CHAPTER nine: The Vampire King

　　The saddle of the crown in his hands was far less than the price it would cost not to wear it. It should have been fashioned from spikes for the yoke it would become in his life if he didn’t wear it. Yet it might be an exchange he must make for the safety of his kingdom and to fulfill his promise to her.

　　Crashing waves far below the fortress walls in his Ancientrovan asylum didn’t lighten up King Fehr Eric Andromeda Rahl’s straying thoughts as the nagging feeling that had bothered him all morning persisted.

　　It has been a century since she died and left a hole in his heart, his human mate —that is if vampires had one.

　　He killed her. He hadn’t meant to.

　　“Tell me your darkest fantasy, Rahl.” She had murmured against his ear one night, gently raking her teeth across the lobe.

　　Fehr smirked with his eyes closed, too tired to do much else. Catalina sounded so viciously sexy, but why did females had to always go there—searching for answers to questions they didn’t really want to learn, especially in bed? “I do not have any fantasy, expect being with you. What else could surpass that my lady?”

　　“Stop being so corny.” She giggled, soothing her bite of his lobe with her tongue. “Tell me.” she pleaded low and husky, her tone so seductive that he would have sworn she was a vampire.

　　‘No. He was not going to go there. No matter what she does.’ He promised himself because his fantasies were much too dark for his human queen.

　　He was not going to gaze into those big hazel eyes of hers and become spellbound by them. Dark fantasies… had she any idea what went through a vampire’s mind, she would run away from them.

　　Despite himself, his smile broadened. The things he’d seen… Damn! Had she any idea of the lifetimes of vampire knowledge—especially one as old as himself—acquired through a lifetime of reading and ruling Ancientrova and beyond, just by being offered a council seat?

　　A part of him still wondered why he received the letter crowning as the youngest council member. He wasn’t old enough at the time.

　　He had stroked her dampened back, his fingers reveling in the tingling sensation her scar created as he touched the base of her spine, hoping she’d let his profound love be enough to gratify her. He remembered that scar—when she was abducted by the werewolf king during the wars between the two creatures ruled by stone-hearted kings, the werewolf king Marc planted his sharp claw into her back just before he tore him apart—no one dares to hurt his queen.

　　“You’re my fantasy.” He finally said to conciliate her when she became morosely still. But he had also meant what he had said, meanwhile skillfully avoiding the question she had asked. “You are this dead king’s dream come true, Catalina.”

　　Her response was a chuckle followed by a release of scorching breath that caressed his ear. “Why do you spew so much lies?” she whispered, as she slid her body along the length of his. “I know what you want to do to me.”

　　“Cat...” he muttered, too spent to argue with her, and too conceited by her warmth to avoid being stirred by her creamy softness. “Stop with the nonsense.”

　　He tried to sound stern but failed as his hand continued to caress her back, finding the deep curve in it that caved to her round and firm buttocks.

　　“What is your darkest fantasy?” he asked smiling, spinning the query on her, and not concerned that a little fang was beginning to show with his grin. He ran his tongue over his canine, trying to be long-suffering as he played the game that she seemed to be enjoying.

　　Catalina raised her head up to stare into his eyes with an impish smirk, “My darkest fantasy is making yours come to live.”

　　A low and gravely laugh rumbled slowly deep in his chest, “really?” he raised a brow in a dare. “But I don’t have any real dark fantasies. You are all this dead man needs.”

　　“Please…” she whined, moving slowly over his thigh.

　　“Enough!” there was harshness to his tone. His control was close to snapping and the wench seemed to notice for she grinned and tongued his ear. He pulled her away from him and stared into her eyes, he saw a smolder of red reflected in her dark hazel irises and he knew it came from him. Her scent bathed him, ironically in a sweet flowery scent, it made him shut his eyes tightly as he breathed in deeply and thrust into her wetness hard.

　　His fingers interlocked in her raven tresses and her hips finally met his in a rhythm they both knew by heart—no stopping, no more teasing, just hard fucking as she met him thrusts for thrusts, slam for slam, uninterrupted by needless chatter until he felt his fangs push their way through his gums, he could no longer hold it in.

　　“Feed from me my king and fulfill your darkest fantasy. Please,’ she whispered in a voice clogged with emotions, “Take me as you want to, and don’t hold back. He felt a fire that was about to rip through his groin. One more ‘Please’ he would lose it.

　　“I can’t…You are my l-life…” Fehr stuttered, his pleasure heightening to the point of seizures.

　　“Yes you can… Please…Rahl.” She moaned into his ears, squeezing her vaginal walls around him.

　　‘PLEASE’… she said that damn word as though she knew it would break him…break his ebbing control.

　　Nuzzling his throat, her fingers wound tightly through his hair, and he was surprised by the force of her pull, that her fingers made a fist at the nape of his neck, and that one of her palms slid against his jaw to push his head back, her breath on his throat like he had always imagined. Trembling with need, the sensation was so fucking good... If only… she could… just once… bite… oh damn!...

　　Then suddenly, her human canines broke through the skin of his neck, she shifted her weight, her legs like a vise around him, and rolled on top of him, her mouth still sucking on his blood. Her strength came from nowhere. It happened so quickly. A sharp sink of her teeth as fast as a python’s tore at his throat, making him shut his eyes harder, his gasp fused with a moan that transformed into a wail, and the suck that persisted at his throat sent the convulsion throughout his system, emptied his scrotum until his body seemed to retch and dry heave, made his lashes flutter from deep seizures, where every pull of her lips from his neck erupted hot seed from him into her.

　　Then without meaning to, his fists left the sheets gathered in knots and sought her skin, travelled up to her throat, wrapping around her throat, he snapped her neck. Her short gasp bounced off the walls of his chambers while he cradled her still body in his arms, stuttering, “That… is ….my… fantasy!”

　　His body went from hot, and then to cold in the blink of an eye, minutes of unrelenting physical pleasure turned to a nightmare that would last more than a century.