"I can't," I say, my voice breaking. "Please, don't make me do this."
Azrael's hand is on my shoulder, his grip like a vice. "You can, and you will. You're a monster, Lucian. A predator. This is what you are made for."
He leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Now, drink. Before I rip her throat out myself and force-feed you like a baby bird."
Hunger is rising in me now, a tidal wave of need that threatens to drown me. I can hear the girl's heartbeat, the rush of blood beneath her skin, and it's calling to me like a siren song.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, "I'm so fucking sorry."
And then I lunge forward, my fangs sinking into her throat. She screams, but the sound is drowned out by the roaring in my ears, the flavor explosion on my tongue.
Her blood hits my tongue like liquid ecstasy, a symphony of flavors exploding in my mouth. It's sweeter than the finest wine, richer than dark chocolate—more intoxicating than any drug. Every gulp sends waves of pleasure coursing through my body, lighting up every nerve ending like a fucking Christmas tree.
I can feel her life force flowing into me, warm and vibrant, filling the hollow emptiness inside. It's better than sex, better than anything I've ever experienced—I think? Each heartbeat pushes more of that crimson ambrosia into my mouth, and I'm lost in the primal rhythm of feed, swallow, repeat.
Her fear, her essence, her very life—I'm consuming it all, and holy fuck, it's like mainlining pure power. I can feel her getting weaker as I get stronger, her heartbeat slowing while my body surges with stolen vitality. It's horrifying and beautiful and absolutely fucking addictive.
The monster inside me purrs with satisfaction, demanding more, always more. The other part of me is screaming to stop, but it's like trying to hold back a tsunami with a paper umbrella. I'm too far gone, too lost in the primal ecstasy of the feed.
This is what I am now. A predator. A monster. A fucking vampire high on the ultimate rush, and god help me, but I never want it to end.
Danica
7
I'm just polishing off the last morsels of my meal when the door swings open, and a woman who can only be Izabelle walks in. She strolls into the room with the self-assured air of someone who knows she's the top dog in this floating den of masculinity.
Izabelle is a vision, with caramel-colored skin a few shades deeper than mine and mesmerizing turquoise eyes that seem to see right through me. Her long, lustrous hair cascades down her back in a deep, rich brown waterfall, the color of dark chocolate mixed with hints of cinnamon. She's got a figure that would make a grown man weep, her curvaceous body barely restrained by the provocative, pirate-inspired ensemble she's sporting.
A snug, off-the-shoulder top with flowing sleeves highlights her generous cleavage, while form-fitting, high-waisted trousers cling to her hips like a lover's embrace. Knee-high boots and a belt with a shimmering silver buckle round out the look, giving her an aura of peril and seduction.
But the instant her gaze meets mine, it's evident that Izabelle isn't here to play nice. She hurls a bundle of clothes at me with a look of pure contempt. Her voice is laced with scorn as she speaks.
"The Captain says ye need clothes. Put these on and be quick about it. I don't have all day to play dress-up with the likes ofyou."
I snatch the clothes out of the air, my heart pounding with anger and disbelief at her hostile demeanor. I open my mouth to retort, but Izabelle cuts me off before I can get a word in edgewise.
"Let me make one thingcrystalclear, wench. I'm theonlywoman on this ship and intend to keep it that way. These men? They'remine, every single one of them, andI won't have some scrawny little harlot coming in and stealing their attention away from where it belongs."
I can practically taste the jealousy radiating off of Izabelle, her bitterness and resentment crashing over me like a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated envy. It doesn't take a genius to read between the lines of her little speech—when she says these men are "hers," I'm pretty sure she's not talking about a spiritual friendship bracelet situation.
The realization hits me, leaving me gasping for air as my eyes widen in shock. Holy shit, she's sleeping with the entire crew! I mean, I know pirates aren't exactly known for their moral fortitude, but damn. That's a level of promiscuity that even I, with my sordid history of questionable life choices, find hard to wrap my head around.
I feel a strange mixture of disgust and pity swirling in my stomach as I try to imagine the kind of life Izabelle must have led to end up in this position. I mean, what could drive a woman to seek validation and power through sex with a bunch of unwashed, unruly pirates? It's like a twisted version of "The Bachelorette," except she's handing out STDs instead of roses.
But even as I'm reeling from this revelation, a small part of me can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Izabelle. Don't get me wrong—I still think she's a raging bitch with a severe case of territorial instincts.
But I don't have time to dwell on Izabelle's tragic backstory. I've got bigger fish to fry—like figuring out how the hell I'm going to survive on this floating den of iniquity.
"Steal their attention? Please. I'm not interested in your floating orgy. I've got my own man, and trust me, he'smorethan enough to keep me satisfied."
Izabelle's eyes blaze with fury, and she takes a menacing step toward me. "You'd better watch yer mouth, you little tramp. I've gutted wenches for less than the filth ye be spewing."
I refuse to back down, meeting her gaze with a bold smirk. "Aren't you just a peach? But it's a hard pass on the whole 'being gutted' thing. I'm rather fond of my internal organs, you know."
Izabelle looks like she's about to explode with rage, but she takes a deep breath, visibly struggling to control her temper. "Just put on the damn clothes and stay out of my way. And if I catch you sniffin' around my men? You'll wish you never set footon this ship."
With that, she whirls around and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her with enough force to make the walls shudder.
