The air in the chamber, already thick with the promise of something new and devastatingly intimate, seemed to solidify around them. Jane's offered throat was a pale, breathtaking canvas, and Reina was the artist, her new fangs the brush. Her entire world had narrowed to this single point—the delicate, blue-veined skin stretched over the powerful, undead muscle beneath.
A low, wanting sound vibrated in Reina's chest. She leaned forward, her movements achingly slow, a predator savoring the approach. Her lips brushed against Jane's throat first, a ghost of a kiss against the impossible coolness of her skin. She inhaled, and Jane's unique scent—a devastating mix of ancient frost and something uniquely, intoxicatingly Jane—flooded her senses, drowning out all other thought.
Then, with a reverence that felt both natural and learned, Reina grazed her fangs along the same path her lips had taken. It was the lightest scratch, a suggestion of pressure, but Jane's breath hitched in response, a sharp, silent gasp. So sensitive.
Reina followed the elegant line of her throat, a pilgrim on a sacred road, until an instinct, deep and primal, told her here. Her head tilted, her mouth opening just enough. With excruciating control, she pressed the sharp points of her fangs into the flawless skin.
The puncture was silent, perfect. There was no gush of hot blood, only a slow, syrupy welling of something different. Something potent. Venom.
Reina's lips sealed over the small wounds, and she drank.
The taste was euphoria. It was lightning and midnight, power and ecstasy all fused into a single, decadent drop. It was the essence of Jane, and it burned through Reina's veins like a star being born. A deep, guttural moan escaped her, muffled against Jane's throat. Her hands, which had been resting on Jane's arms, flew up to clutch at her back, her fingers digging into the tough material of her dress as if she might fall into the abyss of this sensation.
Jane's own hands came up, one tangling in Reina's now-perfect hair, the other splaying across the small of her back, holding her steady. A shudder racked Jane's slender frame, and for a breathtaking moment, Reina felt a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure radiate from the woman in her arms. It was a feedback loop of sensation, each feeding the other's rapture.
Then, with a strength that was both effortless and absolute, Jane moved. In a blur of motion, she reversed their positions, pressing Reina down onto the lush furs of the divan. She hovered above her, her crimson eyes blazing with a fire so intense it stole the breath Reina no longer needed. Jane's expression was one of raw, unveiled hunger, a look that promised both devotion and delicious ruin.
"My turn," Jane whispered, her voice a husky tremor.
She didn't ask. She simply descended, her cool lips tracing the same path on Reina's throat that Reina had moments before. The sensation was magnified a thousandfold by her newborn nerves. Every brush of Jane's mouth was a brand. Every cool exhalation was a promise. Reina arched her back, a silent plea for more, her fingers clutching at Jane's shoulders.
Jane's fangs pricked her skin—a sharp, perfect point of pain that instantly melted into a wave of dizzying pleasure. As Jane's mouth sealed over her throat and she began to drink, Reina cried out. It was not the brutal drain of a hunt; it was an exchange. A gift. With every draw, Reina could feel a part of herself flowing into Jane, and a part of Jane's immense power flowing back into her. It was a connection deeper than any kiss, more intimate than any touch she could have previously conceived.
The world dissolved into a haze of sensation—the weight of Jane above her, the incredible feeling of her mouth on her throat, the coiling, tightening heat building low in her own body. Jane's free hand slid from her back, skimming down her side, coming to rest on the curve of her hip. Her grip was possessive, certain. The intent was clear. The divan, the chamber, the entire stone fortress felt like it was spinning around them, narrowing to this single point of contact.
Reina's own hand moved, sliding up Jane's arm, her touch tentative yet desperate. She was losing herself, willingly, gladly…
The heavy oak door of the chamber swung open with a soft, yet deafening, creak.
The spell shattered.
Jane recoiled from Reina's throat with a serpent's speed, a low, venomous hiss escaping her. She positioned herself instantly between the door and Reina, her body a shield, her expression transforming from consumed lover to lethal guard in a heartbeat.
Alec stood frozen in the doorway, his head tactfully turned away, presenting them with his profile. His posture was rigid with acute discomfort.
"Sister," he said, his voice carefully neutral, devoid of its usual mocking lilt. "I apologize for the… interruption." He cleared his throat, a purely human habit he'd never shaken. "Aro, Caius, and Marcus. They demand an audience. Immediately. They wish to see you… both."
The air, once charged with electric passion, now crackled with a different, far more dangerous kind of tension. Jane's eyes, still burning with the remnants of desire now mixed with fury, narrowed.
"Now?" Her voice was cold enough to freeze the very air in the room.