I don’t know what she is, but she isdefinitelysomething.
Frowning, I sigh. “Don’t mind me. I was just trying something.”
“Okay, weirdo.” She laughs, then glances back out to the view. “But can youpleasetell me what is happening to me?”
I roll my shoulders, now even more so unnerved by what she is. “There are rules.”
“But you promised.”
Begrudgingly, I nod. “I did. It’s complicated. Telling you what you want to know could put you in danger, and I don’t want that for you.”
At my admission, her face softens. The air between us thickens, charges with something electric. I should step back. I should put distance between us before I do something we’ll both regret. Instead, I move closer.
“Sloane…” My voice comes out rougher than intended, edged with the hunger I’m barely containing. “You should be careful around me.”
“Why?” She turns to face me fully, tilting her head back to meet my eyes. “Are you dangerous, some bad boy biker I need to be scared of? Or is it those who enforce these rules you keep mentioning?” She lets out an amused laugh.
Yes.
“More than you know.”
She exhales softly, stepping closer, dissolving the space between us, completely unaware she’s walking straight into the jaws of a beast. “Then why don’t I feel scared?” She’s so close now I can count her heartbeats, each one a pulse of life slamming against my self-control, shaking loose instincts I’ve spent centuries burying. “I should be, right? Standing in a dark parking lot with a man I barely know, hoping he can help me. But I’m not scared… I feel—”
“What?” I say, taking another step closer, my hand sliding out to rest on her hip.
“Alive.” The word is small, almost fragile. “For the first time in forever, I feel alive, Crave.”
Something inside me snaps, quiet and catastrophic. I reach for Sloane, as if my hand moves before my mind does, cupping her face. Her warmth burns against my cold skin, a contrast so violent it jolts through me like electricity. She doesn’t flinch. She leans into it, her eyes fluttering shut, her pulse jumping beautifully at the base of her throat.
That throat. So sweet, exposed, and pulsing in invitation.
I lean in, meaning to kiss her, meaning to be human for once and pretend that desire alone is enough.
But my Bloodfire stirs.
I feel it rumble inside me as I lean toward her lips, my hunger erupts, a violent ignition deep in my core, as if someone strikesflint against bone. Heat explodes through me in a blinding rush, coursing down my veins like molten metal, searing every nerve it touches. My chest tightens, then expands with a shudder that feels as if my ribs might crack from the force of it. For a moment, I swear I can hear it, this ancient inferno roaring to life inside me, a sound like flames sucking oxygen from the air, hungry and unstoppable.
The world narrows, her breath, her warmth, the delicate flutter of her pulse, and the rest falls away, swallowed by the fire engulfing me. My body stills, but the movement is so quick she won’t have noticed. The night darkens at the edges of my vision, colors sharpening unnaturally, every detail—her lashes trembling, her lips parting, waiting for my kiss, the rise of her pulse beneath her skin, glowing as if lit from within. My senses sharpen to a painful clarity. Her scent hits me harder than I expect, rich, warm, and threaded with something rare, something intoxicating that pours gasoline on the blaze.
A deep growl erupts from my chest while heat floods my limbs, throat, and mouth, turning the simple want of a kiss into a frenzy that claws against my skull, rattling the cage of my control until I can hear my control bending. My mouth hovers over hers, but the fire drags me lower, to the throbbing vein. It’s primal, irresistible. My lips trace the line of her jaw as if pulled by invisible threads, drawn to the frantic hymn of her pulse. That rhythm,God, that rhythm,it’s like a drumbeat syncing with my own, calling the monster inside me to the surface.
Sloane lets out a soft, breathy whimper, and the sound detonates inside me, a spark tossed into dry tinder. My Bloodfire surges higher, hotter, consuming the scraps of restraint I have been clinging to. It becomes something alive inside me, my fingers dig into her, probably harder than I should allow, centuries of starvation pushing, urging, demanding I take what it craves.
Another groan rumbles out of me, dragged from the depths of the monster I haven’t touched in lifetimes, dark and ancient. My gums ache, then split as my fangs descend in a sharp, fluid rush, slicing into place with a sound I feel more than hear, a satisfying, damning click that vibrates through my jaw.
I move in, helpless against the storm raging through me. Instinct roars its commands—bite, drink, claim, consume—each one pounding through my mind with the force of a drum. A thin sliver of reason fights back, desperate, pleading, reminding me she is human, fragile, and more than prey.
But my Bloodfire doesn’t speak the language of caution.
It speaks in hunger.
In need.
In the ancient pulse of predator and possession.
It doesn’t care about reason, morality, or centuries spent trying to be something better.
It cares only for satiation.
