The Vampire Prince's Toxic Consort (BL)

Before Dorian’s apprehension grew further, Lucius kneeled next to Dorian, leaning in closer, brushed his hair away and bared his neck.

“Come on, drink.” Lucius urged.

Such a compliant and submissive posture sent a rush of excitement to Dorian’s lower abdomen. The taste of Lucius’s blood, though different from Julian’s refreshing and soothing smell, was still unique and alluring. It had a mixed sweetness of vanilla and orange, plus a bit of ginger’s spiciness, a surprisingly addictive flavor.

He pulled Lucius toward him, grabbed his hair, and bit down hard at that soft, pale skin. Lucius let out a low whimper but didn’t struggle at all. Sweet and vigorous blood poured into the vampire’s mouth and warmed his throat, and life flourished once again within Dorian’s withering body.

Every nerve in Dorian’s body fired up, and each cell rejuvenated. Dorian sucked so hard that it left a deep purple mark on Lucius’s neck, but he couldn’t care. His dick was extremely hard, and he felt about to have the climax of his life. He drank and drank and drank and never felt so ravenous and satisfied at the same time.Content property of NôvelDra/ma.Org.

Meanwhile, Lucius completely succumbed to the aphrodisiac effect of vampire venom. As his blood flooded out of him, the arousing tingling and the fire of excitement spread to the end of every nerve. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and moaned uncontrollably, and he pressed his body closer to his predator, feeling the fraction between their flesh and the cloth in between, wanting more, albeit it would eventually kill him.

After a while, Lucius felt it was getting colder and colder, and the world around him grew darker. He pushed Dorian weakly, trying to tell him that he was reaching the limit. But Dorian didn’t respond. The vampire was completely seized by his desire.

“Dorian...” Lucius pleaded, “please...It’s too much...”

And as Dorian didn’t stop, Lucius vaguely thought such death was not so horrible.

Fortunately, a sliver of rational thinking returned to Dorian’s mind as his hunger partially satiated. He realized Lucius’s body had gone limp in his arms, and he jolted awake and released the delicious neck. Lucius was barely awake, and all colors were gone from his face.

“I’m sorry...I lost control....” Dorian held Lucius tighter, trying to give him some more warmth, “stay with me, don’t fall asleep.”

“It’s so cold,” Lucius whispered. His consciousness gradually sank into a void.

“I know.” Dorian closed his wounded wings around them, and some of the blisters were already starting to heal as fresh blood replenished him, “just a bit longer, and I can fly us to somewhere safe.”

“I’m afraid you can’t.”

A third voice interjected and startled the crown prince.

Lucius was in a dream.

He was around eighteen years old, sitting in the church with Julian and his parents, listening to the archpriest’s sermon. Everyone around him was listening with rapt attention, especially Julian. But Lucius never found those homiletic scripture stories interesting. He’d rather surreptitiously observe other aristocratic members, amuse himself by judging their attires and appearance, and imagine what kind of depravity they were enjoying back home.

Therefore, he didn’t notice when the light outside the window faded, how all the ambient sound that always filled a crowded space ceased, and that the archpriest raised his head and looked at him directly.

“Some say twins are one person’s soul split into two, one divine, the other evil. Which one are you, Lucius?”

Lucius snapped his attention back to the podium. The archpriest peered at him ominously, and his shadow grew bigger and longer behind him, shielding the sacred Eye of God. And it did not match the priest’s shape. Multiple giant horns were extruding from the shadow’s head, and myriads of wiggling tentacles spread toward the edges of the church.

The air became thick and sultry, stuffed with a pungent smell of sulfur. All the colors of the frescos and people’s clothes faded. A sense of boding and evil devoured the holiness of the consecrated ground.

Lucius froze in fear. He turned to look at his brother and parents, but they were all frozen in time, just like everyone else, oblivious of what was happening to the surrounding.

Lucius stood up and ran to the door. But just as his hand was about to touch the handle, something hot and slimy wrapped around his waist and pulled him up into the air. He struggled with all his might, but the tentacle made of twined muscles and tendons was harder than metal and would not budge. Soon smaller tentacles crept up his legs and arms, and he was trapped like a helpless moth in a web.

He cried for help, but none of the people were moving or listening. He called for his mother, and yet she was unmoved like others.

“No one will help you, my little lamb.” The archpriest’s voice began to distort. It went deeper, rumbling like distant thunder, “because they all know you are not worth the effort. You were never good enough for anyone. Not good enough to even believe in God.”

The words stun more than the fear of being trapped by an unholy creature. He shouted desperately, “shut up! What are you! Let me go, devil!!”

“Do you really want me to let you go when I am the only one interested in you?“The dark, sinister voice chuckled, “when you are so, so alone?”

“I’m not alone! I have my family! My brother will never forsake me! My parents will never...“He couldn’t continue. Why couldn’t he continue?

My parents will never sell me in exchange for my brother’s safety?

My parents will never abandon me?

My parents will never harm me?

My parents love me as much as they love my brother?

Why couldn’t he say any of these things?

“It’s ok, my little lamb.” The voice was approaching from behind, yet Lucius couldn’t even turn his head as another tentacle twined over his neck and slithered into his collar, caressing his chest licentiously as the slim drenched his shirt, “when your god doesn’t answer your prayer, I will.”

“Who are you?”

“You will know, when you come to find me.”

“How can I find you when I don’t even know your name!”

The voice got closer and closer, and the last word was uttered with a burning breath, scorching Lucius’s ear: “You will find me. You will come to me. And eventually, you will be mine.”

“GO AWAY!” Lucius screamed as he jolted awake, panting and sweating as if he had just run a marathon.

He was not in the church.

He was in a warm bed covered in white lamb fur. The room was spacious and cozy, and the blazing wood fireplace emanated a refreshing pine scent. All the walls were polished logs, and all the wooden furniture was sturdy and stylishly simple. It looked like a wood vacation cabin or forest resort room.

It was a very different style from Vermilion Citadel, but luxurious nonetheless.

He was still giddy and nauseous, as if waking up from a bad hangover. All his limbs felt heavy and lethargic.

Where was Dorian?

He picked himself up and got off the bed but soon found the door was locked from the outside. He banged on the door for a while and called Dorian’s name. There were muffled sounds on the other side of the door, but he couldn’t tell what they were saying.

Receiving no reply, he turned to check the windows. All the toughened glasses all sealed perfectly, with no way to open or break them.

His heart sank, and he called more. Eventually, he grew tired and went back to bed, taking up the glass of water on the nightstand to quench his scorching throat, but on second thought, he didn’t drink, worrying it was poisoned.

A moment later, the door burst open, and two burly men marched in. Lucius flinched and queried, “who are you? What are you doing?”

The two men ignored his questions, pulled him off the bed roughly, and frog-marched him out of the room. His feet barely touched the ground as the two men held him tightly by the arms, so tight that he winced in pain.

Outside of the lodge was a stunning city merged perfectly with the forest. Trucks and cross-country cars bustled on the leave-covered winding road. Myriad rustic-styled log houses and cabins straggled in the woods. In the yonder, several high edifices blanketed with luxuriate plants blend seamlessly into the ancient trees.

Many people lived there, walking, working, or shopping in the bazaar, minding their own businesses. They looked just like regular humans, but Lucius had a feeling that they were not.

“What is this place? Where is the vampire?” He asked dreadfully.

“Shut up.” One of the men growled.

Lucius complied in angst. They shoved him into a car and drove ahead. Soon the road became wider, and the forest opened to both sides. Two towering wolf statues formed a stately entrance, and behind it stood an imperial stone palace.

The moment Lucius saw the two howling wolf statues, he knew they had fallen into the werewolves’ hands. But why was he still alive if that was the case? Why hadn’t they killed him yet?

Lucius was dragged out of the car and brought up the tall stairs. The giant doors were opened for them, and he was shoved into the grand hall.

It was a more minimalist, solemn, and practical style compared to the vampire’s ostentatious castle, reminding Lucius of the great Viking halls in some of the movies he saw.

In front of the throne, a man was throwing knives at a target hung on a wall, and each knife hit the bullseye.

He was a tall and impressively strong-built man in his early thirties, with black, lustrous skin, well-trimmed stubble, and handsome features. A full head of long, delicate, and well-maintained dreads fell down his shoulder. A platinum crescent earring dangled from his right ear. He wore a long black leather jacket, black pants and military boots that looked stylish and dangerous.

Lucius eyed him gingerly and gave a quick glance of the hall. It was empty except for them two.

“Pleasure to have you in my humble abode, High Priest of Anthor.” The man said sarcastically as he threw the last knife on his belt.

Lucius asked directly, “where is the vampire?”

“You should worry about yourself first.” The man turned to Lucius and sauntered toward him, dark eyes scanning him with interest, “I’ve heard that Prince Dorian set out to marry a human priest. I thought it was a joke.”

“I’m glad to hear that it gave you some amusement,” Lucius replied dryly. Great...now both Dorian and he were both defenseless in the wolves’ den. How lucky he was.“Who are you? Did you send the assassins?”

“I am Volke Nightingale, Chieftain of The Guardians. You and your husband had entered my land without permission, but no, I didn’t send any assassins.”

“Your land? But we were supposed to go by Gray Valley.”

“My captain found you in the woods of Crowsnest Ridge.”

Crowsnest Ridge was a werewolf land, twenty miles east of Gray Valley. Why in the hell did they end up there? Did the lead car take a wrong turn and happen to drive them into a planned assassination?

Something funky was going on. Someone in Eternia was plotting to kill Dorian.

In his spare time, Lucius did a quick study about the relationship between vampires and werewolves. At some point in history, the two species had united and founded Eternia, but Vampire gradually gained control over the country and won the ensuing civil war. Since then, the feud between the two nations deepened, and the chasm of hatred grew like a plague. Werewolves accused vampires of stealing their kingdom and persecuting them politically, while the vampires argued that the werewolves started the war.

Werewolves are divided into numerous clans and chiefdoms, with three major power balancing each other out. Nocturne was the greatest clan of all. While The Guardians were smaller in comparison, they were known to harbor the greatest warriors and were devoted to protecting werewolves’ beliefs and legacy.

It was rumored that not all clans and chiefdoms agreed to negotiate with vampires in the current insurrection, and the attitude of The Guardians was rather equivocating.

“Even if you didn’t send those assassins, people will think you did since we are captured by you. And Eternia will not allow their crown prince to be imprisoned or harmed.” Lucius tried to stay as calm as possible. Praying for the rumor that werewolves were generally less aggressive in the daytime was true.

“Or, maybe we will have more leverage in the negotiation now that I have the future king. But...” Volke stood very close to Lucius, and his stunning height blocked most of the lights and cast a suffocating shadow over the smaller man. He grinned a smile that could only be described as “wolfish” and continued to say, “I bet Eternia won’t care much about what I would do to you, will they?”

Lucius gulped nervously, but he tried to sound firm and authoritative, “I am the Crown Prince Consort, the former High Priest, and the bridge of peace between Anthor and Eternia. Harm me, and you will incur not only Vampire’s anger but also Anthor’s wrath.”

“After five years of war, Anthor can threaten no one with the fatuous King and the internecine factions. Besides, if they give a shit about you, why did they gift you to the enemy?”

Why did everyone have to keep poking at the point where he hurt the most?

Lucius felt a surge of anger that pushed aside his angst. He raised his chin and challenged, “fine, if you are so sure, do whatever you want. Kill me, eat me. You probably will have a regular unimpressed meal since I suppose I will taste like a regular human, and then let’s see if this meat will turn into poison in your stomach.”