Never again.

Which means I can’t let him any closer.

“Because she has something over you, too, doesn’t she?” I say. “Otherwise, you’d leave, since you clearly don’t like it here. I don’t know what it is, but you have something to gain if you succeed. Something to lose if you don’t.”

And just like that, the drunken fog in his pale eyes clears, if only for a moment.

When I blink, Nox is gone.

CHAPTER 10

NOX

I kill Blaise one hundred and thirty-two times before the sun slips below the horizon and frees me to hunt.

I know the count because in each of my fantasies the kill is unique—the snapping of her neck, the pressing of my palm against her nose and mouth, the cracking of her skull against the dais.

In each fantasy, one detail remains consistent.

I bleed her dry.

Her blood tastes different every time.

Sometimes it’s sharp and coppery, as human blood often is. Other times it’s infused with vanilla and jasmine. Sometimes it’s as intoxicating as finely aged wine. Then there are times when it acts as a stimulant, setting every nerve in my unnatural body on edge, fueling my veins with an energy that could last several lifetimes.

When I fled the dungeons, I had the soundness of mind to lock the door behind me, but in the hours since, I’ve unraveled.

I’m still on the staircase, my footsteps soundless against the unforgiving stone as I pace up and down, up and down, up and down.

I should put as much distance as possible between myself and Blaise. I’m enough aware of that fact to keep returning to my upward climb, but every time I reach the top of the staircase, Blaise shifts or pulls her hair into a knot or breathes. Or maybe her heart just knows I’m drifting away, and it beats with a renewed vigor. And then I’m back at the base of the stairs, digging my fingers into the grout until my knuckles crack and my fingernails go worn.

I want her so badly, it’s as though my skull will split in half if I don’t have her.

I’ve never wanted anything—anyone—so badly in my wretched existence.

So now I’m collapsed at the bottom of the staircase, pressing my face to the floor, and it’s taking every bit of self-restraint in me not to slip the iron key—the one whose imprint is currently etched into my blistering palm—into the door, and push.

Blaise must be lying down, because when she stretches, it’s like she’s lying beside me, tucked into my chest. When she breathes, it’s like I can taste her against my cheek. Like she’s nuzzled her neck into my face, and I’m drunk on the scent of her, and all I want to do is press a kiss against her lovely neck, to scrape my teeth against her skin just barely…not enough to draw blood…

“Nox?”

Her voice stirs me from my fantasy, but only barely. The lines between what’s real and what’s not are blurred by the red haze that’s encroached upon my vision.

“Nox, are you out there?”

It’s then that I realize I’ve been tapping the iron key against the stone wall. That I’ve been mimicking the beat of her heart.

“Nox?”

I like the way she says my name. No one says my name anymore. Even Gunter just calls me my boy, too fearful of the queen’s wrath should he slip up and call me by my actual name in her presence.

When she runs her hand against the goblin iron bars, leaving a trail of blood behind, I feel it as though she’s tracing the curves of my spine.

But that’s not right. She’s human, and though her skin is slow to heal, it should have clotted by now.

This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

“Nox,” she whispers, and my muscles tense, my body stills. “Nox, I want you. I want you as badly as you want me.”

I dig a cavern into the grout with the tips of my fingers.

“I’m not afraid of you. You saw in my eyes that I wasn’t afraid. You won’t even have to take it from me. My blood, it’s all yours. I know you can stop, Nox.”

When she tugs at her collar and lets it slip down past her shoulder, I feel that too.

And then I’m at the door.

The key is almost in the lock when I glance through the slats and realize Blaise is asleep on the dais.

When enough time passes that I’m sure the sun has set, I sneak out into the Mystrian capital of Ermengarde.

One would think that the further I distanced myself from Blaise and the scent of her blood, the more my craze would settle, but it doesn’t.

Putting distance between my lips and her neck feels like wrenching a tooth from my gums.

Hunger assaults me, clouding my mind and puncturing my stomach until it’s all I can see.

Until the humans settling into their nightly routine are just sacks holding precious food.

I don’t let myself think about how long it’s been since I last ventured here.

I don’t let myself feel the guilt.

I tell myself I’ll stop when I’m no longer hungry, and I don’t even allow my conscience to remind me it isn’t true. That it never is.

I smell the girl before I see her. I don’t even have to knock on her door before she arrives and opens it.

“Can I come in?” I ask, and she doesn’t stop to wonder why a strange male might need into her home after dark. That little siren all humans have programmed into their heads doesn’t sound. Or if it does, she can’t seem to hear it.

It’s a side effect of the bloodlust—I’ve come to realize that over the years. Once it settles in, the longer I allow myself to go without feeding, the more entranced I find my prey.

The more the male who inhabits my body is not me at all, but someone else entirely.

In that way, I understand Blaise.

Except I remember all of it.

The girl’s cottage is homey. A fire dies peacefully in the corner, humming over glowing coals. The furniture is simple and carved poorly—probably by her husband. I wonder if he can’t afford proper furniture or if he thinks it charming to make it for her himself.