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I look back at him and touch my mouth again, hesitant.

“They feel ridiculous.”

His smile returns, faint and beautiful enough that it makes me want to forgive him for everything he has ever done.

“They are not ridiculous.”

“They are sharp.”

“They are supposed to be.”

I narrow my eyes. “You are enjoying this too much.”

“I have waited decades for someone to want me instead of my throne, my death, or my surrender, so yes, little mage, I am allowing myself a small amount of enjoyment knowing you crave me as much as I do you.”

The answer steals the last of my annoyance.

I step closer, my free hand resting against his chest, and beneath my palm, I feel the slow, steady beat.

“You make it sound lonely,” I say.

His gaze drops to my hand.

“It was—until I found you.”

For all the darkness in him, for all the times he has frightened me and angered me and pushed me to the edge of sanity, there are moments like this when he gives me one honest sentence and leaves me breathless.

I lift onto my toes and kiss him, he stills for half a breath, his hand slides into my hair, and he kisses me back slowly.

His fingers brush my jaw when he pulls back. Then his eyes darken slightly, not with danger but with hunger held carefully in check.

“I do need to feed,” he says, and this time the words do not feel cold or distant the way they used to. “But I will not take blood from you if you are too tired.”

“I’m not tired.” He smiles and draws me closer then, slowly enough that I have time to refuse, and when his mouth finds the side of my throat, my eyes close.

His lips brush the mark first.

Not the place he intends to bite, but the mark itself, the place where he changed me and tied me to him and gave me something I still do not fully understand, and the gentleness of it makes my fingers curl into his shirt.

Then his fangs pierce my skin.

The pain is brief, familiar now, swallowed almost instantly by warmth that rolls through me in a deep, steady wave, and I feel the bond open between us with a quiet rightness that leaves me leaning into him.

He drinks slowly, carefully, one hand sliding to the back of my neck while the other rests at my waist, holding me close without trapping me, and the warmth that spreads through me is familiar now, no longer something I fear, no longer something I try to pretend does not calm every restless part of me.

When he finally pulls away, his tongue passes over the bite, sealing it with that soft, heated ache that makes my knees weaken and my fingers tighten in his shirt.

His eyes lift to mine.

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

The bond sits open between us, warm and alive, and I feel the hunger in him fading into something gentler, something that has nothing to do with blood and everything to do with the way he is looking at me.

Then the pressure in my gums pulses again.

His mouth curves faintly as he brushes his thumb over my lower lip, and the touch makes my small fangs press more sharply against my skin.

“There they are,” he murmurs.