The Alpha's Mate and the Vampire King
The Alpha’s Mate and the Vampire King Chapter 8

Eden shuddered at his breath tickling her ear and the reminder she was his mate. She pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth to prevent any sound from escaping her lips. She focused on the dark room before her.

This room had no windows, and, thus, was much darker than the bedroom. She could make out the candelabras inside and used her magic to light them.

The flames flickered brightly. There had to be well over a hundred candles lining the walls. Once she realized what was inside the room, she considered snuffing them out.

In the middle was a bed, covered in only a dark sheet. No pillows, no blankets, just the sheet.

To the left was a wooden chair. Or, she thought it was a chair. The seat was awfully small. It had rope attached to the arms and legs and was tilted so that whomever sat in it was reclined. It was also high off the ground. She would have to be lifted to sit in it.

To the right of the bed was a couch, of sorts. It was narrow and oddly shaped, looking like the back of a serpent, or a rolling wave. It would provide a comfortable position in which to lounge and read, but she knew this item of furniture was not meant for reading.

There were chains and cuffs attached to the walls in various spots, anchored to the grooves within the stone. Shelving stood near another door, which she presumed exited into the hall. It held a dozen or so towels. She’d never seen black towels before.

Eden may not have known much in the ways of s*x, but she was intelligent and had a perfectly good imagination, one that was now giving her quite a show inside her head.

She should be frightened, not intrigued. She imagined his teeth penetrating her skin, how it would feel. Would he cuff her to the wall, so she could not flee? What else would he do to her?

Eden pictured countless Prajna coming and going from this room to service their king. She knew they offered more than their veins. How many of them had he allowed into his bed of gold?

Why do you have this room? Why—why is it important enough to be attached to your bed chamber?

Viktor tried to see it through her virginal eyes. It was fairly obvious what occurred in here. S*x often followed a feeding, and he almost always partook of what was so freely offered.

Eden, of course, would have to become accustomed to his bite, as well as to whatever preceded and followed. He was guessing she lacked knowledge of what a Prajna’s bite was like, that it could be highly pleasurable.

This is my feeding room, he told her.

Your feeding room.

Yes.

This is where you … drink from others?

Yes.

Why?

Why do I feed from others or why do I do it here?

I know why you feed. You need b***d to live. Why here?

Viktor shrugged. I do not care to have anyone in my personal quarters.

Eden tensed, thinking he did not intend to have her share his room. Is this where I am to sleep, then? In your feeding room?

He frowned. Of course not.

Will I have a separate room?

No, his voice boomed, causing her to flinch. He immediately reigned in his displeasure, softening his speech.

No, Eden. My sieva is welcome in my room. The others are not.

Unable to stop herself, she smiled, beyond pleased with this information. It was almost sweet that his bed was only for her.

Viktor swore his heart stopped at the sight of her beaming up at him. He dug his fingernails into his palms, needing to replace a way to avoid slicing through her clothing and taking her against the stone wall.

He pictured cuffing her, commanding her actions as he commanded her pleasure. How long would it take her to submit? She was nowhere near ready for what he wanted her to give him.

Eden cleared her throat and pointed to the unconventional furniture. This room is not solely used for feeding, is it?

The hulking male’s eyebrows drew down and together, not liking where his mate’s questions were headed. It was easily discernible what occurred when he utilized the equipment in this place. Eden was going to make him say it aloud.

Being bluntly honest, which he’d told himself he’d be, was more difficult than expected. It didn’t help that his resistance to her was waning.

No. It is not solely used for feeding.

She nodded, processing his answer. Her left hand rubbed absently along her collar bone, deep in thought.

Viktor felt like a piece of her had withdrawn. He disliked it, but for now he would allow it. They had time for Eden to learn how to answer his demands—and he would demand she give him everything.

He stared as she stroked the delicate skin below her neck. He zeroed in on the artery pulsating above her finger tips. He was close to losing it. The cicatrice would not stop him. It wanted him to push inside her, to lap up her lifeblood, and bond his soul to hers.

You need to leave, he announced.

Eden’s mouth dropped open.

Now, Eden.

Before she could reply, he had her by the elbow, dragging her back into his bedchamber. Eden jerked her arm away, upset at being manhandled, and her mark quickly sent out its calming vibes.

Do not be upset, he ordered, locking the door behind him. It is very distracting having you in that room. It’s easier for me to talk to you in here.

You didn’t like me asking questions.

Your questions do not bother me. Having you in the room I use for feeding and for … sating many appetites, well, let’s just say I doubt your ability to handle the answer to that question. If I were you, I would give up this topic of conversation.

Eden wasn’t some immature child. She wanted truth. She could handle his truth. If she was his destined mate, that was how it would have to be. She resented him a little for treating her as though she was less capable than the females he’d had in his feeding room.

At the contemplation of those who had come before her, her palm tingled, transferring its peaceful magic again. This time, she didn’t want it to alter her mental state. She worried it would prevent her from having an honest dialog with Viktor.

She would leave it be, as he suggested. For now. But only because she had a more compulsory line of questioning.

She held her palm up in front of his face. Why is it, every time I am riled, this birthmark lights up and calms me down? And why am I so quick to anger in the first place? I am never emotional. The longer I am in your presence the more I feel this back-and-forth pull.

Clever little witch, he thought. Instead of trusting her emotions, she catalogued and analyzed the change in them. They were very well-suited.

Lower you hand, Eden.

Why?

Because, he replied, holding up his left hand, which was still emitting the soft light from earlier. I want to grab it with my own. If I do so, your question will go unanswered until much later, if at all. We’ll be so caught up in one another, I doubt you’ll even remember what you wanted to know.

Eden lowered her arm, comprehending his meaning. Then she remembered she was in her riding clothes and reached into the pocket of her cloak.

Viktor watched as Eden extracted a leather glove from within her cloak. She waved it in front of him, her lips shaping into a self-satisfied smirk. Then she slid her fingers into the opening.

It would cover the cicatrice completely. She really was sharp as a tack. It made her all the more attractive.

Her small hand pulled at the leather, sliding it down to her wrist until it was securely in place. It would help, but only for so long. Sooner or later, the cicatrice would ensure the soul-bond took place, whether they wanted it or not.

Eden removed her cloak and put it on the bench next to the door. Then she dropped into the chair on the opposite side of the fireplace from the blue wingback and indicated he should also sit. Viktor remained standing.

Please? she requested.

Viktor liked hearing ‘please’ come from her mouth, so he lowered himself into the chair. She would be saying the word again. Soon.

Will you help me understand what’s happening to me?

Very well.

Thank you, she exhaled. Finally, some answers!

As I told you in the temple, the marking is what the Prajna call a cicatrice. We are all born with one. Our sievas, our true mates, are born with the identical mark. When we touch them together and exchange b***d, we will be bonded. It is important, Eden, for you to understand Fate chose you as mine from the time of your birth.

Which would mean you were mine, as well, yes?

Viktor smirked.

Yes. Though, it is extremely rare for a sieva to not be a vampire. A handful of demon mates have been found, but I have not heard of anyone from Gwydion bearing the mark.

Yes, well, we are the only faction to be born without a pre-ordained mate.

Viktor’s smirked vanished. I would think, with your sister being a true mate to a wolf, and you being my sieva, that statement is not entirely accurate.

Evelyn’s face popped into Eden’s mind. If anyone would be open to such a notion as fated mates, it would be Evelyn. She’d acted all starry-eyed over Nora’s experience and almost envious of Eden’s.

If the powers of the universe created a mate for her sweet Evie, her sister would run into his arms and ask questions later. Eden wasn’t quite so fanciful in her concept of love.

The cicatrice? she prodded.

Yes, well, it is first and foremost how one knows he or she has found their intended, he paused, wanting to choose his next words carefully. He would not risk Eden misinterpreting its effects on her disposition.

What else is it, other than a means to make me question my sanity?

Viktor chuckled, and Eden thought it the most wonderful sound she had ever heard. She had a feeling it did not happen often.

Trust me, I understand your frustration. It makes you question if you ever felt what you knew you had been feeling. But that is the magic of the cicatrice. Its power will placate its bearer, wanting to ensure there is no animosity between mates.

Why? It sounds almost like trickery.

Viktor narrowed his eyes. It is not trickery. It is insurance that the soul-bonding will occur in a timely fashion. Once it does, the power it has over your emotions will fade.

It was temporary. Thank the Goddess.

So, my . . . annoyance will also be more manageable?

Viktor chuckled again. Doubtful. The cicatrice mollifies you, erasing your vexations. It would not push you into feeling such negative emotions. That, my dear Eden, is all you.