My jaw clenches, teeth grinding against my rising agitation, as my gaze locks onto Vanessa. Her eyes dart between Gwyn, Alias, Malachi, and then settle on me, keen and calculating. Slowly, she rises, the burns from Lailah’s magic still raw against her skin. She stands tall, defiant, but I see the weariness in her, the strain beneath the hardened exterior. Her eyes seek something in me—something she expects me to understand.
“I came because you hadn’t fed...” Her voice is soft, coaxing, as though her concern might erase the boundary I’ve drawn. “I came to help you.”
She steps toward me hesitantly, her presence cloying and unwelcome. My hand moves instinctively to the dagger at my hip, the cold steel a quiet rejection of everything she is. Her steps falter, her pulse quickening, but she presses on, her eyes clinging to mine with a desperation that turns my stomach.
“You came to help?” My voice is low, laced with disdain.
I take a step forward, moving toward her at a measured pace. She watches, uncertainty creeping into her eyes as she tries to gauge my intentions.
“You’ve been feeding off me—sinking your teeth in like you had aright to what was never yours,” I laugh coldly.“But you don’t know what it truly means totake, do you? Not really.”
Her breath catches, just barely.
“I want you to know what it feels like,” I say, my voice quiet but trembling with fury. “To be possessed. Dominated.Drained.I want you to feel what it’s like to have someone take from you without your consent.”
I sheathe the dagger and step closer, reaching for her. My touch at first tender, brushing the soft curve of her cheek. It’s fleeting, a whisper of warmth, but before she can lean into it, the gentleness evaporates and fury replaces it— a tidal wave crashing against the fragile calm. In an instant, my hand is at the back of her neck, pulling her into me.
“You came to help?” I repeat, a trace of mockery in my voice. “Good. Then you won’t mind if I help myself.”
I sink my fangs deep into her throat, the blood filling me not to quell my hunger, but to achieve something darker—a desperate, vengeful satisfaction.
There is no frenzy, no ravenous desire in this bite, only pain. Only the need to assert, to dominate, to make her feel the weight of every wrong she’s ever caused. As my fangs sink into her throat, the first taste of her blood is like a fire igniting within me. It’s warm, thick, rich—a taste like iron and ash that floods my senses, and all I can do is lose myself in it. The rush is immediate, a wave of power that surges through my veins, coating my soul in something dark and intoxicating. Her pulse flutters beneath my tongue, weak and desperate, and I drink deeper, pulling in more of the life she so carelessly thought she could offer.
It’s not hunger that drives me—it’s something much more primal, more unforgiving. Every drop is like a match to kindling, stoking the rage inside me, the relentless need to take. The taste is bitter, metallic—yet there is a strange sweetness woven through it, a contradiction that mirrors the bitterness of my own existence.
I pull her closer, my grip tightening as I take more, savoring the warmth of her blood flooding my senses. Each swallow is slow,torturous—an act of control, not frenzy. I feel her life slipping away with every beat of her weakening heart, but it doesn’t matter. I drink, because in this moment, I can, and she has given me no other choice.
Her breath grows ragged, strained beneath my touch, and I feel her body weaken in my arms. As I pull more blood into me, I taste the fear mingling with her lifeblood, burning and bitter. It’s intoxicating. And yet, as her body goes limp, her warmth fading from my embrace, I feel no satisfaction, no hunger quenched. Just a deep, cold emptiness—a hollowing out of something I didn’t even know I could feel. The life within her fades, leaving only the hushed rhythm of her breath, shallow and struggling.
Gwyn’s hand touches my shoulder, her voice a soft murmur in the air.
“That’s enough, Cas...”
I pull away reluctantly, letting her body fall to the ground. The taste of her blood still lingers on my tongue, a vile reminder of what I’ve become, what I’ve done. I wipe the blood from my lips with the back of my hand, the act almost mechanical, and yet the taste of it stays with me—clinging to the corners of my mouth, coating my senses.
I turn to Alias, my eyes like steel as I speak through clenched teeth.
“Take her to my tent. Chain her. Gag her. Don’t feed her until I say.”
My words are cold—each one a command I force into the air. I turn, boots thudding against the earth as I move quickly, my mind focused on the direction where I think Callum took her. Not feeding Vanessa, not giving her the blood she craves, will leave her weak, silent, unable to fight. A week without her voice will be a small reprieve—time to move her, time to lock her away in the palace dungeons, where she belongs.
The taste of her blood lingers like a heavy fog in the air. I feel the emotions still churning inside me—raging, untamed, nearly suffocating me with their intensity.
But then, a hand. Strong, steady, firm on my shoulder, groundingme. I freeze, the heat of my fury dulling momentarily as I turn to find Malachi’s gaze. He doesn’t speak—he doesn’t have to. The quiet understanding in his eyes is enough. He sees it, the darkness I’m trying to suppress, the edge I’m barely holding back.
I exhale slowly, pulling myself together before turning to the others.
“Gwyn, go with him.”
Alias crouches, hoisting Vanessa’s limp body onto his shoulder with a dramatic grunt. As Alias and Gwyn disappear with Vanessa, Malachi stays behind. He steps closer, his face twisted with concern.
“You’re pushing yourself too far,” he says finally.
I glance at him, the edge of my temper still smoldering.
“It’s not me you should be worried about.”
Malachi’s eyes narrow, and his jaw tightens.
