Page 21 of Henrikk’s Secret

“Would you like the room?” Nathaniel offered.

“What?” Henrikk asked, sounding distracted. He first placed his cool hand on Asher’s forehead, presumably checking for fever, then firm fingers beneath his jaw to check his pulse. He took a long time to check Asher’s pulse, as if he was unable to feel it.

Nathaniel was required to repeat the question several times before Henrikk dismissed him and Melody. The silence of her departure broke Asher’s heart.

Had his sister really condoned his murder? Or was this all a bad dream?

Henrikk spoke with a rare gentleness as he smoothed Asher’s hair.

“Forgive me, my friend, for all I am putting you through.”

In what world did Henrikk ever apologise?

I’m definitely dreaming. A nightmare of near-murder transformed into a pleasant fantasy.

“And,” Henrikk continued, leaning close, his voice whispering warmly against his ear, “I’m sorry for all that is yet to come.”

Soft, moist lips grazed Asher’s neck. He would have jumped out of his skin if he could have moved at all. The feeling was electrifying, setting off a tingling sensation that hummed across his skin.

Henrikk planted an open-mouthed kiss on his neck, his breath deliciously warm.

Asher was ready to melt, but then he felt the sharp points of Henrikk’s fangs sink into his throat. Sharp pain pierced him, followed by a heady euphoria.

Disbelief filled him.

Henrikk was feeding off him. And, he was doing it in a way that was not only pleasant but arousing. The nausea that had been twisting Asher’s stomach faded as if it had never been. Had he not been paralysed, he still would have been just as silently stunned as he was now by the fact that Henrikk’s lips were lapping at his throat.

Henrikk drank deeply. It was not an unpleasant sensation. But then he remembered—

The poison. My blood is contaminated.

Henrikk would be poisoned too. Alarm bells rang in Asher’s mind, but he was growing steadily weaker as Henrikk fed from him, until his consciousness began to fade.

Something pried his mouth open, and the metallic tang of blood flooded his senses as a warm liquid trickled into his mouth.

Henrikk’s blood. It coated his tongue, a bittersweet copper that flowed like molten gold. He could not swallow, but his mouth absorbed it into his bloodstream, its strength revitalising him. Henrikk’s life force flowed through him, feeling so much more foreign than he’d imagined it would, like his blood contained a sinister quality.

Finally, Asher managed a partial swallow.

“Yes,” Henrikk encouraged. Asher was able to peek open a bleary eye and see Henrikk’s wrist pressed to his mouth. “Drink.”

Asher obeyed, which at first was little more than a weak attempt to swallow the drops of blood oozing into his mouth. The warmth of Henrikk’s blood set off an even stronger euphoric rush, unlike anything he’d ever known.

As his strength returned, he was able to drink more deeply. He grasped Henrikk’s wrist blindly as bloodlust took over, his drained body driven by a savage hunger. It was as if every drop of blood carried a forbidden secret, connecting them intimately in a way that transcended the bounds of their previous relationship.

Asher tried to savour the taste of the king’s essence, but he lost control and fed greedily until Henrikk finally stopped him.

“That should do.”

As Henrikk pulled away, a sudden surge of panic seized Asher, the threat of Henrikk’s departure becoming a deafening roar that drowned out all other thought.

No. Don’t go!

He was thirsty for more blood, and more soft touches and warmth. Asher felt more fragile than he cared to admit. After having escaped death’s clutches twice, once from his self-administered poison, and once from the king’s own son—something he could not even begin to process—he needed Henrikk close.

To his sheer and utter relief, Henrikk didn’t leave. Instead, the king helped him to sit up.

Asher winced as his cramped muscles compressed, his legs swinging over the edge of the table. It was just the two of them, alone in the dining hall.