I push past the moment of vulnerability. “Am I doing this or not?”
Vane holds my gaze for a long moment before nodding. “Do it.”
I press my bleeding wrist against Vyvyan’s lips, urging her to drink. Despite her weakened state, her survival instincts kick in. She latches onto my wrist, her fangs sinking into my flesh with a greedy swallow. I gnash my teeth against the initial pain.
As Vyvyan drinks, an unexpected sensation washes over me. With each gulp of my blood, a fraction of my vitality drains away. But it’s replaced by building pressure, an intoxicating euphoria that starts low in my core and radiates outward. A soft moan escapes my lips before I can stop it, and my eyes lock with Vane’s.
A jolt of electricity sparks through my body. His pupils are dilated, nostrils flared, and I can see the rapid pulse in his neck. I realize with a start that he’s affected by this, too. The air between us feels impossibly charged.
Vyvyan’s lips are scorching, and my breathing quickens. I find myself imagining Vane’s lips on my body, his fangs in my flesh instead of hers. The fantasy is so vivid I can almost feel his hands on me, his body pressed against mine—wetness pools between my clenched thighs. My free hand claws the dry grass, seeking an anchor as the sensations threaten to overwhelm me.
“What do you feel?” Vane asks. His low voice sends warmth across my skin.
“Everything,” I breathe, unable to look away from him.
A small, knowing smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. In the euphoria of the blood exchange, the hatred and resentment I’ve harbored toward him seems to melt away, replaced by a primal, urgent need.
He leans closer. “Desiree?—”
Whatever Vane is going to say dies on his tongue as Vyvyan’s wounds gradually heal. Her color returns to normal as her body expels the stake. It rolls into the grass, her skin knitting itself together. But I barely notice, lost in the anguish of Vane’s gaze. I want him to touch me, to taste me like Vyvyan is. The desire is so strong it’s almost overwhelming.
“That’s enough, Desiree,” Vane commands suddenly, his tone sharp.
I shake my head, not wanting this feeling to end. It is the first time I’ve felt happy since he and Vyvyan outed me in front of Misty. Vane cups my cheek. The contact sends my body into a spiral. I rub my cheek into his palm.
“I said, that’s enough,” he repeats softly, his thumb caressing my lower lip. My tongue darts out to taste him. Just as I remember, he tastes sinful, like pomegranates and red wine. “Don’t let her take anymore from you. Leave some for yourself.”
The intimate gesture, combined with the authoritative tone of his voice, sends another rush of heat through me until Vyvyan stops feeding from me. Emptiness caves through me like a void. The world spins slightly off-kilter as I sit back, lightheaded from blood loss and arousal. I blink to steady my attention as Vane fixes his gaze on Vyvyan, cradling her with so much reverence I want to scratch his eyes out for looking at anyone other than me with such adoration.
I want to . . . Shit. What have I done? I hate Vane, yet here I am, acting like he belongs to me.
“It wasn’t you. It was the blood,” Vane tells me.
I nod, unable to meet his gaze. The chasm within me threatens to swallow me whole. “I know,” I lie.
Vane stares at Vyvyan. Already, she looks stronger. Her chest rises and falls with vitality, and the blood on her clothes is the only sign there’d been a struggle. In awe of Vyvyan’stransformation, Vane’s expression shifts from concern to profound gratitude. With Vyvyan stabilized, I pick up the stake, rising to my feet to throw it further into the trees. Anything to get away from the intimacy passing between them.
“Who attacked you?” I ask.
“Balam,” Vane mutters.
“Balam? As in the daemon?” Surprise heightens my pitch.
“Yes. Caught us by surprise.”
The pieces fall into place—the claw marks on Vane’s body, the overwhelming sense of wrongness I felt upon arriving. Balam, a daemon with the strength of ten men whose curse is to obey its summoner, is not a force to be trifled with. The fact he was here, in our world, means someone summoned him. The question is, who? And why?
I push to my feet, swaying as I scan our wooded surroundings.
“What are you doing?” Vane asks, lips pursed.
“Daemons always leave behind some sort of signature related to their summoner,” I explain while I search the ground. At first, I see nothing, but then—there. Faint impressions in the mud and leftover snow catch my eye.
“What is it?” Vane calls.
“Tracks.” I crouch to examine them more closely. “Like from a dog, but bigger.”
“How big?” The urgency in Vane’s tone makes me look up.
