the bond is sealed through his first feeding, you will officially become his bloodhost. And when you start to feel lust again, you can finally consummate your love with Lord Phillip! You two would perform the bonding ritual and be mates for life!” She finished with a high, delighted squeal.

Oh gods. Exasperated, I shook my head.

But butterflies stirred in my belly. A lady could hope.

Before my Phillip, I had long since resigned myself to the fate of being one of those Urekai females who might very well die alone.

How was I supposed to find my lifemate when I have not felt even the faintest spark of attraction in what felt like an eternity?

Lust was a foreign concept to me. I do not feel sexual desires. Have not in seven centuries.

Countless nights, I have tried to seduce my betrothed, but always end up unable to finish what I started.

The last time I entered Phillip’s room, I chickened out and bolted to the nearest lavatory to empty my belly into it.

That makes thirteen years since I met the love of my life, but I still could not give him my body. And centuries since I have had sex.

So, I guess I understand why my usually composed best friend was practically going insane over the unexpected blood bond I woke up to yesterday.

While the idea of some random male sinking his fangs into me and drinking my blood whenever he pleased did not exactly appeal to me, it stirred something I hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. Hope.

Because a common, natural side effect of bloodfeeding was sexual arousal. Whether the male deliberately released pheromones to intensify the lust or not, it always made one horny. Always.

And I was counting on it.

It did not matter that I had tried being a feeder many times in the past and only ever felt a shallow, strange imitation of desire. It was even worse when I was the one doing the drinking.

Both times, whatever flare of sensation I got vanished the moment the fangs withdrew, leaving me emptier than before. So, I gave up.

But now… now there was hope again.

Because, like Helory said, those males were not my bloodmaster. This one is. There is a blood bond between us.

Maybe things will be different now.

Maybe, just maybe, I could finally be normal again.

•••••

“We are here, My Lady,” the coachman announced as the carriage rolled to a smooth halt.

I stared at the entrance of the woods ahead, not moving an inch.

“Bae?” Helory called.

“Mmm?”

“Are you having second thoughts?”

I was. Gods, I was. But I did not say a word.

“There is nothing to worry about,” she said gently, knowingly. “If you do not want the feedings to be sexual, you can set that boundary. Keep it formal, platonic, even mechanical. He is the one who needs you. His life depends on drinking your blood. You hold all the power here, Bae. Set the terms, and he will abide by them.”

The knot in my belly loosened, if only slightly. “You are right.”

“Of course I am right. I am always right.” Helory gave me a reassuring smile. “So, stop eyeing the woodpath like you expect it to morph into a giant werewolf, and get going. Your bloodmaster awaits.”

Okay, I can do this. With a deep breath, I stepped down from the carriage and entered the narrow-wooded path.

The Union Tree stood in the clearing like a guardian from an age long gone. Two massive trunks fused into one, entwined like ancient lovers. I stepped beneath its sprawling boughs and looked around.

Empty.

Trees stretched endlessly in every direction, but no one waited. Was he late? Or had I arrived too soon?

Just a little while. If he does not show, I will leave, and we will reschedule.

Decision made, I leaned against the fused trunk and waited.

I did not have to wait long.

The air shifted. Something changed, and I knew I was not alone anymore.

My eyes caught movement between the trees: a figure. Then another. And another. So many bodyguards.

I straightened slowly, turning in a slow, full circle. More figures emerged between the trees, forming a loose perimeter around the woods.

Well, at least my bloodmaster was a person of power. Maybe even nobility, like myself. That certainly made things easier.

But, just then, unease crept over me, prickling my skin. The hairs on my arms rose.

And the scent of emberwood hit me.

No.

Oh gods, no.

He was not the only male whose natural scent was emberwood. It could not be him. It must not be.

Heavens, please. Anyone else but him.

The figure came into view, and I stopped breathing.

It was indeed him. Revandrel Orionas Cel’theren.

Rich as the devil, handsome as sin, and tall as a tower, with shoulders as broad as a mountain’s base. A force to be reckoned with.

The male solely behind the vast Cel’theren empires scattered across Urai and its ancient cities.

He was also ruthless, calculating, merciless, and cruel. And more than all that, he hated me.

In fact, hate was too small a word. Far too mild and civilized for his feelings toward me.

At 1,320 years old, I was no stranger to being despised. I had known dislike, resentment, even deep-rooted loathing, but none came close to what this male projected at me.

Only in those cold, satanic gray eyes have I seen hatred in its rawest, truest form. Coated with venom and seething with spite.

As he spotted me, he froze.

“You,” he snarled. “What in the devils is this?”

The last time our paths had crossed, I had run. Dignity be damned, grace forgotten, I had grabbed my skirts and bolted like a wild thing.

He caught me anyway.

This time, I did not move. I could not. Because the truth hit me like a blow to the chest.

A blood bond had formed between us. Revandrel Orionas Cel’theren was my bloodmaster.

“This cannot be,” I whispered, completely horrified.

“Baevera fucking Eldareth,” he growled, striding toward me. “Why the hell would you darken this sacred path with your filthy presence? The Union Tree deserves better than the likes of you. What the fuck are you doing here and where the hell is my new bloodhost?”

“Oh gods, it cannot be.” I had always known our third meeting was inevitable. I just hadn’t expected it to be today.

A lifetime spent avoiding him. Yet here we were.

I saw the exact moment he realized what I already did.

“You? My new bloodhost?” Revandrel is eyes flared with disbelief. Then fury took over. “Over. My. Dead. Body.”

“I did not choose this,” I tried to keep my voice calm, but it was shaking. I was panting. “This cannot be happening.”

He pinned me with a very spiteful glare. This male who had earned many names over the centuries.

The Coin Master. Whisperer of Gold. Ruthless Lender of Ruin. Dread Lord. Cunning Serpent. Bloodthirsty Gladiator. I had heard them all.

But once, long ago, he had only one name to me. Revandrel… Evan.

My stepbrother.

Though not by blood, nor by birth, but by circumstance.

The boy who once glared at me with so much contempt: tearful, stuttering, small, had become this towering predator who struck fear and awe into nobles and trade barons alike.

That fragile boy was gone. In his place stood a cold-hearted, merciless Urekai with so many reputations it was difficult to keep count.

“I warned you,” he stalked to me with disgust twisting his handsome face. “Our paths must never cross a third time.”

“I did not create this bond.”

“No. Fate did.” His tone dropped to something calm. Too calm. “They knew it was time for my revenge. And like a sacrificial lamb, they brought you to me.”

He gripped my cheek, tilting my face until our eyes locked. I could not look away.

“When I am done with you, Baevera Eldareth,” he murmured, “you will wish this day never came.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his hand lift and a flash of metal. A pin?

I panicked. “Wait—”

“And even if you were the last female on earth, I would never drink from you,” he snarled.

The world went dark.