Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 80 - 82

Chapter 80: Chapter 82

Avara POV

The horse responds instantly, leaping into a gallop that sends adrenaline coursing through my veins. The wind carries my laughter as we tear across the meadow, blades of grass blurring beneath us. For a few exhilarating moments, my mount surges ahead, but Angelo rides hard, his determination palpable as we close the gap.

In the final stretch, Angelo edges ahead by mere inches, the gap between us as narrow as a breath. As we slow, hearts pounding and faces flushed with victory and defeat, I can’t help but grin as the exhilaration lingers.

We lead the horses back to the palace grounds in a leisurely canter, their hooves drumming a soft rhythm against the earth. The sun glints off the sparkling green field ahead, where a willowy tree casts its gentle shade. There, beneath its sweeping branches, Botan waits, reclined against the trunk in effortless poise. A picnic is laid out before him—a tapestry of light appetizers, gleaming under the dappled sunlight. He’s absorbed in the sci-fi novel I devoured the night before, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration.

As we approach, I slide off my horse with practiced ease, handing the reins to Angelo, who silently leads both steeds toward the stables. My steps are light as I make my way to Botan, drawn by the sight of him slouched comfortably against the tree, one leg stretched out, the other bent casually. The book is open in his hands, but he glances up briefly, the shadow of a smile tugging at his lips before his eyes drift back to the pages.

I sink down, settling between his legs, my head finding its natural rest against his chest. His arm curls instinctively around my waist, a subtle yet unyielding claim of closeness.

"Hope you didn’t read past where we left off?" I murmur, tilting my face to catch his expression.

"Just catching up," he replies, his voice a low hum that vibrates through me. "I passed out after they discovered the encrypted log."

I grin, shifting to my side as my hand reaches for a bundle of grapes. "Ooo," I drawl, plucking one from the vine. "I was gagged after they found out what was on it."

Without request, he resumes where the story left off, reading aloud, his voice smooth and steady, weaving the words into life. Each syllable rumbles through his chest, and I let it wash over me, sinking deeper into the tranquility of the moment. I nibble on the grapes as he reads, punctuating his narration with playful interruptions to feed him a few. His teeth brush my fingertips, and the small, intimate gesture sends a ripple of warmth through me.

Time slows, the world narrowing to the cadence of his voice, the sunlight filtering through the willowy branches.

***

I come out of the en suite, dried and dressed in a night robe with nothing underneath. I walk towards the walk-in wardrobe, suddenly disrupted as I lift my gaze to the standing mirror. My breath halts, a gasp tearing free as the reflection reveals a towering silhouette. I whirl around, my pulse thrumming as I face Botan.

The dim lighting casts jagged shadows across his features, sharpening the dark amusement that carves into his expression. His eyes gleam like shards of obsidian, and the slow, deliberate steps he takes toward me are laden with intent.

"I’m surprised you didn’t join me," I point out tauntingly.

The corner of his mouth tilts upward, wolfish and ominous, as his gaze darkens with a thought left unspoken.

"I had some business to take care of."

The word scrapes against my senses, and I spit it back at him, my tone biting. "Business? Is that what they call drug trafficking these days?"

He chuckles, the sound low like a blade dragged along stone. "It was actually a shipment of black-market arms."

The indifferent delivery ignites a fire within me, and I spin away, unwilling to meet his gaze. He moves faster than my retreat, his hand seizing my wrist with a grip firm yet measured.

"We own legal enterprises too. Companies, subsidiaries—global foundations. Anonymous donations to even your charities, Avara. Some good can come out of a little bad."

A little?

My wrist is bound in his grasp, my face turned resolutely from his. "It’s blood money, Botan," I whisper, the words barely holding their weight before his presence.

With a gentle tug, he pulls me closer, the air thinning as my body aligns with his. His free hand lifts, his touch reverent but commanding, and his hooked finger grazes my chin, guiding my face upward. His eyes search mine, a smoldering abyss of pain and defiance.

"Is that all you see in me?" he asks, his voice a fracture between steel and vulnerability.

"Don’t try to gaslight me."

His lips press into a firm line. "I’m not—"

"Then don’t use how I feel about you to blind me to what you do."

The shift in his expression is devastating, a stormcloud of ache sweeping over his face. His voice drops, raw, yearning and searching. "How you feel about me?" His question lingers in the space between us, heavy, desperate. "And how do you feel about me, Avara?"

I meet his gaze then, baring the truth that claws its way free despite my resolve.

"Like nothing else matters," I murmur, the words trembling as they escape.

His eyes flicker with something vast and uncontainable, their depths gleaming as though lit by starlight. Before I can speak again, his lips capture mine in a kiss so fierce, so unrelenting, it steals the air from my lungs. His hunger is palpable, a tidal wave of need, as though this moment might be his last—as if he might die if doesn’t get enough. And for all my fury, for all my resistance, I find myself drowning in him.

He breaks away, looming above me, his eyes burning with raw desire. His eyes rake down to the single layer keeping my body from his and his eyes not holding just a demand but a plea. So with excruciating care, I slowly untie the nightgown, silk slipping off my shoulders. With his eyes transfixed, mesmerized by each movement as he sheds his own clothing absently until we are completely bare before each other.

With a smoldering look, he hoists me up so my legs can wrap around him, my breasts pressed against his chest as he carries me over to the bed. Our eye contact is unbreakable as he lays me down on the bed and the musculature of his body comes upon me. Reaching down, he guides himself forward and I raise my hips slightly to meet him.

As our bodies connect, the full-bodied length of him, filling inside me with pleasurable pain. He threads my hand with his, raising them up to grip the headboard. Arching my back as I’m pressed further into the mattress and his penetration deepens faster and faster. His urgency increases, flooded with his need in a way that fulfills my own. The bed rocks as he slams one hand on the headboard to get even deeper and the mind-numbing sensation wrings out a cry from me—his strength and ferocity causes the bed to bang into the wall in time with my movements as a thrill rockets through me.

After a long, sheet-gripping, strained screaming interval—we are both shaking as the bed stills with our bodies, and total satisfaction settles over me like a clouded wave.

Botan hovers over me again.

"Who said I was finished?"

Laughing, I shake my head vigorously. "No—"

Squealing, he yanks me down and lifts my legs whilst putting himself between them.

"You’re gonna want to hold on."

***

My hand fumbles against the wall, searching for stability as I limp forward, every step a precarious gamble. The throbbing ache between my legs sharpens and I freeze with a sharp intake of breath, my knees threatening to buckle beneath me.

"Can I—"

"I’m fine," I interject, forcing myself onward. My jaw tightens as I take another step, but I falter and the effort to keep me from falling, makes me shake my head in frustrated defeat.

In an instant, Botan moves. His arms encircle me, strong and certain, as he lifts me effortlessly into a bridal hold. A breath of relief escapes me at the sudden reprieve from pain. Cradled against his chest, I feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a grounding contrast.

He carries me through the halls with ease, his footsteps steady and purposeful. When we reach the kitchen, he lowers me gently into a chair at the breakfast table, his hands lingering for a moment as if ensuring I am truly settled. Martha appears moments later, her face drawn tight with worry, her eyes darting between us.

"My dear, is everything alright?" she asks, her tone laced with concern.

I shift uncomfortably under her gaze as Botan pushes the chair in for me.

I offer her a small, uneasy smile. "I’m okay."

Martha’s eyes narrow slightly, studying me. "Is it cramps or—" Her gaze flicks to Botan and her jaw drops in comical realization before she snaps it shut. A faint blush rises to her cheeks as she straightens her skirt, her hands brushing down invisible creases with nervous energy. "I see," she says, her voice tinged with awkwardness. "Next time, go easy on the girl, Botan."

Botan’s lips twitch as he stifles a laugh, but I groan in sheer mortification, my hands flying up to shield my face, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.