The moan tore from her throat, ragged and loud. Her spine arched steeply as she drank deeper, her freezing pelvis unintentionally grinding down hard against his lap, purely driven by the frantic rhythm of his pulse.
She was the Queen. She was Death incarnate.
But right now?
She was just a woman completely lost in the intoxicating high of his blood.
Cruxius only smiled up at the ceiling. One hand palmed the cold, heavy curve of her ass, while the other lightly brushed the base of her spine.
"Drink as much as you need," he whispered, a dark promise meant only for her. "I'll be here to catch you when you finally collapse."
"Haah... So, indeed, it hates you."
Breaking the heavy spell, Evangeline suddenly pulled back. She was clearly still savoring the rich taste coating her tongue, but her crimson eyes had snapped toward the corner of the room, fixing on a red ruby pendant resting on a velvet cushion.
