Shadow's Seduction (The Dacians #2)(8)

Fuuuck. Their tongues touched. Cas’s head swam.

Stop. What the hell are you doing? STOP.

The vampire threaded his fingers through Cas’s hair to draw him even closer. Breaking away from Mirceo’s carnal mouth felt impossible. Some kind of madness was overtaking him! He found himself . . . giving a tentative flick of his pointed tongue. Then another. Why can’t I stop?

The prince submitted, letting him delve. Tasting Mirceo. Exploring this. The vampire’s lips yielded beneath his own.

Curiosity goaded Cas to take another lick. A nip. One more taste, then he’d end this. One more dip into this unfamiliar well.

Yet soon raw lust overwhelmed curiosity. He slanted his mouth over the vampire’s, demanding more. Their tongues twined, their breaths gone ragged. My gods, this feels so fucking good.

Dimly, Cas realized the giggling females were closing the bedroom door behind them.

He roused, his mind struggling to come back online. Mirceo’s moan slammed him right back into this kiss.

Just one last taste. . . .





FIVE


Cas collapsed at the vampire’s side. They lay sprawled on the bed, heaving breaths, both still dressed.

Cas threw an arm over his face. What the hell just happened? Sweat coated his body. Shock consumed him.

He shifted his arm to glance at Mirceo. When the prince stretched with a smug grin and a sound of satisfaction, one word blasted through Cas’s head.

ESCAPE.

He shot upright. I just got off with Mirceo.

The prince’s smile faded. “This isn’t so monumental a thing, Caspion. Just a lark. Just pleasure.” Of course it was just pleasure to him.

While Cas felt scalded and exposed—as if his entire body were a new wound—Mirceo remained unchanged, offering nothing else of himself.

“We still have our pants on.” With a hint of amusement in his eyes, the vampire said, “Though mine are filled with semen.”

The intoxicating scent of it made Cas’ cock stir for more. What godsdamned power did Mirceo wield over him?

Whatever the vampire saw in his expression made him sit up. “Be at ease, friend.”

“At ease?” Cas had never felt more lust for another. How had he gone from desiring only females to desiring Mirceo? Wait . . . Cas’s eyes narrowed. “You fucking mesmerized me.” Taking away my choice!

Mirceo’s brows drew together. “Caspion, I did not. I don’t possess that ability.”

“You must have. I’m straight. Why would I want another male?”

“Because our minds are synced. Because we care for each other. Our friendship has grown into more.”

“No, that doesn’t explain . . .” My explosive lust. For Cas, a male who required control in all things, this situation was terrifying. He tried to say more but his throat felt too constricted.

Can’t breathe. His gaze darted. ESCAPE.

“Calm yourself, demon, and think about this. You can’t leave. My uncle Trehan will find you, and he will kill you. He carries death in his pocket.”

Trehan Daciano. Cas had met the centuries-old Prince of Shadow this week. The grim, unsmiling assassin always carried his weapon—a sword with a crossguard in the shape of a crescent moon—and he was notoriously skilled with it.

But if Mirceo didn’t reveal details, how could that soulless bastard find a single demon of no importance? Cas could return home and try to regain some semblance of his life.

ESCAPE NOW.

Mirceo raised his palms. “I can help you. Just give me time to figure this out. Let me help you.”

“Don’t tell Trehan where I live, Mirceo.” Cas tensed to trace. “You owe me this after what you’ve done.” You made me a mindless slave. You took away my choice, my control.

Sadness filled Mirceo’s gray eyes. “They know when someone leaves. Trehan will find and kill you before dawn—”

Cas teleported away. An instant later, he materialized into his small loft in Abaddon. What have I done? Sweat covering him, he leaned against his door, about to vomit. Paranoia gripped him by the throat. Kill me before dawn?

No, no. Mirceo would never tell his uncle where to find Cas. Hell, Mirceo never listened to him, probably didn’t even know Cas hailed from a backwater dimension like Abaddon.

Claws digging into the door, he struggled to process this night. He’d come with Mirceo, harder than he knew was possible. And I’d still craved more of him— Commotion sounded from a nearby thoroughfare. He crossed to a window and cautiously peeked out. The swampy hamlet he’d left a month ago was packed with various Loreans.

They milled about like tourists. Why would anyone visit this place?

He traced out to the street and addressed a ferine demon gnawing on a pheasant leg. “What’s the occasion that brings so many here?”

“Death-match tournaments in the old Iron Ring,” the male said with excitement. The notorious cage arena of Abaddon hadn’t been used in ages. The demon took another bite, saying, “Competitors—demons, trolls, Lykae, you name it—are teleporting in from all over the Lore. Understandable, considering the prize.”

“Which is?” Cas asked, but he had a sinking suspicion in his gut. There were only two things in Abaddon that others might fight for.

“Whoever wins gets the crown of this entire demonarchy! Oh, and the hand of the princess.” The male spat out a bone and walked on.