Page 27

“Your blood tastes good to all of us,” Zeke said. “Cyn’s just different.”

They’d told me before how a Nyrith’s blood tasted sweet like candy or dessert. And I remembered how their blood tasted when I tried it. But I never felt a desire to go after their blood or an inability to control myself around it like Cyn. It seemed I wasn’t the only one.

“Your blood can soothe him for a brief period,” Ezra said. “But until you bond with him, his spirit will remain restless, and your blood will only tease him.”

Did that mean we would never reach a point where we could live together?

If I ended up living here longer than intended—or never left if by some chance I completed my bond with Zeke as well—then what did that mean for us? We didn’t want to be bonded to one another.

Maybe it was naïve of me to think we could live as roommates, but I wanted to try following what his mother said after the council meeting—at least for Ash and Zeke’s sake.

I scooted my chair back.

Zeke lifted his gaze to mine. “Where are you going?”

“To talk to him.”

Ash tossed his napkin onto his plate. “Want me to come with?”

I understood why he asked. Things were rocky between Cyn and me at best. Still, I was a big girl. I could fight my own battles.

“I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure.” Ash stood, picking up his plate. “We’ll clean up while you’re gone. Call down if you need us.”

I glanced at Ezra, who sat staring at me without a word. When he didn’t make a move to protest my decision, I left the kitchen, crossed the living room, and headed upstairs to Cyn’s bedroom.

I stopped outside the cracked door and listened for signs of life on the other side, but heard nothing. “Cyn?” I pushed the door open and stepped inside the dimly lit room.

A large bed with a low platform frame and sleek black headboard sat in the room’s top-left corner, messy black sheets and blankets piled in the middle. A small lamp on the nightstand to the right provided the room’s only light.

I crossed the cool hardwood and plush area rug, stopping when I heard the shower running beyond the half-open door beside the dresser along the right wall.

The shower hadn’t been on long enough for the steam to fog the glass, so I got an unobstructed view of Cyn bent forward beneath the shower’s spray with his hand wrapped around his cock.

And here I thought he was pissed off about the blood.

I knew I should have turned around and walked away, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Did watching him jerk off without his knowledge make me a bad person? I wasn’t sure, but I couldn’t look away.

He pressed his back against the wall, giving me a direct view of his hand gliding up and down his shaft. His abs flexed as he tightened his grip and widened his stance, sliding his other hand down to cradle his balls in his palm. A low groan echoed in the bathroom when he tugged on them.

Water streamed over the sharp lines of his shoulders and dark tattoos, gliding down the rigid muscles of his stomach. His head tipped back against the tile, throat working hard before a rough, shuddering breath left him as he slowed his strokes.

Steam curled through the bathroom as he squeezed his eyes shut and cursed.

Even in an act meant to bring pleasure, he appeared frustrated.

He pivoted and moved under the spray, hanging his head forward until his soaked hair shielded his eyes from view.

I needed to leave.

I suspected my blood played a pivotal role in his agitation. I remembered how things went as we ground against each other after he tasted my blood. I questioned whether he even wanted to get off. Maybe it was only a means to an end for him. Something to make the craving go away.

He pushed his hair back from his face, stepping back from the spray.

I stepped back but froze when his nostrils flared as he scented the air. He shuddered, and I wondered if he could smell how his actions affected me.

Still, he never looked my way.