Unconscious.
Temporarily.
The energy drain that affects hybrids attempting Fae techniques without proper preparation.
"Still energy draining for hybrids," I murmur against her hair, breathing in the scent of her—roses and something darker, power and vulnerability intertwined. "But you'll adapt to it with training."
Training I'll provide.
Knowledge I've accumulated specifically for this purpose.
Everything I am, everything I've learned, everything I've become during these endless centuries of waiting—it all exists to serve her.
I lean her back slightly.
Just enough to see her face, slack with unconsciousness but still beautiful in ways that make my chest ache. Her lips—soft, full, slightly parted—seem to invite contact that propriety would suggest I should decline.
But I've never been particularly concerned with propriety.
And she needs energy.
My energy, specifically, the particular Fae vitality that her awakening magic requires to stabilize.
I claim her lips.
The kiss is firm without being aggressive, pressure that conveys intent without demanding response. Her lips are impossibly soft against mine—yielding in the particular way of someone unconscious, unable to resist or respond, simply receiving whatever I choose to give.
My body pulses with energy that seeks to replenish the one we're connected to.
The transfer is instinctive, primal—magic recognizing its complement and flowing toward the void that her attempted soul-viewing created. I feel reserves draining from my own essence, crossing the bridge between us, filling spaces in her that need exactly what I'm providing.
Take it.
Take what you need.
What I've been saving for you across centuries of accumulation.
Seconds pass.
Her eyelids flutter.
Consciousness returns in stages—first the micro-movements of someone emerging from deep sleep, then the tension of someone registering unfamiliar sensations, then the absolutestillnessof someone who has just realized what's happening.
Her eyes open fully.
Silver and crimson swirling together as vampire nature and Fae awakening compete for dominance.
And then she sees.
Her lips—pressed against mine.
My face—inches from hers.
The kiss—still technically in progress.
She pulls back immediately.
The motion carries such force that she nearly falls from my lap, only my arm around her waist preventing an undignified tumble to the library floor. And in the same instant, before I can register the danger or move to block?—
