I am at his mercy. As though in the web of a spider who wants to save me, my hand moves across his marbleskin and slips into silky hair, like dipping my fingers into a tranquil stream.
But the bliss doesn’t last long. Fangs retract from my neck, and as I slump against him, the nightwalker leans in and gently kisses the bite wound. As he draws back, I tilt my head into him, and my lips briefly press against his, electricity pulsing through the air.
Sharp red eyes soften, lowering to take in the venom and blood dripping down my neck. “You are luminol to my hydrogen peroxide.”
Drunk on whatever the venom is laced with, I slur, “I kissed a fucking corpse.”
He breathes a laugh, standing and lowering his hand to me. “And you were my first.”
I take his hand, no longer feeling bound. Instead, I’m in a dreamlike state as I stumble to my feet and sway. My vision swirls, and as the room blurs into a sea of red and black, I collapse onto the bed.
“Your first?” I mumble, words slipping out unbidden. “How…disappointing.”
“Somewhat.”
My brows pinch as I close my eyes. “Either you’ve not been a nightwalker for long, or…I don’t know where I was going with that. Either way, your first kiss was with a stranger.”
Why the fuck can’t I stop rambling?!
Humour stirs in the air. “I’m old enough to know what I want. Besides, we aren’t strangers now. I’ve tasted you. Know you…”
I groan, reach up, grab a pillow, and tuck my armsunderneath it. “Well, I don’t know you. Therefore, you are a stranger to me.”
“Then I suppose we will have to meet again.”
“No,” I grunt. “Let’s not do that.”
The venom makes me sink into a comfortable, light sleep. As I relax my shoulders, a frost-tipped touch moves across my cheek, and a velvety voice breathes, “It seems a bite from a nightwalker removes your vegodian glamour, if only for a moment.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ACHROMATIC
The red rooms in Feeding Grounds are for those who want to become a direct Feeder for a house in the Undercity. Nightwalkers are not to harm the Feeder if they decline their offering.
— Serun’s Law
A mirror stands before me,the wooden frame embellished with intricate, blooming flowers that shimmer in silver and gold. My hands flex, and my throat constricts at the sight of my reflection.
My eyes are deep crimson and glow a pearlescent red, while my white hair flows like silk down my shoulders.
Icy-blue skin—flawless to the touch but cold—covers my body. An unsettling feeling stirs within me as I settle my gaze on my ears. Long and pointed at the tips, the sight is enough for me to pull back my lips into a sneer. Fangs, sleek with saliva, appear behind dark purple lips.
A hunger comes with it. Eager for something to sink into.
This is who I am.
Balancing between life and death.
A daywalker without a glamour.
“Feeder zero-zero-eight, your night was a success. It’s time to wash.” A voice slices through the fog and lifts the weight of sleep. Fragments of last night float back—a nightwalker who assaulted me, and a nightwalker who was unexpectedly gentle.
“Human,” the Bleeder insists. “Wake up.”
The simplicity of the words, sharp as the crack of a whip, has me sitting bolt upright. The sticky sheet clings to me, but it’s not until I peel it away and step out into the bright light of the corridor that I realise just how dreadful I look.
I’m covered in the blood of the dead nightwalker. Gripping the edges of the torn gown, I cover my exposed chest as best I can.
