He shuddered, the motion sending a strange, sympathetic and oddly curious ripple through me.
“—the first of many,” he finished quietly. “We never fed from each other. But it felt right, having him there. Like we were meant to be a pair.”
My chest tightened.
“So, Ambrose stayed,” he continued. “We lived together. Worked together. Fed together.” He paused, then added, “I think that’s why my rhythm was off last night. You were the first person in almost a decade that I’d been fully with without Ambrose at my side.”
Okay. So... that was something we could work on.
He was used to having another person there—which explained why he hadn’t found a solo rhythm yet. Why he’d been out of sync. Because the first time we were together, he’d been picturing Ambrose at his side.
My core clenched at the sudden image of two incubus demons in the tent.
Blaise shifted beneath me, as if he could sense the sudden spike of desire that flared through my body.
The desire that absolutely shouldnotbe happening, I reminded myself. Because it was wrong—on so many levels—that the mental image of a faceless Ambrose in that tent with us was doing this to me.
I shoved the thought away, smothering the spark with logic.
Because if Blaise had been feeding with Ambrose beside him, then it was likely they’d both been with the person who’d broken his heart. Had that person chosen Ambrose over Blaise? Had Blaise been forced to watch while the person he loved fell for his best friend instead?
A second later, the elastic band at his wrist snapped.
After another steadying breath, Blaise went on. “We built a life together after that. We set up the business. Made the apartment a home. And every Samhain, I was excited at the thought of finally meeting you—but not disappointed when you didn’t summon me.”
There was an apology threaded through his tone.
I squeezed his leg gently, letting him know he didn’t need to be sorry for that.
“And life was good. Right up until six months ago.” His voice faltered. A sniffle escaped him, and there was a long pause before he caught me completely off guard with his next question. “Have you ever heard of the Silent Massacre?”
I nodded slowly.
Everyonehad heard of the Silent Massacre. It had dominated the news for months—not just because it was the largest loss of supernatural life in recent history, but because it forced the Council to acknowledge something they’d ignored for decades. Families of the missing, who’d never been given answers, suddenly had proof that their loved ones hadn’t simply vanished.
For years, the only place the theory had lived was inWho Do the Voodoo?—a notoriously unreliable supernatural tabloid that thrived on hysteria and half-baked conspiracy theories. Every few weeks, they’d publish another article insisting that the disappearances of supernatural groups over the past decades were all linked.
Like most sane people, I’d dismissed it as nonsense. A way to turn other people’s grief into sensational headlines.
Until six months ago.
An anonymous tip had been sent directly to the Council. According to the reports that followed, it came from someone who claimed they’d been lured to a vampire nest under false pretenses and had realized too late that they were meant to be dinner.
The tip included exact coordinates. When Council investigators arrived, they found a dozen freshly dismembered vampires scattered through the lair. It wasn’t long before the investigation uncovered the drained remains ofhundredsof missing supernaturals, discarded in the crypts beneath it.
But why was Blaise bringing this up?
It wasn’t as if—
My train of thought stilled. The rough, sinewy scar at Blaise’s neck burned against my scalp. My body moved before I could stop it. Blaise stayed perfectly still as I pushed myself up and tugged the fabric of his T-shirt down far enough to expose the horrific injury at his throat. His lips tightened, his brows furrowing as he held his breath, as if it hurt to have me look at the scar from that night.
Bile roiled in my stomach as the truth settled in.
My mate could have been taken from me six months ago, and I would never have known. I could have finally been ready to make the summoning... only to find there was no Blaise left to summon at all.
There was more to the story. I knew that.
But for now, all I could do was lower my lips to his neck, pressing a gentle kiss to the cool, silken scar—a reminder that he hadn’t died. That he’d survived.
