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“Kylian,” I correct, and my voice comes out just as mortified.

Kylian pulls back and looks down at me with an amused smile.

Then his head lowers until his lips find mine, soft, warm, and unhurried. The kiss is gentle in a way that contradicts everything his body is designed for. His mouth moves against mine, and his taste floods my senses—that cold taste that I have somehow become addicted to. My fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck as I pull him closer.

“I think I prefer Kye,” he mumbles against my lips, and his breath mingles with mine. “But only from you.”

When he pulls back, I can see the hunger in his eyes. Not the desire from a moment ago. I see the effort it takes to hold himself still above me. His gaze drops to my throat, and I tilt my head, giving him my neck.

His body goes rigid. Every muscle locks, and his breathing stops entirely. “Alessia, don’t tease me.”

“I’m not,” my fingers find the back of his head and guide him down. The tension that rolls through his body is so intense I feel his resistance before he finally gives in.

His lips press against my throat first. Warm, soft, almost reverent. Then his fangs dragging across my skin, not breaking it, waiting to see if I am going to reject him. The anticipation alone makes my heart pound.

My fingers tighten in his hair, and my spine arches off the mattress, needing his bite just as much as he needs to bite me. “Kye,” I breathe and he finally sinks his teeth into me. The pain is sharp but brief before it changes, the way it always does, bleeding into something deeper as the bond between us flares open. I feel him the way I always do when he feeds. His hunger. His relief. The darkness in him that my blood illuminates, pushing it back, filling the hollow spaces with something warm.

He pulls away sooner than I expected. His tongue sweeps across the wounds, sealing them. When he lifts his head, his eyes are brighter. The shadows beneath them have retreated, and the veins have settled back beneath his skin.

“What changed?” he asks.

“Nothing changed.”

“You’ve fought me on feeding since the ship. Tonight you offered.” His thumb traces the spot where his fangs entered, feather-light. “What changed?”

“Because I could tell you needed to.” I don’t tell him that the thought of him feeding off anyone else for some reason drags out a jealousy I am not prepared for. Instead, I tell a different truth. “I am the only one who survives your bite, and the idea of someone dying, when you could have fed from me, is not one I can live with.”

His face shifts, and for a moment I think it’s a cringe he is stifling.

“Unless you’ve already been feeding elsewhere?” My jealousy is irrational, especially when I am hoping he will feed and crash so I can sneak out and find the cells to search for a man that isn’t him.

He watches me for a moment longer, searching for the thing I’m not saying. “You’re jealous?” He chuckles and my face warms. “I can feel it through the bond. No need to be, little mortal. I am not putting my mouth on anyone besides you.”

Finally, he falls back on the bed before dragging me closer and draping his arm across my waist. I relax against him, but my attention turns inward as I fight all the conflicting thoughts threatening to consume me.

The guilt for what I plan to do sits heavy in my stomach, because after giving me the only parts of my mother left in this world, after all his gentle, warm confessions, I’m using his vulnerability to plan my escape from this room.

I listen to his breathing deepen. Count the seconds between each rise of his chest. One. Two. Three. The intervals stretch, growing longer, more even, and his hand on my hip goes slack. I realize he has fallen asleep.

I wait longer than I need to. Five minutes. Ten. Watching the fireplace, I slowly inch away from him, letting his hand fall to the empty space between us.

I pull back the covers an inch at a time. My movements are slow to avoid jostling the mattress too much. When cold air hits my legs, I suppress a shiver and swing my feet to the floor to stand. I wait, holding my breath, staring at the bed.

His breathing doesn’t change, and I pad across the room to the door, my feet silent on the floor. The handle turns without sound, and I open it just enough to slip through sideways. My shoulder brushes the frame, and then I ease it shut behind me with a soft click.

The corridors look different in the dark, but I try to retrace my steps, watching carefully down each hall to make sure I don’t cross paths with anyone.

If Eagan finds me, he will never believe that I was looking for the library again.

Voices reach me from a corridor to my left. Servants maybe, or guards changing shifts. I press into an alcove and wait. My heart hammers against my ribs as two figures pass the intersection without turning their heads. They are deep in conversation, and I wait until their footsteps fade to continue.

When I hit the bottom of the familiar stone stairs, I have no idea where to go. I’ve never seen this part of the castle before. It smells damp and earthy the farther I walk.

A laundry area opens in front of me, but thankfully no one is down here. I wind through the maze of barrels filled with soaking linens until I come to a door on the far wall.

The handle turns with no resistance, and a cold draft breezes across my face. It’s another staircase leading down, but there is no light, so I use both hands on the stone wall to guide me.

The air grows heavier and colder by the time I reach the bottom, but a faint light in the distance keeps me moving. I pass racks filled with wine bottles before the tunnel narrows, and I come out on the other side into a room with dim lights.