Bonds ❧

Caralee stirred as bright moonlight, diffused by heavy velvet drapes, painted soft silver along the floor of her chambers. She groaned faintly, not in discomfort, but in the simple, reluctant ache of waking from a restful slumber. Her limbs felt heavy, wrapped in the lingering haze of the day's deep sleep. The first thing she registered was the faint scent of lavender oil burning in the far corner—soothing, calming. It had become the hallmark of her mornings since she'd been brought to this place.

The click of the door roused her fully, followed by the rhythmic swish of skirts and delicate footsteps. Three maids entered, their movements graceful, their faces bright with morning purpose. They greeted her in hushed unison, bowing their heads respectfully.

"Good morning, my lady," they chimed softly.

Caralee sat up, brushing a few wayward strands of hair from her eyes, offering them a warm but tired smile. This routine had become familiar to her now—the bathing, the dressing, the preparation for whatever duties or lessons the day held.

And yet, despite the routine, today felt... different. She felt lighter somehow. Almost eager.

She moved through the motions as they guided her to the adjoining bath chamber. Steam rose in lazy curls from the brass tub that awaited her, filled with heated water laced with rose petals and oils. They undressed her carefully, with practiced hands, easing her into the bath. As she soaked, they scrubbed her skin, massaged fragrant oils into her hair, and whispered to one another of trivial matters—dresses, a scandalous love affair between two footmen, the kitchen's failed bread batch the night prior. Caralee listened half-heartedly, her mind already dancing ahead to what she truly craved.

Renauld.

When she emerged from the bath, skin flushed and glowing, they dressed her in a fine day gown of deep burgundy velvet. The bodice hugged her frame without restricting her movement, the sleeves sheer at the wrist, trimmed in delicate lace. Her long auburn hair was pinned in loose waves, tiny silver combs catching the light as they worked.

Her attendants asked if she required a feeder. Once ready, she stood before them, clearing her throat softly. "Please… send for Renauld," she requested, her voice softer than she intended, but firm enough to leave no doubt of her desire.

The maids exchanged a brief glance before the youngest curtsied and hurried from the room. Caralee busied herself near the grand window, peeking through a sliver in the drapes to watch the gentle sway of trees outside. A nervous flutter stirred in her chest.

When Renauld entered a few moments later, her breath caught. The maids each bowed their heads and exited the room. He moved toward her with that same boyish grin, those ever-kind eyes that never failed to warm her from the inside out. He bowed low, though his excitement was barely concealed.

"My lady requested me?" he asked, his voice edged with disbelief and gratitude.

She turned fully toward him, clasping her hands at her waist. "I did," she replied softly. "I… I rather enjoyed feeding from you. I hoped… if you don't mind… that we might continue."

Renauld's eyes lit up as if she had handed him the very stars. "It would be my greatest honor," he whispered, stepping closer, already baring his neck in silent offering.

Caralee felt a rush of anticipation, her fangs aching subtly at the mere thought. She reached for him, guiding him gently toward the chaise beside her window. He sat, tilting his head, exposing the elegant column of his throat. She settled beside him, brushing his hair back with tender fingers before lowering her lips to his skin. She kissed his neck tenderly. Her hands moving to his shoulders. He slowly crept his hand to her waist, pulling her ever so slightly closer.

The moment her fangs broke through, the taste of him flooded her senses—warm, vibrant, intoxicating. She drank deeply, more slowly this time, savoring every drop. Renauld let out a soft, contented sigh, his breath hitching faintly as the bond between feeder and vampire thickened in the air around them. Both of their arms pulled tighter. Renauld pulled her on to his lap where she straddled his legs. Allowing her more comfortable access to his neck. Wrapping both of his arms around her and pressing her breasts tightly to his chest.

He groaned with pleasure as her hips sank down on top of his throbbing arousal. It took every ounce of self control to not thrust his hips up to meet her warm center as it rested on top of him.

When she finally withdrew, she lingered, pressing her lips softly to the puncture, sealing the wound with the delicate swipe of her tongue. She kissed along his jawline, and met his lips. They exchanged a few minutes of passionate kisses. His mouth opened slightly, her tongue teasing his lips. She felt bold, and finally dove her tongue into his mouth to meet his. He in turn explored her mouth as well, groaning again as he did so. The need became too much and he couldn't hold back, finally gripping her shoulders as he bucked his hips forward, ramming his unbearably solid manhood against her soft feminine core. She let out a soft moan as her head lolled back, her mouth slack.

He pulled her in close and thrust again, this time her head rolled forward and her body shuddered and a whimper escaped her lips. He held her as she convulsed so slightly, almost unnoticeable, but he could feel her, grasping at him for hear life, as if she might float away. A coiled spring that just popped. She then went limp in his arms, and he thrust one final time, his own body going stuff this time, followed by a quake and soft moan.

They both reached a climax. One unlike Caralee had experienced before. She wasn't even sure if this was allowed. It felt similar to what had happened with Auralia. At that moment however, she did not care. It felt right, she followed her instincts.

Pulling back, she looked into his eyes and saw something—longing, devotion— something she couldn't quite name. He carefully lifted her, moving her off of his lap and to the side of him.

"Renauld," she whispered. "I— I would like you to be mine. My— dedicated feeder." she had learned of this type of bond the day prior during lessons.

His face paled slightly, then bloomed with color as realization set in. He reached for her hand, holding it between both of his. "There is… a ritual, my lady. A blood bond. It would deepen the connection between us. You would always be able to find me, no matter where you are. And I… I would feel your thirst before you even spoke it aloud. It would make my blood… uniquely yours. It would taste… spoiled, soured, to all others."

Caralee's heart quickened. "It's done among the nobility, right?"

He nodded. "It is tradition, my lady. Feeder and vampire, bonded for life… though the ritual requires the King's blessing."

For a moment, she could hardly speak. The very idea of such a connection felt… right. She swallowed the lump rising in her throat and squeezed his hand. "Then I will ask him when he returns."

The joy that spread across Renauld's face, almost boyish in its sincerity. But the moment was cut short when the door creaked again, and Lydia entered quietly.

Caralee turned, noting immediately the stiffness in the woman's posture, the tightness in her jaw. Something was… off.

"Lydia?" Caralee asked softly, rising from her seat.

The maid bowed, her expression unreadable. "Forgive the interruption, my lady. I simply wished to ensure you aren't late. You have your first lesson for today."

There was something else in Lydia's voice—something unspoken. But before Caralee could question her, the maids were bustling back in, hurrying to gather her belongings and whisk her off to the day's appointments.

And so the whirlwind began.

The day passed in a blur of faces, voices, and endless information. Caralee met with tutors in grand chambers lined with ancient tomes and towering shelves. She sat through lectures on vampire history, learning of the great clans, the ancient wars, and the betrayal of their kind at the hands of humans. She was instructed on feeding etiquette—how to choose a feeder, how to properly care for them, how to avoid overindulgence.

She learned of courtly traditions, of the hierarchy among their kind, of the customs surrounding mating, blood bonds, and coronation. The sheer weight of it all left her dizzy. She scribbled notes until her fingers ached, her mind struggling to absorb the flood of knowledge being poured into her.

By the time the moon dipped below the horizon, she was utterly spent.

She returned to her chambers, declining the offer of a formal dinner. The King, she was told, had been summoned away—urgent matters in his kingdom requiring his immediate attention. He would be gone for at least a week, perhaps longer.

The news struck her with a surprising pang of sadness. She hadn't realized how much his presence—however complicated—had anchored her in this strange new world. And yet… a flicker of something else stirred within her.

Opportunity.

With Merrick gone… there would be no eyes watching so closely. No barrier standing between her and what her heart truly ached for.

Finding Donovan.

The thought hit her like a thunderclap, her pulse quickening. She has already resolved herself to belong to the King. She was unequivocally his, forevermore. Her sire, her betrothed. She now had this other connection blossoming with Renauld. It was different, less about the physical attraction, though that was there also. It was more pure, a fondness, he cared so deeply about her wellbeing.

She briefly pictured what it might be like to make love to her dashing young feeder, and her cheeks burned crimson. It was a scandalous thought, but as she had learned in her lessons, apparently quite normal. It wasn't unheard of for vampires, especially the nobility to take several partners, with many different types of bonding rituals available.

Then there was Donovan. She knew no future would be possible with him. He had to return to his family. She only wished to let him know that she was where she wanted to be, needed to be, and that he should go back and live. She glanced toward the door, her mind already forming the plan.

Tonight… she would find him.