“Thank you, Rowan.”
“Anything for you,volchok.”
And I fell asleep to his words, feeling safer than I had in two lifetimes.
Chapter 22
Rowan
Violet was curled onto her side, back pressed against my chest, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her breathing had finally evened out—deep, rhythmic, the kind of sleep that spoke of genuine rest rather than drug-induced unconsciousness. The fever flush had faded from her cheeks, leaving her skin its natural warm caramel in the dim amber light I’d left on. I needed to see her, needed to confirm she was truly safe, unable to tear my gaze away.
Her dark hair spread across the white pillow, the red streaks catching light in shades of burgundy and crimson. The thin sheet covering her had slid down, exposing the curve of her hip and the lean muscle of her thigh. She looked peaceful. Younger, somehow, without the sharp wariness she wore like armor when awake.
Exquisite
The word settled in my chest, undeniable.
I’d been watching her for the better part of an hour, telling myself it was necessary. That I needed to monitor her breathing, her temperature, any sign the drug was still wreaking havoc through her system. That I was being vigilant, protective, responsible.
But that was only half true.
I simply wanted to look at her: memorize the slope of her nose, the fullness of her delicate lips, the soft curve of her ear where I’d whispered filth that made her come undone in my arms.
What have I done?
The question circled through my mind like a wolf stalking prey, relentless and hungry.
I’d touched her. Held her while she brought herself to orgasm. Whispered obscene encouragement in her ear—things I’d never said to anyone, things I hadn’t known I was capable of saying—while she’d ground her ass against my aching cock and soaked my sheets with her release.
I’ve never been so ravenous for someone. Ever. Not in fifty years of my previous life, nor in the five years since my reincarnation.
In the Wastelands, I’d been scarred, my face carved up by violence and survival. My body had been a roadmap of every mistake I’d made, every fight I’d barely survived, every desperate choice that had kept me breathing another day. Women didn’t look at men like me with desire unless they were paid, a luxury I could barely afford the few times I partook. Intimacy required vulnerability, and vulnerability meant death in a world where everyone was looking for a weakness to exploit.
And then there had been Faelin. I’d loved Faelin—loved her with a fierce, protective intensity that had driven me to make deals I couldn’t cover, to trade years of my freedom for medicine that came too late. But that love had been pure in its simplicity. She’d been like a little sister, precious and bright in a world of rot and ash. I’d wanted to protect her, to give her a chance at something better than the brutality of the Wastelands.
This was different. Foreign.Terrifyingin its intensity.
Looking at Violet made my chest tight and my cock hard. Forced me to clench my hands out of an urge to touch and claim and possess. A raging inferno burning that would consume me if I wasn’t careful.
And it had. . .
I’d held Violet’s trembling body while she’d used a toy to chase relief.. I’d cupped her breasts and twisted her piercings and told her she was perfect while she’d fallen apart in my arms. And when she’d screamed my name, her body convulsing with the force of her orgasm, I’d felt something crack open in my chest—something I’d kept frozen and buried for decades.
Did I do the right thing?
The question gnawed at me, sharp teeth tearing at soft tissue.
Her body had turned into an endless pit of desire by succubus blood. Yes, she’d said the words—I’m clearheaded enough to know what I’m asking—but had she been? Truly? Could anyone give their honest consent while burning from the inside out, while pain and pleasure blurred into something indistinguishable?
I replayed the moment in my mind, picking apart every detail like I was on the hunt.
“I don’t want to be alone, but I don’t want to force you into anything you don’t want.”
Her words. Clear. Articulate. Concerned for my consent even while her body was on fire.
“Can you touch me? It doesn’t bother me. I feel safe with you. I want you to touch me.”
Her permission. Explicit. Repeated.
