For a moment, I could not move. My mind knew to look away, but my body—my cursed, hungry body—refused to obey.
Holy Mary, I thought. What sin have I not already committed, that I should be punished like this?
I tried to summon language. Failed once. Then managed, haltingly, “I heard you fall. You said I could not watch you sleep.” I cleared my throat, forcing my gaze to the cracked tile behind her. “You said nothing about bathing, so I assumed I may enter.”
A bottle of cleaning liquid struck the wall near my head. I retreated two full steps, spine straight, every nerve screaming at me to behave like a man of honor instead of a man undone.
I could still see the steam rising off her skin. Still hear the water pounding in the stall. Still feel my pulse where it didn’t belong.
She was a blood source. A mortal. A complication to remedy. Nothing more.
I shut the door quickly before I forgot that.
After she finished bathing, she made me sit in the living room for a “review session.” Rules, apparently, required reinforcement.
Sticky squares of bright paper covered the wall like a battlefield map. “No biting. No watching me bathe. No surprise lunges.”
I examined one closely, peeling up a corner. The adhesive fascinated me. “Adhesive holds,” I murmured. “Your method is efficient.”
“Cristian,” she said warily, “what are you doing?”
“Learning.” I brought the paper closer to my face in observation.
She narrowed her eyes. “Donotlick the rules.”
“Understood.”
Sighing, she rubbed her temples. Her scent changed when she was tired, became sweeter somehow. I wanted to fix the crease between her brows. I wanted totastethe pulse that lived there.
Instead, I said quietly, “Contact?”
Her gaze flicked up, startled. Then she nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
I remembered her rule—ask first.She’d told me she needed permission and control. Because of the tether, my touch, when chosen, helped her body remember she was safe. The tether could steady her, if she allowed it.
I set two fingers to her wrist. Counted to five. Her pulse thudded beneath my touch, quick but strong. Her shoulders loosened. She let out a small sigh that made my nerves turn to liquid. I withdrew before I embarrassed myself.
“Better?” I asked.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
I lowered my hand, then straightened one of her notes on the wall. She smiled faintly, and for one dangerous moment, the hunger went quiet—as if it, too, respected her consent. But as she walked past me in those absurd tiny pantaloons covered in strawberries, it stirred again, low and feral.
I would have traded my kingdom for a goat to drain. Or a prisoner. Or a mid-level aristocrat no one would miss. Instead, I stood there in her hoodie, fists clenched, promising myself I would not break another of her rules.
At least not tonight.
Suddenly, a sound rang through the house—bright, metallic, far too cheerful. I flinched.
Nadia called from the hallway, “That’s just Lena, my best friend! Don’t be weird!”
A useless instruction. I had not yet determined whatqualifiedas normal in this century.
The door swung open, and the new creature entered.
She was radiant and fearsome, wearing tall boots that looked made for war and a patterned pelt with spots like a jungle predator wrapped around her form. Confident stride. Sharp eyes.
“Is she a queen?” I asked quietly. “Where is her crown?”
