“Where are we going?” she asks, her voice still husky from the feeding.
“My rooms. You shouldn't be alone tonight.”
She doesn't question it. She feels the pull, too.
The corridor to my chambers is lined with portraits of my ancestors, their silent judgment following us. I have never brought another soul here. My solitude has been my shield, the one thing that kept the frenzy at bay. Now, I am willingly leading my greatest vulnerability into my sanctuary.
I push the heavy door open and she steps inside, moving through the sparse, functional space with a curiosity that makes the room feel small. She runs a hand over the arm of a chair, pushes aside a curtain to look out at the three moons.
“It's lonely,” she says, her observation a clean cut to the bone.
“I have always preferred solitude,” I lie.
“Have you?” She turns from the window, her dark eyes seeing more than they should. “Or has it just been necessary?”
The simple question unravels me. “The frenzy makes intimacy... dangerous,” I admit, the words costing more than I expect. “For eight centuries, isolation has been safety. Before you, I had suppressed it twice. Each time left me more convinced that solitude was the only safe path.”
She watches me, her expression unreadable. “That sounds horrible,” she says finally.
The simple acknowledgement does something strange to my chest. Most see my isolation as a sign of admirable control. She sees the price I paid for it.
“The bedroom is through there,” I say, gesturing to a doorway. “You should rest.”
“What about you?”
“That wasn't what I asked.”
She climbs onto the massive bed without ceremony, the red silk pooling around her against the dark furs. “Come here,” she says.
The request challenges every instinct for self-preservation I have honed. But the pull of our connection is stronger. I move to the other side of the bed, settling carefully onto the furs. The stone is wide enough that we don't touch, but I feel her warmth, hear the steady rhythm of her breathing. Every muscle in my body is rigid.
“Kiakoa?” Her voice is drowsy now.
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For tonight.”
“It is I who should thank you.”
Within minutes, her breathing evens out into sleep.
I do not sleep. Cannot. Not yet.
I remain awake, a predator on watch, staring at the woman who has become the center of my world. The frenzy has not been conquered. If anything, it burns hotter, more focused. But for the first time in my fartoo long life, it feels less like a curse and more like the beginning of something I will kill to protect.
BRAITH
Iwake to the sound of breathing that isn't mine.
For a moment, I lie perfectly still on the dark furs, disoriented by the unfamiliar space. Pale light filters through tall windows, and the scent of cold stone and iron fills my lungs. Then memory returns—the Orchard, Jesseth, the way I climaxed in front of strangers while Kiakoa fed from my throat.
He lies beside me on the massive stone bed, closer than when we settled down last night. His face is turned toward me, dark hair falling across sharp cheekbones. In sleep, he looks younger, less controlled. The harsh lines of constant vigilance have softened into something almost peaceful.
I study his features in the morning light. The pale skin that has been warming since our first feeding. The mouth that has tasted my blood, my pain, my pleasure. The strong line of his jaw, relaxed now in a way I've never seen while he's awake.
My body responds to the memory of those lips on my throat, those teeth piercing my skin. Wetness builds between my thighs at the recollection of his hands holding me steady while I shook with release.
His eyes open, golden and instantly alert. One moment asleep, the next fully conscious. Those burning eyes fix on mine, and I feel the familiar pull of connection between us.
