There’s such hope in her exhausted voice that it nearly breaks.
A tenderness catches me off guard, like a hand around my throat—gentle, not choking. The bowstrings in my chest loosen.
It’s a relief to hear her talking about using her powers for good. Not that I ever truly doubted her…but ever since uncovering the old pictograms in Drahallen Hall’s foundation, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Immortal Solene with that devious smirk, the wreckage of an entire city behind her.
I’m loyal to her—no fucking question.
Then again, what good is loyalty from a man like me? I was loyal to Rian, too. Look at how that turned out.
Gritting my teeth, I unsheathe the knife at my side and slit my wrist. A line of blood spills down my skin, dropping thickly onto my boot.
The smell of iron blasts through the greenhouse.
Her words vanish as the scent hits her like a drug. She pounces on my arm, eyes shining like a night creature’s, lips latching hungrily over my wound. She sucks, drinks, tastes. A groan rolls out of me. It does something to me, giving her my blood. Having her use me. Knowing I—only I—can do this for her.
“That’s it,” I groan between clenched teeth, grabbing the sloped wooden rafter overhead to steady myself. “Take it. Take what you need.”
The more her soft lips hunt and suck at my skin, the more her sweet torture drives me crazy.
Her pulse steadies, alive now not with jitters but with the heady drive of hunger. I can see the change in her eyes, her skin—her cheeks pinken and fill out, and I swear that her hair shines bright as sun-touched silk.
She breaks away roughly, touches her lips and looks at the blood on her fingers with both horror and fascination. Her fingers begin to tremble. “Basten. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me,” I order gently.
Her eyes snap to me, slightly more focused, as she gulps in air. “You don’t understand. It’s hard to stop. I’m scared of losing myself—taking too much blood.”
Her pupils are so blown they’re like round black buttons. The glow radiating from her fey lines burns so bright now that it must look from the outside like I’ve trapped a shard of sunlight in the greenhouse.
The cut on my wrist closes up in seconds, healed by her saliva.
I grip the back of her neck, lowering my voice. “Then take something else.”
Her hips begin to wiggle on the gardening table with a different kind of need.
“Basten.” Her voice is husky, brimming with power. “I want you.”
She leans back, spreading her knees, knocking over another clay pot that goes crashing to the floor. She doesn’t flinch at the sound. With one fist, she balls her velvet skirt up around her hips, sliding her ass to the table’s edge like the damn little temptress she is.
She wasn’t lying—she’sready.
The greenhouse plants are writhing. Flowers blooming, vines twisting, condensation dripping onto the back of my neck. The scents are dizzying, thick. Heady pollen, sticky sap, stamens trembling like they’re about to come undone. The whole damn garden is in heat.
And the perfume—fuck, the flowers’ perfume. It gets to my head. To my blood. To my cock.
Yes, please.
My hand falls on my belt, wrenching it free, but I can’t help but flick an irritated look out the crystal-clear windows. We still have an awe-struck audience, and it’s about to get a hell of an eyeful.
“Wildcat,” I purr, “how about you use your newfound bond with nature to fog up the glass so we don’t have an audience?”
She blinks, slow and lazy like a cat in heat. I can see it in her eyes—she doesn’t give a fuck about being on display for watching eyes.
And yet, curiosity sparks in her gaze. She wants to know if shecan. Testingly, she reaches back to press her hand to the nearest window pane, palm flat and fingers splayed.
Now, with her strength replenished by my blood, her fey practically ignites. A miniature cloud forms in the pitched greenhouse ceiling, complete with tiny bolts of lightning. A few fat water drops fall on me—more condensation from the greenhouse boiler, or is it now rain from Sabine’s storm?
Sure enough, the air grows thick with moisture, and my breath fogs. Muggy, hot fog creeps over the window panes until we’re sheltered from prying eyes.
