Pure Destiny (PureDark Ones #12) - Aja James Page 0,11
tangy flavor of his blood exploded on her tongue, this time it was Sophia’s possessive, feral growl that reverberated through the healing chamber.
Mine!
Greedily, she drank him in as he shuddered helplessly beneath her, his breath catching in shallow bursts, his cock thickening even further within the greedy clutch of her body.
Distantly, a small part of her worried that she was hurting him. Feared that she was taking precious blood when he was already so drained from his wounds. But her instincts instantly overrode the fleeting bout of conscience.
She had to have him.
His blood. His seed. His body. His soul.
His soul…
His heart and soul.
The thought reminded her of why this was wrong. What she was doing to him was wrong, even though their physical connection seemed to help him heal. He wasn’t himself. He wasn’t Dalair. And though she convinced herself that this was what he needed for him, she knew very well that she took him selfishly for her.
She loved him. Craved him. He was the only one across the entirety of her existence, across all of her countless incarnations, that she loved. Her Pure female fangs were the physical proof of that love.
But what about Dalair?
Sophia’s body tightened involuntarily and spasmed hard around him. She was too far gone to stop. She couldn’t, even if she wanted to. She was a mindless slave to her body’s needs in this moment.
His guttural groan vibrated through the strong, long column of his throat that she was still latched onto, as hot seed washed in tidal waves over her womb, as his sex pulsed endlessly within her, filling her to overflowing. Until their fluids trickled down their thighs, drenching the towel, the thin padding of the table.
Milked dry and depleted of strength, his body grew slack beneath her, his pulse slowing gradually, though his sex remained hard, locked tightly within her.
Sophia pulled her fangs out of his throat and licked the wounds closed, nuzzling her nose and lips against his musky male skin, hungrily soaking up his scent.
He still smelled like Dalair. Like desert heat and salty sea.
She was exhausted too. Wrung out. As if she’d funneled her life force into his body, even though she’d been the one to take his blood, his seed.
She shifted and settled over him, like a blanket made of flesh, so that her weight wasn’t pressing on any of his wounds, and they touched everywhere they could, skin to skin.
She clenched her core around him to comfort herself that they were still joined, and was satisfied with a small burst of semen within as his undying erection jerked in response.
It would have to be enough for now—the communion of their bodies. But Sophia knew that the real challenge was ahead.
The battle for his heart and soul.
Presently, Sophia lost herself in slumber. And dreamed. In her unconscious mind, she recalled when she first met Dalair. The moment she Fell.
The moment that altered the course of their Destiny.
6th Century B.C., Zau, Capital of Egypt.
“It is late, Princess. You should return to the Palace and rest. You have a very important day on the morrow, after all.”
Kira nodded to indicate that she heard the Priestess’s words, but didn’t look up from her script. It was a text on healing arts that she was immersed in. On a separate sheaf of papyrus, she jotted down her own notes.
It was not uncommon that women of privilege in her society were well educated, to say less about a royal princess. Reading, writing, numbers. But astronomy and healing arts were rare knowledge for a female to gain.
What would they use it for, after all? They would never work as healers. And becoming priestesses would mean that they would never marry.
Even though Kira didn’t think the lack of a man, her own household and family, were too much of a sacrifice, as a princess in the Twenty-Sixth Dynasty of Egyptian pharaohs, she didn’t have a choice in the matter.
As if the Priestess heard her thoughts, she spoke again, “Are you not eager to meet your Prince? I hear he is very handsome and strong. Cultured as well, unlike the other Persians.”
“Since when do you listen to gossip, Priestess Undine?” Kira challenged, still not looking at the woman, though she set her reed pen down.
Her concentration was shot at the thought of her impending marriage. And to a dirty, uncouth, barbarian Persian no less. One she’d never met. Not unlike most arranged marriages in her society.
She’d been shown portraits of the Crown Prince Cambyses of