“Initiations tend to dehydrate Fawns. That will replenish your strength.”
I had no idea how long I’d been asleep, what day it was, or when the last time I’d eaten or had anything to drink.
After Enzo had cut our hands and declared me his, everything had gone blurry.
Strangely, I’d expected a bloodier Initiation.
I’d imagined animal sacrifices or brutal violence. Instead, they had chosen another kind of torture. Psychological.
Their goal had been to ruin my sanity, strip me down to nothing, then rebuild me into whatever they wanted.
Military training for Fawns.
He pushed off the wall and walked to the IV stand, checking the bag. It was almost empty.
My eyes narrowed when he leaned across the bed and took hold of my arm. He stretched it out, and with practiced precision, removed the IV from my vein. Pain stung as the needle slid free.
A small bead of blood formed at the puncture site.
The way his breathing changed as he stared at it sent shivers through my bones. His throat bobbed with a swallow, and instead of bandaging the spot, he ran his thumb through the drop and gathered it onto his finger.
I stared at him, stunned, when he lifted that finger to his mouth the same way he’d tasted my blood last night.
I yanked my arm away before he could keep playing Dracula. “Is that some kind of fetish you have?”
He lifted a single brow, then gave his finger another slow lick.
I motioned toward my arm. “Blood.”
The smile that touched his mouth looked rare. It lacked the cruelty of his usual one, making him seem almost normal. Almost like a man with an actual conscience.
“Why do you ask? Does blood turn you on?”
“No, because I’m not a fucking vampire.”
“Nor am I.”
“Right. Normal people”—I shoved my thumb against my chest—“like me, don’t suck people’s blood.”
His smile grew. “You don’t need to worry about sucking my blood, Blair. You’ll focus more on sucking my cock.”
“I think the hell not.”
Any amusement vanished from his smile.
It settled back into his typical threatening shape.
I was paying too much attention to his face and not enoughto his hands. I yelped when he ripped the blankets off me, exposing the short black nightie clinging to my body.
One of the nighties he’d stolen from my drawer days ago.
In a single motion, he caught my ankle, turned me, and dragged me to the edge of the bed.
I kicked at him, but the difference in our strength was that of David and Goliath. When my hips hung halfway off the mattress, he forced my legs apart and stepped between them.
My eyes burned with hatred as his hands skimmed up my thighs, fingers slipping beneath my nightie.
I tried to slap them away, but one hand left my thigh to catch my wrist.
