And slowly, deliberately, brings them to his lips.
His tongue traces along each finger, licking them clean, and the sight of it sends a fresh wave of heat through my already spent body. His eyes never leave mine as he tastes me, as he savors me like I'm something rare and precious.
"Oh," I breathe.
"I intend to taste you properly," he says when he's finished, his voice dark with promise. "When we have more time. When I can spread you out beneath me and take my time and make you come apart on my tongue. Again and again until you're begging me to stop."
The words send another pulse of want through me. I'm already thinking about it, already craving it, imagining his dark head between my thighs, his mouth where his fingers were.
"I'm going to hold you to that," I manage.
"I'm counting on it."
He kisses me again, and I taste myself on his lips, a strange intimacy that makes something warm unfurl in my chest. His arms wrap around me, holding me close, and for a moment there's nothing but this. Nothing but him.
The door bangs open.
We wrench apart. He sets me down so fast the room spins, one hand shooting out to steady me as I find my footing. I'm acutely aware of how I must look, flushed and disheveled, my sweater askew, my leggings twisted.
Marcellus stands in the doorway.
His expression is grim. Whatever he sees on our faces, the swollen lips, the obvious evidence of what we were doing, doesn't change it.
"We have a problem," he says. "A big one."
Maximus's commander mask slides into place. The transformation is instant, jarring. One second he's the man who was inside me, who tasted me on his fingers, who looked at me like I was everything. The next he's the vampire lord who's survived six centuries by being harder and colder than everyone else.
But his hand lingers on my waist for half a second before it falls away.
"What happened?"
"Konstantin didn't hit another depot." Marcellus's jaw tightens. "He hit donors. Six of them. Coordinated strikes at their homes across the city. All within the last hour."
The words are ice water.
Six donors. Not infrastructure. People. People who trusted the network to keep them safe.
"He has their addresses," I say, the realization churning my stomach. "He knows who they are."
"Which means he has access to information he shouldn't have." Maximus's voice is flat. Controlled. But I can feel the tension radiating off him. "We have a leak."
I think about what I said in the briefing. About Konstantin targeting people instead of buildings. About making them feel unsafe.
I was right.
It doesn't feel like a victory.
"It gets worse." Marcellus holds out a piece of paper. "He left a message. Same note at every location. Pinned to the bodies."
Maximus takes it. Reads it. His expression empties.
"What does it say?" I ask.
He hands me the paper. Five words, written in elegant script:
This is just the beginning.
The chill that runs through me has nothing to do with temperature.
