Crave grips my waist, dragging me against him with a strength no mortal body should ever contain. Vampire power radiates through his touch, terrifying in theory, devastatingly gentle in practice. His fingers dig into my hips just enough to anchor me, to hold me steady as the magic between us ignites and swirls around our bodies in a storm of ember-bright sparks.
The kiss deepens, and a pulse of crimson-gold light erupts between our chests, shooting outward through space in widening waves. The walls vibrate, the lights above us flicker and surge, and the air hums with electricity, every inch crackling with the force shaking its way out of us.
It’s not just a kiss.
It’s the bond claiming us, reshaping us, rewriting the space between our bodies and the meaning of our touch. And for the first time, it feels as though the world isn’t big enough to contain the two of us.
My hands slide up his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt, and power sparks between us. Crimson and gold light pulses from my palms, and where I touch him, his veins glow in response. The Bloodfire and my magic are tangling together, feeding off each other in a feedback loop that makes us both groan.
“Sloane—” He tears his mouth from mine, breathing hard despite not needing air. “If we do this, if we go further, the bond will deepen. We’ll be—”
“I don’t care!” I cut him off, my newly layered voice carrying power that makes the windows rattle. “I feel what you feel, Crave. I know you want this as much as I do.”
It’s true. His desire burns with the fury of a star about to go supernova. I know how badly he wants to claim me, mark me, make this bond permanent in every way that matters.
And I want it too.
God help me, I want it with an intensity that should frighten me but doesn’t.
He growls, actually growls, and suddenly his vampire speed carries us across the room, and my back slams against the brick wall hard enough to crack the mortar.
But I don’t feel pain, I feelalive.
His mouth finds my throat, and I tilt my head instinctively. Not to be bitten,not yet,just to feel his lips against the pulse point, to feel him fighting his hunger, his Bloodfire screaming at him totake, take, take.
“Not yet,” I whisper, somehow knowing what he needs to hear. “Not until I say.”
The restraint costs him. His control is fracturing, the monster inside him rattling its cage to break free.
My hands find the hem of his leather cut and draw it down over his shoulders. He takes it, placing it on the nearest cupboard, then I bring my hands up to his shirt and yank. The fabric tears, and then he’s bare-chested before me. Centuries-old scars crisscross his skin, some from wars, others carved by things I don’t have words for. I trace them with fingertips that glow crimson-gold, and everywhere I touch, his Bloodfire responds, surging to meet my magic.
“Your turn,” he rumbles, and before my eyes can even capture the movement, suddenly my shirt is gone. Just gone. Torn away with vampire speed and strength that makes my core clench with want.
He freezes, staring at my torso, in shock.
The wound. The one that nearly killed me, it’s gone. Not healed—gone.As if it never existed. But in its place, covering my ribs and spreading across my stomach, are markings I’ve never seen before.
Crimson and gold veins that pulse with my heartbeat, spreading beneath my skin as living tattoos. They shift with every breath, patterns rearranging into shapes that resemble runes or an ancient language etched in blood and light.
“The Blood Witch’s mark,” Crave breathes, tracing one of the veins with his finger. The touch sends electricity arcing through me. “It shows your power. Your magic made manifest.”
I look down at myself and watch the markings pulse brighter, responding to my attention. They’re beautiful and utterly mine.
I’ve always felt different.
Always felt as though I didn’t quite belong.
Andthis is why.
But here, with Crave and the rest of his supernatural misfits, I’m not an outcast at all.
And the way Crave is looking at me right now, I know I’m exactly where I belong.
“Touch me,” I demand, the layered voice making it a command and a plea simultaneously. “I need… I need to feel—”
I don’t finish the sentence because his mouth crashes back to mine, and this time, there’s no gentleness. Just raw, desperate need that makes reality bend around us.
His hands roam my body, mapping every curve, every line, and everywhere he touches, power sparks. My magic responds, reaching for something inside him, and when it connects, the sensation is indescribable.
