The part of me the fates had finally returned.
“Please tell me you love me, Pearl.”
She wanted to say it badly, because she was infinitely good. She craved the moment she might divulge that there was more to her than confusion and sorrow. But she didn’t have the conviction—
“I love you.” Her voice had been small, her eyes on the floor when it slipped over her lips.
My jaw might have hit the floor. She admitted it! The wife I swept up and began waltzing around the room as my wings broke everything in their path said it.
And the pair of us were laughing.
This was real.
“I don’t deserve you.” I never would. EVER.
Laughing, she agreed, “You don’t.”
Swallowing her words, I kissed her so hard I knew my teeth tore at her lips. And I drank of my bride. I lapped at her closing wounds. I ravaged.
What I had done to her at the wedding had been calculating and boring. What I did to her then? Poets would write songs about it.
That dress, no matter how she gasped or bled at my onslaught, was demolished. Her filthy skin, scoured clean by my tongue. In no way had she been ready to see the true starvation I endured or how it had to be quenched.
Had she not grown so fierce, she would have been terrified.
Each breast, those perfect, delicious tits, were worshiped. Wide, burning palms pressing them into her body, kneading the flesh, claw teasing the nipple so it might be sucked.
She screamed no. She screamed yes. She screamed for more.
She even screamed my name.
Right as I held up the monstrosity of my cock and lined it up where she was wet, aching, and owed. I told her I was going to fuck her for three days straight and offer no succor.
Not to my wife. Not to my queen. Not to the other half of me, the better half. The half that commanded such action by raising her hips and hissing when my hand went about her throat.
Milking my cock on that first thrust, she came.
She came, weeping with the joy of release.
And I fucked her.
No woman had ever been fucked the way my Pearl was fucked through those days, through those nights. Blood pouring from where I had slit my throat, I fed the monster who strangled my cock for more.
Deceitfully slight thing that she was, she worked to drain me dry in all ways.
I hurt her.
She hurt me.
I pleasured the Goddess.
She fed me the torment that made my sac draw tight.
That first time I came, the ground shook. The second time, bits of Paris began to crumble.
Soothing me with a soft touch, even as she rocked her hips over my exhausted form, Pearl asked me to leave the city in peace.
The words alone drew another bubbling of seed from my body, my thumb rolling her clit as I expanded almost to the point her pretty body might not take.
Weeping, she found another climax, sucking my offering deep.
And I knew, that was the one that would plant a baby that would grow in her womb.
A baby in which she would find joy.
Epilogue
Vladislov
“Why doesn’t Mommy ever play with us?”
Because Mommy had been fucked senseless and was too tired to even feel when I carded my fingers through her hair. A pretty dark, waving lock I lifted off her pale cheek less than an hour before so sun might fall on her face as she slept.
Precious Pearl, always the napper, sleepy darling lass that she was.
“Mommy’s body is busy growing your sister.” Winking at the little hunter at my side, I said, “You’ve seen how big her belly is. She’d fall right over if she tried to run.”
The kid laughed.
And adored me.
The feeling was mutual. So much so that my other son had shown up more than he was welcome, the jealous sot.
“I’m going to catch her something good to eat.” And get all her kisses for it, no doubt.
Since she’d shorn him, washed him, taught him to speak, he was her world. But I was her God. Worshiped in the sun and in the moonlight.
Often, I had wept on her breast because the sensation of so true a love overtook me. I was her slave.
Which was why we now lived here, in the jungle, on an island where the world might let us enjoy what we were. Away from cities that quaked when my moods were free to roam. Away from Cathedrals she had a drive to purge.
And for sport, all the vampiric houses who wanted to survive my wife’s reign dropped immortal treats into the jungle for our boy to snack on.
Down to his bones, that kid was a killer. Even I, the perfect predator, had not needed to teach Jasper how to stalk.
And Mommy didn’t need to know that her occasional sip of morning blood had come from a screaming vampire her cute progeny had caught and dragged home especially for her.