Her blood is rich, sweet – everything it should be. But it brings no satisfaction. No pleasure. It’s like drinking water when you’re craving wine. My fangs retract, and I straighten, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Leave.” I push her away more roughly than necessary. She stumbles, confusion and hurt crossing her features.
“But I thought—”
“Now.”
She hurries out, leaving me alone again. I resume my pacing, agitation growing with each step.
This is bullshit.
I’ve never lacked for willing partners, never struggled to find pleasure in human blood. For centuries, I’ve enjoyed both without complication.
But now… Now, all I can think about is the taste of Kara’s lips, the feeling of her against me. I haven’t even tasted her blood, and yet I’m consumed by the thought of it.
This has to stop. I’m too old for this. I don’t pine after witches like some lovesick fledgling.
A knock at my door breaks through my brooding. I catch Darick’s scent before he enters – that peculiar mix of vampire and human that still throws me off.
“You look like hell,” he says, striding in.
I shoot him a look. “The meeting was a disaster.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Darick drops into one of my leather chairs, crossing his ankle over one knee. “Lucien played them perfectly. Made us look like paranoid fools.”
“We’ll find another way.” I resume my pacing, rubbing the back of my neck as if it will erase the strange prickle that won’t go away. “He’s getting bolder. More reckless. It’s only a matter of time before he makes a mistake and exposes himself.”
Darick’s expression darkens. “That’s what troubles me. Every time we think we’ve caught him, his tracks are already covered. The witch holding cells? Wiped clean before we arrived. His warehouses? Empty. Even the magical signatures are scrambled.”
“He has help,” I say. “Someone with considerable power who knows how to mask both vampire and witch traces.”
“Which brings us back to square one.” Darick leans forward, elbows on his knees. “We know he’s behind the abductions, but we can’t prove it. And now half the council thinks we’re either incompetent or making false accusations.”
“Hmm…” I purse my lips, rubbing my neck again. The prickle now feels like a buzzing in my ears. Except…it’s in my head.
“What’s going on?” Darick’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “You’re not yourself lately.”
I pause mid-stride, realizing I’ve been pacing again. Damn. “I’m focused on the task at hand.”
“Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “Because you’ve been wearing a path in that rug since I arrived, and I don’t think it’s just about Lucien.”
I shoot him a warning look, but he just smirks. Of course he knows. Darick has an infuriating way of reading people, even ancients like me.
“What happened last night?” he says. “With Kara.”
“Nothing happened.” The words come out too quickly. I turn to pour myself a drink, mainly to avoid his knowing gaze.
“Marcus.” His tone is amused now. “You kissed the woman.”
The crystal decanter clinks against the glass, jangling my nerves. “It was nothing. An error in judgment,” I correct him, then immediately regret acknowledging it at all.
“Ah.” Darick leans back, looking far too pleased with himself. “And that’s why you’re stalking around your penthouse like a lion in a petting zoo? Because it meant nothing?”
I down the scotch in one swallow. It does nothing to dull the memory of her taste, the feel of her. “It was a moment of…heightened emotions. After that fucking fiasco. Nothing more.”
“Of course.” Darick’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Just like how I felt nothing for Rowan at first. Keep telling yourself that.”
“Bullshit, Darick!” I stop short as the buzzing in my head drowns out the sound of my own voice. And then, suddenly, it crystallizes into words, clear as sunlight:
