He holds his ground, sets his feet as if he’s not afraid.
As if I can’t see the way his pulse races in the crook of his neck.
I rip my eyes away as my canines begin to ache. This is not the man I want, the blood I want, but my bloodlust does not know that.
It does not think like I do. It does not know that good things come to those who wait.
The male grabs for his knife, but I’m faster, and in an instant I have him pinned to the wall by his throat.
I will make it quick, not because the man deserves a dignified death, but because his pulse is thrumming and my mouth is watering and I can scent his…
I can scent his blood.
The male flashes me a smile, and then he’s laughing. Quietly so. More of a series of grunts than anything.
My instincts send my gaze down and to the right, where a rivulet of blood runs down the man’s forearm.
I’d thought he was reaching for his knife to slay me.
Instead, he used it to slice his own flesh.
Hunger scrapes at the inside of my throat, setting my insides on fire. Blood trickles from his arm and drips to the floor, wasted on the grout upon which it spills.
But no. This is not the blood I want. The blood of fae, stale with immortality.
These are not my hands that lift his wrist to my mouth.
His flesh is tough.
The man grunts like he’s been struck by a sharp twinge of pain but refuses to let it break him.
His blood is vile, bitter and with a sickly sweetness to its edges, but when it hits my tongue, I find I cannot stop.
I should stop, because it is the girl’s blood I desire, the girl’s blood the muscles in my jaw croon for.
But I am so very hungry.
My body does not know that a better feast awaits.
The man’s voice is feeble now as he mutters nonsense. “If you hurt her, it would break you. I cannot stand to see you broken again, my child.”
I can’t understand why the man still speaks, why he believes I will care.
I can’t understand why he’s not screaming, when he knows he is moments away from perishing.
I do wish he would scream.
“I know I…could never hope to take the…p…place of your father. But you…you, Nox, are a son to me…you always… I just hope one day you might forgive me…”
The man sputters out, the last of his life draining from the two puncture wounds in his arm.
His blood feels dull against my throat. Like it’s been sitting out too long.
I drain him dry before releasing him.
His sallow body makes a cracking noise as his skull hits the corner of the stone stair.
He does not bleed from his wound.
It’s a shame that the man didn’t suffer more. My belly is swollen with blood, to the point of discomfort, and though I will hunt the girl down tonight just the same, I will not take pleasure in it as I might have.
CHAPTER 32
BLAISE
I hear everything.
The slice of the knife against Gunter’s flesh.
The ravenous gulps as Nox feeds.
I hear Gunter’s last words as they echo off the cold stone walls and up the staircase.
I hear his plea for forgiveness, as he leaves Nox without his oldest friend.
It’s his sacrifice that keeps my trembling limbs moving, even when they feel heavy as lead.
Even when I slip in my own blood and have to push myself up.
