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Whoever entered the room is standing right behind me. My magic stirs in my chest, fluttering like my heart, causing my fingertips to tingle. I fill my lungs to the brim, needing to keep my power rooted where it can’t be sensed.

“You don’t smell like the typical feeder,” he murmurs, sweeping the hair from my neck. His fingers graze my skin, and I swallow thickly, fighting a full-body shudder. He makes a tsk noise. “As I thought,” he says, and my brows scrunch beneath the blindfold.

Then I feel his breath glide across my neck, and he takes a long, deep inhale.

“What are you, a fae hybrid?” he questions.

I don’t answer.

He takes another breath and moves closer until I feel his chest against my back.

“I’ve fed on hundreds.” His voice curls around me and sends a shiver down my spine. “And never once have I smelled a fae offering themselves in a place like this.”

His body heat leaves my back, and I hear him circle me slowly. I can feel the weight of his hungry, curious gaze, even blindfolded.

“You smell like . . .” He pauses. “Like sunlight and summer rain. Like innocence, pure and untainted.”

His fingers graze my jaw, and I flinch, yet his touch remains light, almost reverent. He traces down my throat, brushing the edge of my collarbone, leaving a trail of burning flesh as he goes. But it’s not painful. It’s a warm, tingling sensation, spreading over my entire body.

He groans, stepping closer, and I can feel the heat emanating off him in waves. Part of me is drawn to it, like it promises warmth I’ve never felt, while another part of me wishes he would hurry up because I need to get back to the docks.

“Are you pure?”

My breath catches just enough for him to hear the answer in my silence. If that didn’t give it away, I know the blood rushing to my face did because my head, neck, and chest feel hot.

He chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes. It explains your scent, since I know the Elven King wouldn’t dare let one of his people become a feeder.”

Gods . . . Even his voice is sexy.

He tilts my head gently to the side. His breath ghosts across my neck again, hot and unhurried.

Everything about him sets my nerves alight, awakening my fear and curiosity. I shouldn’t react to him this way. He could kill me. Could this be a vampire’s compulsion I’ve heard others speak of? It feels nothing like my sister’s power to compel.

My thighs clench, and my chest rises and falls too fast, unable to catch my breath. I try to remember how Arlo held me against him on the beach, and a pang of guilt twists my stomach.

I’m doing this for Sable. I’m doing this for Sable. It’s the only way to get her back. For Sable. For Sable.

CHAPTER 8

• Alessia •

“DON’T BE AFRAID of me,” he murmurs. “It will be over soon.”

Before I can process his words, his hand moves to my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple through the sheer fabric. A whimper escapes me at his touch, and I flinch when he buries his face in my neck, inhaling deeply. I almost jerk away, but his grip keeps me in place. His nose drags along my pulse while his hand closes over my breast and squeezes.

This is wrong.

Yet my body responds to his touch with a heat that makes shame burn in my chest.

For a heartbeat, I pretend it’s Arlo’s hands instead. Rough from the fields, familiar and careful. I imagine the way we always pull back at the last second, like we’re afraid of breaking something precious.

I imagine his warmth. Arlo’s touch.

The lie doesn’t hold.

Guilt floods me. What would Arlo think if he could see this? If he could see my body react to this vampire, even as my mind is screaming that it’s wrong, would he hate me? He’s bled for less. Taken lashes for looking at me too long.

I swallow the lump rising in my throat and hate myself for the relief pretending gives me.