🔥 The Third Feeding 🔥

An Exclusive Bonus Chapter from THE DEMON’S TITHE

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You made it to the bonus content — which means you’ve experienced Kaelen and Seraphine’s journey through the complete first saga. Thank you for giving their story a chance.

This exclusive scene is our gift to dedicated readers like you. It’s too spicy for Amazon, so you’ll only find it here.

✨ BONUS CHAPTER: The Third Feeding ✨

A Demon’s Tithe Exclusive

This scene takes place between Chapters 15 and 16, during Kaelen’s final nights at Castle Voss before departing for Greymarch.

The summons came at midnight.

Not a servant this time—no nervous knock, no stammered message delivered through a crack in the door. The summons came as heat. A slow, insistent pulse in his demon blood that started in his chest and spread outward through every vein, every capillary, every silver-traced pathway that the Scarring had carved into his flesh.

Come to me.

Kaelen set down the whetstone he’d been using on his silver blade. The edge was already perfect—had been perfect an hour ago—but the repetitive motion had given his hands something to do while his mind churned through everything he’d learned about Seraphine Voss and her hungry, ancient nature.

She was dangerous. He knew that now with the certainty of a man who had looked into the abyss and seen it looking back with bedroom eyes.

She would consume him eventually. Drain him dry and leave nothing but a husk, the way she’d drained the demons whose essence now burned in his blood.

He should leave. Tonight. Saddle his horse and ride for Greymarch without looking back.

Instead, he stood. Checked his reflection in the darkened window—shirt unlaced, hair disheveled, the silver marks on his forearms glowing faintly with the pull of her summons—and walked out of his chambers toward the tower where she waited.

The castle was silent. Not the natural silence of a household asleep, but something deeper—a held-breath quality that suggested every servant, every guard, every living thing within these walls knew better than to be awake when their lady was… feeding.

He climbed the spiral stairs without hesitation. His boots rang against stone worn smooth by centuries of footsteps—how many lovers had climbed these stairs before him? How many had descended again?

How many hadn’t?

The door to her chambers was open. Candlelight spilled into the corridor, warm and golden, and with it came her scent—night-blooming flowers and cold silk and something underneath that his demon blood recognized with a surge of desperate want.

He stepped inside.

She was waiting on the bed.

Not in one of her elaborate gowns this time. Not in the calculated negligees she sometimes wore to remind him that seduction was a weapon she wielded with expert precision. Tonight she wore nothing at all—her pale body stretched across crimson sheets like an offering, her dark hair spread in waves across the pillows, her eyes fixed on him with an intensity that made his blood sing.

“You felt it,” she said. Not a question.

“I felt it.” He closed the door behind him. Turned the lock. “The pull. In my blood.”

“It’s getting stronger.” She sat up slowly, making no attempt to cover herself. Her breasts moved with the motion—small and perfect, nipples already peaked in the cool air. “The bond between us. Every time we come together, it deepens.”

“Is that what you wanted? To bind me to you?”

“I wanted many things.” Her smile was ancient and knowing and devastating. “I wanted your demon blood. Your fire. Your essence. I wanted to taste the power that flows through your veins and feel it become part of me.” She rose from the bed, crossed to him with the fluid grace of a predator. “But I find I also want… this.”

Her hand pressed flat against his chest, over his heart. His blood surged toward her touch like iron filings toward a magnet.

“This?” he asked.

“You. The man. Not just the demon you carry.” Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “I’ve consumed hundreds of demon-touched over the centuries, Kaelen. Fed on their essence until there was nothing left. None of them made me want… more.”

“More?”

She pulled his shirt over his head and let it fall. Her hands mapped his chest—the ridges of muscle, the scars from a dozen hunts, the silver tracery of the Scarring marks that glowed brighter under her touch.

“More of everything,” she breathed. “More of your fire. More of your body. More of the way you look at me like I’m the most dangerous thing you’ve ever faced and you can’t decide if you want to fight me or fuck me.”

“Both,” he admitted. “Always both.”

Her laugh was dark velvet. “Good.”

She kissed him.

The first touch of her lips was cool—she was always cool, her body running at a temperature that belonged to tombs and winter nights rather than living flesh. But her mouth opened against his, and her tongue slid past his lips, and the coolness gave way to heat that had nothing to do with temperature.

His hands found her waist. Drew her against him. She was naked and he was still half-clothed, and the imbalance felt right somehow—hunter and prey, except he was no longer certain which of them was which.

“I want to try something,” she murmured against his mouth.

“What?”

Instead of answering, she dropped to her knees.

His breath caught. She looked up at him with those bottomless eyes—ancient and hungry and focused entirely on him—and her fingers worked at the lacing of his trousers with practiced efficiency.

“You’ve fed me twice now,” she said, freeing him. His cock sprang out, already hard, already aching for her. “Your demon blood, given willingly through pleasure. It’s… intoxicating. More potent than anything I’ve tasted in centuries.”

“The first feeding nearly killed me.”

“You recovered.” Her hand wrapped around his shaft, and he hissed at the cool pressure. “Stronger than before, I think. Your demon blood regenerates, adapts, grows. Each feeding leaves you more powerful, not less.”

“And you? What does it leave you?”

She smiled. Leaned forward. Pressed a kiss to the swollen head of his cock.

“Hungry,” she whispered. “Always hungry for more.”

Her mouth opened and she took him in.

The sensation was staggering. Her mouth was cool silk and wet heat and something else—something that tingled against his flesh, her power sliding along his length like invisible fingers. His hands fisted in her hair, an involuntary reaction, and she moaned around him in a way that vibrated through his entire body.

She worked him slowly at first. Taking him deeper with each bob of her head, her tongue swirling patterns against his shaft that seemed designed to drive him mad. One hand gripped the base of his cock; the other slid up his thigh to cup his balls, rolling them gently in her palm.

“Gods—” His voice came out strangled. “Seraphine—”

She pulled back just far enough to speak, her lips still brushing his tip. “I’m going to make you come. And when you do, I’m going to swallow every drop. I’m going to drink your essence while your pleasure peaks, and it’s going to feel—”

“Like dying,” he finished. He remembered the first feeding. The ecstasy that bordered on agony. The sensation of his very soul being pulled out through his cock.

“Like transcendence,” she corrected. “But you have to let go completely. Trust me completely. Can you do that?”

He shouldn’t. Every survival instinct he possessed screamed that this was a trap, that she was a predator and he was prey and letting go meant letting her consume him entirely.

But his demon blood was singing. His body was burning. And looking down at her—this ancient, beautiful, terrifying creature on her knees before him with her lips swollen and wet and her eyes dark with hunger—he found he didn’t care about survival.

“Yes,” he said.

She took him back into her mouth.

This time there was nothing slow about it. She worked him with focused intensity, her head bobbing faster, her suction increasing, her tongue doing things that shouldn’t have been possible. His hips began to move involuntarily, fucking into her mouth with short, sharp thrusts that she accepted without complaint.

The pressure built. Not just physical—something deeper, something in his blood responding to the pull of her power. His Scarring marks were blazing now, silver fire tracing every vein, and he could feel the demon essence in him surging toward the point of contact, eager to pour itself into her waiting mouth.

“I’m going to—” he managed.

She didn’t pull back. If anything, she took him deeper, the head of his cock brushing the back of her throat, and the sensation combined with the building pressure in his blood to push him over the edge.

The orgasm hit like lightning. His vision whited out. His whole body seized, every muscle locking, and he felt himself spilling into her mouth—not just seed but essence, demon fire flowing out of him in waves that left pleasure-pain cascading through every nerve.

She drank. Gods, she drank. He could feel her swallowing around him, feel the pull of her power drawing more and more from his body, feel his reserves depleting as she fed. The pleasure peaked and kept peaking, an endless crest that should have faded but instead built higher, her mouth working him through an orgasm that seemed to last forever.

When she finally released him, he collapsed.

His knees gave out entirely. He went down hard, catching himself on his hands, his whole body shaking with aftershocks. His demon blood felt… thin. Diminished. Like a fire that had been burning at full roar and was now reduced to embers.

“Kaelen.” Her voice came from far away. Cool hands touched his face. “Kaelen, look at me.”

He raised his head. She was still kneeling, but now she was the one looking down at him—her lips swollen, her eyes bright with stolen power, her whole body seeming to glow faintly from within.

“That was…” He couldn’t find the words.

“That was the appetizer.” She stood, graceful despite her nakedness. Extended a hand to help him up. “The main course requires the bed.”

His legs were shaking, but he let her pull him upright. “I’m not sure I can—”

“Your blood is already regenerating. I can feel it.” She pressed against him, her bare breasts flattening against his chest, her hands sliding down to cup his ass. “By the time I’m done preparing you, you’ll be ready again.”

“Preparing me?”

Her smile was wicked. “Lie down.”

He obeyed. Partly because his legs were still unsteady, partly because he was genuinely curious about what she had planned, and partly because her voice carried a compulsion that his depleted blood couldn’t resist.

The bed was softer than it looked. Crimson sheets slid against his skin as he settled onto his back, and she climbed over him, straddling his waist with her thighs spread wide. He could feel the heat of her center hovering just above his softened cock—waiting, patient, hungry.

“I’m going to touch you,” she said, trailing her fingers down his chest. “Everywhere. I’m going to map every inch of your body with my hands and my mouth and my power. And while I do, I’m going to feed you.”

“Feed me?”

“A fraction of what you gave me.” Her nails scraped lightly over his nipple, and he hissed at the sensation. “Demon essence, filtered through my body, returned to yours. It will accelerate your regeneration. Amplify your pleasure. Make you… sensitive.”

“How sensitive?”

Instead of answering, she leaned down and pressed her mouth to his sternum. The kiss was soft, almost chaste—but the power that flowed from her lips into his skin was anything but. Heat bloomed through his chest, spreading outward in waves, and everywhere it touched, his nerve endings came alive with renewed intensity.

“Oh,” he breathed.

“Yes.” She kissed lower. His solar plexus. The ridges of his abdominal muscles. The sensitive hollow above his hip. Each kiss delivered another pulse of power, another wave of heightened sensation, until his whole body was thrumming with awareness. “Now you understand.”

She worked her way down one leg, then up the other. Kissed behind his knee and watched him shudder. Nipped at his inner thigh and smiled at the sound he made. By the time she returned to his center, he was hard again—achingly, desperately hard, his cock straining toward her with visible need.

“Impressive,” she murmured, wrapping her hand around him. The touch sent sparks cascading through his sensitized flesh. “Your demon blood recovers faster than I expected.”

“It knows what it wants.”

“And what does it want?”

He reached for her. Pulled her up his body until she was straddling his hips, her wet heat pressing against his shaft. “You.”

She sank down onto him in one smooth motion.

The sensation was almost too much. His amplified nerves screamed with pleasure as her walls gripped him, tight and hot and impossibly perfect. She was wet—gods, she was wet, soaked with arousal, and the glide of his cock into her body was friction and heat and pressure that made his vision blur.

“Move,” he demanded.

She laughed and rolled her hips.

The rhythm started slow—deep, grinding circles that worked him against every sensitive spot inside her while driving him mad with the need for more. His hands found her hips, trying to guide her faster, but she resisted. Kept her pace deliberately measured. Drew out every stroke until he was shaking beneath her.

“Please—”

“Please what?” She rose up on her knees, pulling almost entirely off him, then sank down with agonizing slowness. “Tell me what you want.”

“Faster. Harder. I want to feel you lose control.”

“I don’t lose control.”

“Then I’ll make you.”

He surged up. Wrapped an arm around her waist and flipped them, pressing her into the mattress with his body weight. Her legs wrapped around his hips immediately, pulling him deeper, and the new angle drove him into her so hard she gasped.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, like that—”

He fucked her without mercy.

All the gentleness, all the careful consideration he’d shown in their previous encounters—gone. This was primal. Animal. His hips pistoned into her with bruising force, and she took it all, her nails raking down his back, her mouth open in continuous moans of pleasure.

“Harder,” she demanded. “I want to feel you for days—”

He gave her harder. The bed frame slammed against the wall. The sheets tore under his grip. His demon blood was singing again, regenerating even as he spent himself, and the pleasure built and built toward a peak he could see approaching like a wave on the horizon.

Her walls clenched around him. She was close—he could feel it in the flutter of her inner muscles, see it in the way her head fell back and her eyes rolled up. He reached between them, found her clit, and rubbed with focused intensity.

She screamed.

The sound echoed off the stone walls as her orgasm crashed through her. She clamped around him like a vise, her whole body seizing, and the pressure pushed him over his own edge. He came with a roar, spilling into her in hot pulses, and this time the feeding was gentler—a soft pull rather than a consuming drain, her power drawing just enough essence to heighten his pleasure without depleting him entirely.

They collapsed together. Breathing hard. Slicked with sweat.

“That,” she said eventually, “was acceptable.”

He laughed despite himself. “Just acceptable?”

“You have potential.” Her fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest. “With practice, you might become… adequate.”

“High praise from an ancient entity.”

“The highest I’ve given in centuries.” She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, then bit down gently. The sting made him twitch inside her—still hard, impossibly, his demon blood refusing to let him soften. “Mmm. Still ready for more?”

“Your power. The amplification. It’s…”

“Keeping you erect, yes. A useful side effect.” She rolled her hips experimentally, and they both groaned at the friction. “I could keep you like this all night. Hard and desperate and ready to fuck me whenever I demanded it.”

“You’d drain me completely.”

“Perhaps.” She clenched around him deliberately. “Would that be so terrible? To die in ecstasy, buried inside me?”

“Ask me again in the morning.”

She laughed—a genuine laugh, warm and surprised—and began to move.

* * *

The second round was slower. Deeper. She kept him on his back and rode him with unhurried rolls of her hips, taking her pleasure at her own pace while he gripped her thighs and watched her face transform with sensation. Her small breasts bounced with each motion. Her dark hair curtained around them. Her eyes, when they met his, held something that might have been affection beneath the hunger.

“Why me?” he asked. The question had been building for days, and in this moment of connection—joined in the most intimate way possible—it finally escaped. “You’ve had centuries of demon-touched to choose from. Why is this different?”

She stilled. Looked down at him with those bottomless eyes.

“Because you’re not afraid,” she said finally. “They were all afraid. Even when they wanted me, even when their bodies burned for mine, underneath it all there was fear. But you…” She cupped his face with one cool hand. “You look at me like an equal. Like a challenge. Like something worth fighting for, not running from.”

“You’re the most dangerous thing I’ve ever encountered.”

“Yes.”

“You could destroy me with a thought.”

“Yes.”

“And I still want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

Her smile was soft. Almost vulnerable. “That’s why.”

She kissed him, and the tenderness of it was somehow more devastating than all the passion that had come before. Then she began to move again, and the tenderness gave way to need, and they lost themselves in each other until dawn began to lighten the sky outside her windows.

* * *

The third time, she turned predator.

She pinned him to the mattress with strength that shouldn’t have been possible in a frame so delicate—her hands pressing his wrists above his head, her thighs clamping around his hips, her eyes glowing faintly with stolen power as she rode him with single-minded intensity.

“Don’t move,” she commanded. “Don’t touch me. Just… feel.”

He obeyed. Not because he couldn’t break her grip—his demon blood had regenerated enough to give him that option—but because the denial itself was exquisite. Being used. Being taken. Being reduced to a vessel for her pleasure while his own built to unbearable heights with no release in sight.

She worked herself on his cock with selfish determination, grinding her clit against his pelvis with each downstroke, her head thrown back and her lips parted and her breasts swaying with the motion. She was beautiful like this—unguarded, uncontrolled, the ancient mask slipping to reveal something raw and hungry underneath.

“You feel—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Her rhythm faltered, her whole body clenching, and she came with a cry that sounded almost pained. Her walls spasmed around him, milking his shaft, and he gritted his teeth against the urge to follow her over.

Not yet. Not until she said.

She collapsed against his chest, breathing hard, her fingers still wrapped around his wrists. He could feel her heartbeat—slower than a human’s, but faster than usual. Could feel the tremors still running through her body. Could feel the way she clenched and unclenched around his aching cock.

“Good,” she breathed. “So good. You didn’t come.”

“You told me not to.”

She laughed weakly. “I didn’t, actually. I told you not to move. Not to touch.” She raised her head to look at him, and her smile was wicked. “The fact that you held back your orgasm… that was your own discipline.”

“I thought—”

“I know what you thought.” She released his wrists, sitting up to brace her hands on his chest. “I like that you thought it. I like that you want to please me badly enough to deny yourself without being asked.”

“What does that make me?”

“Mine.” She rolled her hips, a slow undulation that made him groan. “At least for tonight. At least in this bed. You’re mine to use, mine to feed from, mine to pleasure…” Another roll. Another groan. “And mine to reward.”

She began to move in earnest.

This time there was no teasing, no denial, no games. She fucked him with abandon, her hips pistoning up and down, her walls gripping him with each stroke. His hands flew to her waist—she didn’t stop him this time—and he helped drive her onto his cock with bruising intensity.

“Come,” she commanded. “Come for me, Kaelen. Fill me up. Feed me—”

He obeyed.

The orgasm tore through him like a wildfire, his cock pulsing inside her as he spent himself in waves. She fed as he came—he felt it, the pull of her power drawing essence from his body along with his seed—and the combination of release and drain was so intense that his vision blurred and his thoughts scattered and for a moment he existed only as sensation, pleasure and pain intertwined beyond any hope of separation.

When awareness returned, she was lying on his chest again, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his collarbone. He was still inside her. Still hard, somehow, though his demon blood felt thin as water.

“One more,” she murmured. “I want one more.”

“I can’t—”

“You can.” She clenched around him, and despite his exhaustion, his body responded. “Your blood regenerates even as I feed. It’s remarkable, really. Like a well that refills itself the moment it’s emptied.”

“And if you drain the well faster than it can refill?”

“Then you die.” She said it simply, matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather. “But not tonight. Tonight, I’m being careful. Tonight, I want you alive and present and…” She met his eyes. “Willing.”

“I’m always willing.”

“I know.” Her smile was soft. “That’s the problem.”

She began to move again, and he let himself fall into the rhythm, let himself be carried along by waves of pleasure that crested and crashed and crested again. The feeding continued—gentler now, a steady draw rather than a consuming pull—and his body gave and gave and kept giving, demon blood burning through reserves it shouldn’t have had.

This time, when they came together, it was slow. A gradual building of tension that peaked and held and finally broke in a shared shudder that left them both gasping. No screaming. No roaring. Just the quiet intimacy of two bodies reaching completion in perfect synchronization.

* * *

By then, he’d lost count of how many times they’d come together. His body was a catalogue of pleasurable exhaustion—muscles wrung out, skin oversensitive, demon blood depleted and regenerated and depleted again in an endless cycle of feeding and recovery. She lay curled against him, equally spent, her breath cool against his chest.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” she said. Not a question.

“For Greymarch. The contract won’t wait.”

“The wolves.” She traced a finger over his Scarring marks, dimmer now in the aftermath of feeding. “They won’t know what’s coming for them.”

“They never do.”

Silence stretched between them. Outside, birds were beginning to sing—a reminder that the world existed beyond these walls, beyond this bed, beyond the ancient creature pressed against his side.

“Come back to me.”

Four words. Simple. But weighted with something he couldn’t quite name.

“The feeding,” he said carefully. “It’s changing me. Bonding me to you. Every time we do this—”

“I know.” She propped herself up on one elbow to look at him. “I’m not asking you to be my servant, Kaelen. I’m not asking you to give up your hunts or your freedom or the demon blood that makes you what you are.”

“Then what are you asking?”

She was quiet for a long moment. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone, the silver scar that ran from temple to hairline—a souvenir from his first hunt, long before the Scarring had made him what he was now.

“I’m asking you to come back. When the hunt is done. When the wolves are dealt with and your purse is full and you could ride in any direction you choose… I’m asking you to ride back to me.”

He should say no. Should recognize this for the trap it was—a beautiful, deadly trap lined with pleasure and power and the promise of more. She was an ancient entity who fed on demons. He was a man with demon blood in his veins. The mathematics were simple, inevitable.

She would consume him eventually.

Perhaps not today. Perhaps not for years. But eventually, the feeding would take more than he could give, and he would burn out like a candle drowned in too much flame.

He knew this. Understood it with the cold clarity that had kept him alive through a decade of hunting monsters.

And still, looking into her eyes—those bottomless, hungry, ancient eyes that saw him more clearly than anyone ever had—he found that he didn’t care.

“I’ll come back,” he said against her lips. “I’ll always come back.”

It was, he knew, the most dangerous promise he’d ever made.

He made it anyway.

— End of Bonus Chapter —

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The story continues in THE DEMON’S TITHE: BOOK TWO — THE WAKING DARK

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