“I will manage.”
“You won’t.” He stood and rolled up his sleeve with a theatrical sigh. “Take it. Don’t make this weird.”
I stared at him. “You realize I could kill you.”
“But you won’t. You need me,” he said, extending his wrist. “And anyway, if you pass out, I’m dead too. So. Circle of life, and all that.”
“I hate you,” I muttered.
“Yeah, yeah. Drink me and let’s go.”
I grasped his wrist. Human pulse. Human warmth. Human sarcasm. It was not appealing, but it would sustain me long enough to protect him and get information from Ambrosia.
He looked away as my fangs descended.
“This is so gross.” He groaned. “Don’t make eye contact while you’re doing it. I swear, Cristian, don’t?—”
I fed carefully, taking no more than I needed. No less than what would keep him standing.
When I withdrew, Ezra swayed.
“You’re good at that,” he said breathlessly. “Like… disturbingly good. Do you practice on lemons or something?”
I wiped my mouth. “Do not speak.”
He nodded once, then grabbed his laptop case. “Right. Ambrosia. Midnight house call. Fantastic. Let’s go before my survival instincts kick in again.”
I turned toward the door, but before I stepped out, I cast one last look upstairs.
Toward Nadia.
Toward the bed where she slept too quietly.
Toward the life I refused to lose.
Ambrosia had answers. I would tear them out of her.
“Cristian?” Ezra said behind me. “You ready?”
No.
“Yes.”
I pushed open the door and let the night swallow us whole.
Ezra guided me through the dark streets with nervous efficiency, clutching his laptop bag against his chest. The mansion before us was gaudy even by the Sovereign Court’s standards, its windows lit in uneven patches like diseased eyes.
The moment my feet hit the property line, the bond pulled sharply inside my chest.
Too far.
I clenched my jaw. “We do not stay long.”
Ezra nodded quickly. “Right. Because the more distance, the more drain. Nadia’s probably tossing and turning already.”
Something cold and vicious flashed through me. “Precisely.”
He propped his laptop on a low wall, fingers flying over the keys. “Okay… Ambrosia is on the second floor. In the”—he grimaced—“boudoir.”
