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Gina locked her instincts down with a ruthless mental shove. She leaned in slowly, tongue darting out to lap at the free droplets of blood on his neck. The taste bloomed across her palate—rich, familiar. Rolf. A conscientious feeder, even in his obsessions. Safe enough.

She chose a new spot just below his collarbone, fangs sinking with precise control. The ecstasy rolled over her in a shuddering wave, three steady beats of the human’s heart—no more, no less. Mastery honed through decades kept her anchored even as pleasure threatened to pull her under. Then she withdrew, licking the wounds closed with clinical tenderness.

The man sagged against her, delirious and pliant. Gina guided him gently out of the main fray and settled him on a pile of discarded blankets to the side of the reaping, arranging his limbs so he would be comfortable and safe until the fog lifted.

She straightened, brushing a dark wave of hair from her face, and let her gaze drift once more towards Mathias and Carson. The sight twisted something sharp and painful in her chest.

The sun’s whisper returned, louder now than she’d ever experienced it during the moon’s time.

***

Rolf

Rolf stood in the deeper shadows of the warehouse, far enough from the main reaping that no one should have noticed him. He had meant only to keep watch. Instead, he found himself frozen, watching Gina.

She had Joe.

The human was soft-eyed and pliant under her hands, head tipped back, throat bared. Gina fed with elegant restraint, her dark waves falling forwards as she took what she needed. Joe’s low, helpless sound of pleasure carried across the space and hit Rolf like a physical blow.

Jealous rage ignited so fast and hot it nearly dropped him to his knees.

His fangs descended hard. His hands curled into fists at his sides, claws pricking his own palms. Every instinct screamed to cross the floor, tear Gina away, and sink his own teeth into that warm, familiar throat. Joe was his. The feedings, the soft nights, the way the human’s blood quieted the sun’s hiss better than anything else ever had—those belonged to him.

Rolf forced himself to stay still.

He knew the danger. He had seen what unchecked obsession did. He had watched Mathias warn others, had heard the stories of thralls who lost themselves completely. Continuing to feed from Joe in secret was a risk. Doing it while drowning in this kind of possessive fury was worse.

He should go to Mathias. He should confess the depth of the pull and ask for help before it was too late for either of them.

He didn’t move.

Because every time he took from Joe, the jealous bitch sun went quiet for a little while. The constant, grinding pressure eased. For a few hours, he could breathe without feeling the light calling him home. If he told Mathias, the feedings would end. The relief would end. And Rolf was not ready to give that up—not even for Joe’s sake.

He watched until Gina finished and gently compelled Joe into a pleasant daze, then guided him towards the exit with the other released humans. Only when the human was gone did Rolf let himself exhale.

The rage still burned under his skin.

He turned away and melted deeper into the warehouse shadows, counting the hours until he could find Joe again.

Chapter Seven

Carson

Carson lasted until midmorning before the tremors started.

His hands shook as he tried to type a simple client email. The cursor jumped. Letters appeared in the wrong order. He clenched his fists under the desk until his knuckles ached, but the fine vibration in his fingers refused to stop. Every few minutes, a phantom chill ghosted across the side of his neck—exactly where Mathias’ mouth had been—followed by a rush of heat that left him semihard and sweating in the fluorescent light.

Carson clutched the edge of his desk until his knuckles whitened, fighting the tremor that threatened to rattle the mouse across its pad. The office hummed with the usual midday rhythm—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, Ruthie humming softly in the next cubicle—but none of it truly registered. His skin felt too tight, stretched over quivering nerves that sparked with phantom touches. Callused fingers ghosting along the curve of his hip. A time-roughened voice whispering “Exquisite” against his throat. The iron bloom of blood on his tongue from that single, forbidden drop.

He swallowed hard, bile rising bitter and acidic in his throat. Another wave hit him—it was filled with strong and believable hallucinations of Mathias’ cool hands sliding down his spine, possessive hold pinning him in place. His cock twitched traitorously in his slacks. Not here. Not now.

“Carson?” Drew’s voice cut through the fog, sharp with concern. His boss leaned over the cubicle wall, brow furrowed. “You zoning out again, man? That’s the third time today.”

Carson forced a smile that felt like cracking glass. “Yeah, sorry. Just...not sleeping great.” The lie tasted as sour as the bile he kept choking down. His hands shook as he reached for his coffee mug, and he nearly spilled it. The tremors were getting worse. Withdrawal, he realized with a sick lurch in his gut. From him. From a high only inhuman hands could deliver.

Drew stepped around the wall and dropped into the spare chair, studying him too closely. “You look like hell again. Worse than last week. That ‘illness’ you mentioned? It’s not going away, is it? You’ve been off for weeks—spacing out, jumping at shadows, blowing through deadlines like they don’t exist. The puppy pen client loved your work, but if you keep this up, we’re gonna miss the video shoot entirely.”

Carson’s vision blurred for a moment as phantom lips brushed the inside of his thigh, sending a fresh spike of quivering need straight to his groin. He shifted uncomfortably, heat flooding his face. “It’s...complicated, Drew. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Feels like I’m coming down with something that won’t let go. Headaches. Shakes. Crazy dreams.” He laughed weakly, the sound jagged. “Probably just stress. Or maybe I’m losing my mind.”