Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 363: Chapter 363

She softened against him instantly, a quiet sigh leaving her lips as though she had been waiting for the embrace.

He had grown accustomed, and addicted to these small reactions. The way she leaned into him. The way her breathing shifted when he touched her. The taste of her when he pressed a kiss to her skin

His fangs throbbed painfully. It had been happening more often, this insistent pull whenever she was close. A steady hum beneath his skin urging him forward, urging him to sink his fangs into her soft flesh.

He let his teeth graze lightly along the column of her neck.The relief was immediate and gone just as quickly.

His jaw tightened. Each day, the urge grew stronger. More persistent. It lingered for hours at a time without reprieve, a slow, gnawing pain that refused to be ignored.

He forced himself to ease back, though he did not release her entirely.

Only months ago, she had despised everything about him and his kind. The memory of that hatred still lived somewhere between them. She might love him now but it didn’t mean that she would be thrilled to be bitten. He doubted she would let him at all.

So rather than give in to the impulses, he buried them, forcing them down as though they had never existed.

"Tomorrow, we’ll go into town," he murmured, his lips still near her ear. "I want to show you some of the places I think you will love."

The rough edge that had crept into his voice sent a shiver racing along her spine.

"Then I can’t wait for tomorrow."

*** ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

When a loved one or family member died, it was customary for those closest to the deceased to visit the temples and spend long hours in prayer so that the soul would safely depart the land of the living. It was said that the prayers of the living served as a guiding light, ushering the dead across the threshold into the world beyond.

Hours after Galen drew his final breath, Elka found herself seated inside one of the many temples scattered across the capital city, but not of her own free will. If she failed to appear, it would raise questions and rumors.

Coming to pray after her brother’s untimely demise was exactly what was expected from a dutiful daughter and her mother had spent years molding her into one.

That was why she was here, pretending to be a grieving sister when, in truth, she felt as though she might burst with joy and triumph. The emotion coiled tightly inside her chest, dangerous and exhilarating. Yet she kept her expression carefully arranged into one of sorrow and devastation. She would have to wait until she was alone before allowing herself to freely show her real feelings.

She had chosen this particular temple because it was the closest to the palace. The queen had insisted on accompanying her, and Elka had not dared to argue. Still, she could not help but think it was a complete waste of time. It was not as though she intended to spend a single sincere prayer on someone as horrid as Galen.

A dark shawl draped over her head, casting her face in shadow. To any onlooker, she made a truly pitiful sight, a sister overcome with grief. Inside, however, there was nothing. No sorrow. No loss. Only a vast, unending sense of relief that he was finally gone. And all that was left was for her father to join him too.

The temple smelled of burning incense, the scent of it was thick and cloying, smoke curling lazily toward the high ceiling. The smell stirred memories of her other visits from not long ago—visits filled with desperate pleas and quiet wishes for her wedding to be called off. Those prayers had gone unanswered. Now she found herself hoping for the same silence from the gods. Let them ignore the prayers said for Galen’s soul, just as they had once ignored hers.

He did not deserve an easy path. Not in life. Not in death.

A light touch on her shoulder pulled her from her thoughts. She turned to find the queen standing beside her.

"I want to speak to the head priest," Nheera said quietly. "I won’t be long. We can return to the palace when I am finished."

Elka nodded her head in silent agreement.

Nheera moved deeper into the temple, her footsteps were light yet they still echoed through the silent and deserted area.

During visiting hours, the head priest remained secluded in a small chamber that resembled a cell. Instead of iron bars, however, a solid wall separated him from those who sought him. Small square openings had been carved into the stone, just enough for those outside to glimpse the darkness within, though the chamber was always kept dim, making it nearly impossible to clearly see its occupant.

Nheera stopped before the wall. She did not bother peering through the openings, there was no point. Instead, she cleared her throat, the sound meant to announce her presence.

"Head priest," she called, her voice steady.

There was a faint rustling from within the chamber, like fabric shifting.

"Your Majesty," a male voice replied after a moment. "It is always an honor to receive you."

"Have you communed with the gods recently?" she asked, dispensing with pleasantries. There was urgency beneath her calm tone.

"I have," the voice answered, offering nothing more.

Nheera’s voice hardened. "What did you learn?"

The head priests were said to be the only ones capable of communing with the old gods. Many believed they stood as a bridge between the spirit world and the physical one. It was why they lived in isolation, removed from ordinary life. In darkness and solitude, they claimed, the voices of the divine were clearer.

For a long moment, the priest did not answer. The silence stretched, heavy and loaded, until it became almost stifling.

When he finally spoke, his voice carried a strange, unnatural quality that it did not possess before.

"Death walks amongst us, and no one can escape it," he said. "Death comes for House Acheron."