CHAPTER THIRTYݍFOUR
THE HIGH OF MADNESS
e was coming.H The knowledge settled in my bones like certainty, like prophecy written in divine blood and sealed with my own newfound hunger. I could feel it in the way the air shifted, thick with approaching storm, in the restless energy that had been building beneath my skin.
The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, slow and measured, accompanied by the familiar clink of keys and weapons. There was nothing different about the rhythm of the footfalls, but it felt different nonetheless. A difference that made my pulse quicken with anticipation rather than dread.
I straightened, spine pressing against the cold stone, chin lifting with unconscious pride. Whatever Valen had planned for tonight, whatever punishment he intended to visit upon me for my defiance at the feast, I would meet it with eyes wide open. No more cowering. No more silent tears. I had bit him, tasted his blood. I was capable of more than I’d ever imagined.
The footsteps grew closer, accompanied now by the low murmur of voices. I recognized the cadence even before they came into view—my three guards, the ones who had tended me after each session, who had grown gentle in their handling despite the violence they were required to facilitate.
The oldest with his slight limp, the youngest whose nose bore the crooked reminder of our first encounter, the middle one who spoke the least but whose hands were always careful when they cleaned my wounds.
And behind them, his presence filling the corridor like gathering
darkness, came Valen.
I didn’t need to see him to know he was there. His power preceded him, rolling through the air like heat waves. The blood in my veins responded immediately, warming, rising to meet its source like iron filings drawn to a magnet. My breath caught in my throat, not from fear but from the intensity of recognition, of two dangerous forces acknowledging each other across space.
I was no longer certain which of us was predator, and which was prey.
The key turned in the lock with its familiar grinding protest, but when the door swung open, my guards didn’t immediately enter. Instead, they waited, stepping aside in perfect synchronization to allow their master to take center stage.
Valen stepped further into view, and the sight of him stole what little breath I had left.
He was magnificent in his darkness, tall and imposing in his black leather. His hair fell effortlessly across his forehead, framing a face that belonged in nightmares and fantasies in equal measure. But those depthless black eyes captured me, fixed so resolutely on me, it made my skin feel too tight, too warm, too alive.
He said nothing at first, merely studied me with the same clinical interest a scholar might show a particularly fascinating specimen. His gaze traveled over me slowly, taking in my position against the wall, the way the silk clung to my frame, the defiant tilt of my chin. When his eyes finally met mine, I saw anticipation flicker in their depths.
“Enter her cell,” he commanded the guards, his voice carrying the absolute authority of divinity wrapped in mortal flesh. “Bind her wrists in front.”
The guards moved with practiced efficiency, but there was something almost apologetic in their movements as they approached me. The youngest avoided my eyes as he knelt beside me, producing lengths of rope from his belt. His hands were gentle as he drew my wrists together, the rope soft against my skin but firm enough to hold.
I offered no resistance. Why should I? This was merely the opening move in a game I was finally ready to play. I watched Valen as the guards worked, noting the way he observed every detail of their ministrations, the way his hands remained perfectly still at his sides despite the tension that radiated from him like heat from a forge.
“Kneel,” he said once the guards had finished their work.
The command hung in the air between us, weighted with all the power he held over me, with the memory of every time I had been forced to submit to his will. But tonight, I wouldn’t submit. Tonight, I looked up at him from my position against the wall and smiled—not the broken smile of the defeated, but something sharp and knowing and entirely unrepentant.
I didn’t move.
The silence that followed was electric, charged with tension. The guards shifted nervously, uncertain how to react to my defiance. But Valen... Valen went perfectly still, his head tilting slightly as he studied me with renewed interest.
“I said kneel,” he repeated, his voice softer, but somehow more dangerous.
Still, I remained where I was, spine straight against the stone, silver eyes locked on his black ones. Let him force me onto my knees.
The guards moved without needing further instruction, their hands firm but not cruel as they grasped my arms, lifted me, and pulled me forward. My knees hit the stone floor with jarring impact, but I kept my head high, kept my gaze fixed on Valen’s face as they positioned me in the center of my cell like an offering placed before an altar.
“Leave us,” Valen said without taking his eyes from mine.
The guards departed with obvious relief, their footsteps echoing down the corridor until the silence reclaimed us.
Valen began to circle me, his movements predatory and deliberate, each step calculated to remind me of my position. But I found myself tracking his progress not with the wary attention of prey, but with the focused interest of an equal opponent.
“Tonight,” he said, his voice rolling through the cell like distant thunder, “you will learn the crucial difference between defiance and stupidity.”
I kept my eyes on him as he moved, refusing to lower my gaze despite the vulnerable position I’d been forced into. “What is the difference, my king?” I asked, my voice steady despite the divine power that pressed against me from all sides.
He hummed, as if not quite ready to tell me. “So impatient. Tell me, my queen,” he said, the endearment twisted into something mocking, “why do you think you’re kneeling before me?”
“Because you’re a sadistic god who gets off on other people’s pain?”
Valen’s smile was slow and terrible, a crescent moon rising in the darkness of his face. “No,” he said, resuming his predatory circling. “You’re kneeling because you acted like a rabid animal last night.” He paused. “And rabid animals, my dear, get put down.”
The threat should have terrified me. Should have sent ice through my veins, should have reduced me to a trembling, pleading creature.
Instead, I felt... nothing.
No, not nothing. I felt alive. Vibrantly, dangerously alive, as if Valen’s blood had awakened something in me that thrived on confrontation, that fed on the electric tension crackling between us.
I tilted my head, studying him as he completed another circuit around me, his black eyes never leaving my face. There was something different in his expression tonight—an intensity that went beyond his usual calculated cruelty, a heat that spoke of genuine engagement rather than mere entertainment. As if he, too, had realized that the rules of our game had fundamentally changed.
“You bit me,” he continued, each word measured and precise. “In front of my court. In front of what remains of yours. I warned you to behave and then you bit me.”
“Yes, I was there,” I said, my voice carrying a note of mock consideration. “Although, I don’t recall you specifying what particular behavior you expected.”
Valen’s circling slowed, his attention sharpening like a blade finding its edge. “I expected obedience. Submission.”
I scoffed. “Your attention shouldn’t have strayed if you wanted my complete obedience.”
Valen stopped circling entirely, and I silently cursed myself. His smile was slow and knowing as I glared up at him.
“Ah,” he said, his voice rich with amusement. “I didn’t realize.”
I kept my expression flat, but something in my silence must have spoken volumes, because his smile widened, becoming something genuinely delighted.
“Was my queen jealous?” he asked, crouching down until we were at eye level, his face inches from mine. “Did it hurt to see another woman touch what you’ve decided was yours?”
I allowed my own smile to curve my lips. “Jealous?” I repeated. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was merely... irritated by your lack of focus.”
“Irritated,” Valen echoed, his black eyes dancing with something that might have been genuine joy. “How delightfully transparent you are. Tell me, was it jealousy that drove you to sink your teeth into my flesh? Or simple animal instinct?”
Heat flooded my cheeks, but I refused to look away. “Are you planning on torturing me,” I asked, changing the subject with deliberate provocation, “or is the torture merely your presence?”
Valen laughed—a rich, genuine sound that filled my cell like dark music.
The expression transformed his face completely, softening the harsh angles, making him look less like an ancient god and more like a man who had found something unexpectedly entertaining. But beneath the amusement, I could feel the tension building, coiling like a spring wound too tight.
He was enjoying this. The verbal sparring, the charged atmosphere, the way I met his provocations with my own. For the first time since my capture, we were engaging as equals—predator to predator, darkness to darkness. And the realization sent a thrill through me.
“Oh, my dear Mireille,” he said, rising from his crouch to tower over me once again. “I think you’ll find that my presence is the least torturous part of tonight’s agenda.”
There was promise in his voice, weighted with implications that made my pulse quicken. But not with dread. With anticipation. With the kind of dark excitement that comes from standing at the edge of a precipice and contemplating the fall.
“How mysterious,” I replied, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. “I’m positively trembling with anticipation.”
Valen’s eyes blazed at my sarcasm, but instead of anger, I saw something that looked suspiciously like approval. As if my defiance was exactly what he’d been hoping for, exactly what he’d been waiting for me to show him.
“You should be,” he said, his voice dropping to that velvet whisper that seemed to resonate in my bones. “Because tonight, I’m going to give you what you sought to take without permission.”
He moved closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, could smell that intoxicating mixture of mountain air and metal and something darker that belonged uniquely to him. My bound hands rested in my lap, fingers curling involuntarily as he leaned down, bringing his face
level with mine once again.
“I’m going to give you my blood.”
My mouth watered instantly. The memory of copper and fire flooded my senses, the divine essence I’d tasted singing its recognition through my veins.
My lips parted slightly, breathing becoming shallow as my body remembered the pleasure of consuming divine power.
And then I heard it—a sound that seemed to fall directly into my consciousness. A growl, low and furious and utterly inhuman, resonating through my skull like distant thunder. The sound of my god in chains, watching and disapproving and utterly powerless to intervene.
Death. His fury hit me like a punch to the chest. He knew what was happening, could feel the shift in me. But his warnings no longer worried me, not with Valen’s promise setting me ablaze.
Although, it was curious. Valen made no indication he heard Death’s anger. His attention remained fixed on me, on the way my pupils must have dilated, on the rapid rise and fall of my chest. It was as if he hadn’t heard Death at all.
The growl echoed through me again, more insistent this time, accompanied by chains rattling against stone. Death’s fury pressed against the edges of my awareness, a cold weight that stood in stark contrast to the heat building between Valen and me. For just a moment, my attention wavered, pulled toward that familiar darkness, toward the god who had held me when no one else would.
That moment of distraction was all Valen needed.
His hands shot out like striking serpents, gripping my shoulders with bruising force. Before I could react, before I could even process what was happening, he yanked me forward and struck.
His teeth sank into the curve of my neck with predatory precision, finding the exact spot where my pulse beat strongest beneath delicate skin. The pain was immediate—a sharp, tearing sensation that ripped a gasp from my throat and sent lightning crackling down my spine.
The agony transformed with breathtaking speed, pain metamorphosing into something else entirely. Pleasure—pure, molten, overwhelming pleasure —flooded through me from the point where his teeth pierced my flesh. It was like having fire injected directly into my bloodstream, like being struck by lightning and discovering that electricity was ecstasy made manifest.
My back arched involuntarily, pressing me closer to him, my bound hands lifting to clutch at the leather of his shirt. A sound escaped my lips— half gasp, half moan—as waves of sensation crashed over me. This was
beyond anything I had ever experienced, beyond any pleasure I had imagined possible. It was as if every nerve ending in my body had suddenly awakened, as if I was feeling truly alive for the first time in my existence.
Dimly, through the haze of overwhelming sensation, I heard Valen make a sound of his own—a deep, primal moan that vibrated against my throat.
The sound sent fresh shivers through me, and I found myself leaning into him, offering more of my neck, desperate for him to continue whatever dark power he was working on my willing flesh.
His arms came around me, pulling me against his chest with desperate strength, and I could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles trembled with restraint. Or perhaps with his own overwhelming sensation.
Because this wasn’t just affecting me. I could sense his reaction in the way his breathing had turned ragged, in the heat that radiated from his skin, in the possessive grip of his hands.
Then, with what seemed like tremendous effort, Valen tore himself away.
I cried out at the sudden loss, the absence of his mouth against my skin leaving me feeling incomplete, bereft. My head fell back, neck exposed and most likely marked with an imprint of his teeth, blood trickling down in thin rivulets, merging into the black silk of my gown.
Valen sat back on his heels, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to regain control. His lips were stained with my blood, dark red against pale flesh, and as I watched, he lifted his thumb to wipe away the excess. The gesture was almost clinical, but then he slowly pressed that bloodied thumb into his mouth, his black eyes never leaving mine.
The sight sent fresh heat spiraling through me, my body responding to the intimate act with an intensity that should have shamed me. Instead, I found myself watching with hungry fascination, memorizing every detail of the way he savored my essence.
“Do you know,” he said, his voice rough with something that might have been awe, “what happens when a god and mortal exchange blood?”
I tried to speak, tried to form words through the haze of sensation that still clouded my thoughts, but only managed to shake my head. My voice seemed to have abandoned me entirely, stolen away by the overwhelming experience of being consumed by a divine being.
Valen leaned closer, close enough that I could smell my own blood on his breath, could see the way his pupils were blown wide. When he spoke, his words were barely more than a whisper, intimate as a lover’s confession.
“Madness.”
The word hung between us like a promise and a threat combined.
Madness. The price of divine blood, the cost of crossing the boundaries between mortal and god. I should have been terrified. Should have recoiled from the implications, from the knowledge that what we had just done might
destroy what remained of my sanity.
Instead, I felt only need.
Valen must have seen it in my expression because his smile returned, sharp and dangerous and beautiful. Without breaking eye contact, he lifted his own wrist to his mouth.
His teeth were sharper than they had any right to be, gleaming white as they bit down into his own flesh. Dark blood welled immediately, nearly black in the dim light of my cell, and the metallic scent of divinity filled the air.
“Your turn,” he said, extending his bleeding wrist toward my face.
I stared at the offering, at the divine essence that flowed freely from the self-inflicted wound. Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to refuse, to pull away. That it was disgusting to want to taste him. Still, a stronger instinct, one awakened by his blood already flowing through my system, urged me forward.
But before I could move myself, Valen’s free hand came up to grip my jaw with inexorable strength. His fingers pressed against my cheeks, forcing my lips apart, and then his bleeding wrist was against my mouth and there was nowhere to retreat.
The first drop hit my tongue like liquid fire.
The taste was indescribable, nothing like human blood. Sweet and smokey and something indefinably ancient, something that spoke of power and conquest and the passing of eons. This was concentrated divinity, pure
essence distilled into liquid form.
And it was magnificent.
Any pretense of resistance crumbled as the divine blood flooded my mouth. I found myself pressing forward eagerly, my lips sealing around the wounds in his wrist, drinking with desperate hunger. Each swallow sent new waves of sensation through me, different from the pleasure he had given me but no less overwhelming. This was transformation, change at the most fundamental level, and I could feel it working on every cell in my body.
I was lost. Lost in the exquisite taste of divinity, in the way his blood
seemed to sing as it flowed down my throat. Vaguely, I was aware of Valen’s other hand stroking my hair, of the approving sounds he made as I fed from him like some human parasite. But most of my consciousness was focused on the blood itself, on the way it filled empty spaces inside me that I hadn’t even known existed.
This was what I had been missing. This was what I had been craving.
And I would drink every drop he offered me, consequences be damned.
