I can't listen.
My vampire senses have engaged fully, overriding conscious thought with the particular single-mindedness of predators who have found prey. The blood flows into me in streams that feel like liquid redemption, filling the emptiness I didn't know had grown so vast, healing damage I wasn't aware existed.
I moan against Atticus's wrist.
The sound is involuntary—pure pleasure given voice as my body finally receives what it desperately needs. My eyes roll back, the ecstasy of feeding overwhelming everything else, making the world narrow to nothing but the taste of power on my tongue and the warmth spreading through my starving system.
More.
Need more.
Can't stop.
Time loses meaning. I drink and drink, each swallow more vital than the last, my body demanding replenishment with urgency that refuses to acknowledge limits. The hunger doesn't diminish—if anything, it grows, feeding on satisfaction to create more need, an endless cycle of want that threatens to consume everything.
"I'm legit gonna die from my Queen."
Atticus's voice cuts through the haze—strained, slightly breathless, carrying an edge of genuine concern beneath the theatrical complaint. The words don't fully register, too focused on the blood still flowing, still calling, still promising everything I've been starving for.
"You should have said something earlier, stupid," Cassius snaps.
Then something wraps firmly around my throat.
Not painful—controlling. A tendril of shadow that knows exactly how much pressure to apply, coiling around my neck with the particular possessiveness of magic that has claimed me as thoroughly as I've claimed it.
Hot breath ghosts across my throat.
The sensation makes me shiver despite the fever still burning through my system, awareness suddenly expanding beyond the blood to include the man holding me, the darkness surrounding me, the deep voice that rumbles next to my ear.
"Little Mouse."
Oh.
The nickname slides through me like silk and shadow combined, triggering responses that have nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with the man who speaks it. My vampire instincts war with something older, something that recognizes this voice as more important than feeding, this presence as more vital than blood.
"That's enough."
The command carries weight that makes my very soul pay attention.
I want to disobey.
Everything in me screams to continue drinking, to take more, to consume until there's nothing left and the hunger finally—finally—stops demanding. But that voice. That darkness-wrapped, authority-laden, impossibly compelling voice...
My fangs retract.
The withdrawal is reluctant, almost painful, but the shadow at my throat tightens just enough to remind me who holds the leash I've apparently agreed to wear. My mouth releasesAtticus's wrist with a soft, wet sound that makes me want to lunge back immediately.
But Cassius told me to stop.
And apparently, that matters more than survival.
My eyes open—I hadn't realized they'd closed—and find his immediately.
Silver shot through with shadow, carrying depths that speak of centuries of darkness and the particular patience of someone who has learned to wait for what he wants. They're flowing with power that makes the air around us thick, heavy with magic that exists solely because he exists.
The tendril at my throat tilts my chin upward.
The movement is deliberate, positioning me so I have no choice but to look up at him despite being cradled in his arms in some position I can't quite identify. I'm half in his lap, half draped across him, arranged by shadow and will into a configuration that speaks of possession more than comfort.
