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I ignore it, the world tilting as I try to take in what’s happening before me. Delphine is flitting in and out of Sunday’s body, every pass causing him to lurch. She becomes less and less opaque each time, dissipating until she passes through him one more time and stays there. Sunday’s knees give out as he flops to the floor.

I become vaguely aware of another presence entering the room, his panicked words echoing as he approaches.

“Bellamy? Oh, merde.” Séverin presses a hand over his nose and mouth as he stalks toward us. His sense of smell is much stronger than mine, so the urine is probably not⁠—

The blood.

“D-don’t come⁠—”

But he’s already in front of me, already crouched with a half-wild look in his eyes. He yelps sharply as his fangs slide out fast, catching on his lower lip. His cool fingers encircle my wrist, lifting my bloody limb to his mouth.

“Sev, stop.” I try to pull my arm out of his grasp, but he holds firm, yanking it back with enough force that my body lurches toward him.

“I need…” he mewls, staring at the blood.

“Séverin—Sev, look at me.” I yank again, the movement causing another wave of sharp pain.

“I’m sorry,” he whines, red-stained tears welling up on his lash line as his tongue darts out and licks up the blood. A bloody tear slips out as he starts lapping at my wound with jerky, troubled movements.

I can tell from the frantic look in his eyes that he doesn’t want to be doing this—like he’s disgusted by himself. I can’t find it in me to care.

I’ve nearly died three times in my life already; what’s one more in the grand scheme of things?

There’s a sharp sting when his fangs puncture my torn flesh, swiftly followed by blissful comfort as his venom floods my system. It’s instant, the way the throbbing in my arm soothes.

“Just a little more,” Séverin murmurs against my skin, suckling on the wound. My head lolls backward, but he catches me with ease, pulling me against him until I’m tucked against his chest.

I should tell him to stop, that it’s enough, but it feels too nice. Every pull he takes from my veins siphons the worry from me, making my limbs go light and numb all at the same time. Airy, almost.

Séverin’s arms tighten around me, clutching my body to him like a life raft.

Yet it’s me that’s floating away, one drop at a time.

Chapter Forty-One

Sunday

Ithink I might be dead.

You piss yourself when you die, right?

I can feel dampness in my pants, making everything stick to my thighs. Groaning, I absentmindedly press the heel of my palm to my crotch. Yep. Definitely pissed myself.

I let my hand drop on my stomach for a moment, trying to work out what the fuck happened.

The last thing I remember was that weasel hugging Bellamy, sniffing at his neck. Then, being enveloped by a vicious tide of anger, followed by darkness.

There are more fragments I try to grasp, but they keep slipping away. My body feels as though I’ve had a hard session at the gym, muscles aching and sore, tongue stuck to the roof of my parched mouth.

I wince as I peel my eyes open, the blurry basement ceiling the first thing I see. I blink at the lights, but the black haze over the left side of my face doesn’t disappear. Listening carefully, I hear the buzzing of that freezer that’s on the fritz and the soft, hushed sounds of someone crying, mixed with…suckling?

Rolling onto my side, I grimace at the ache in my bones. I push myself to my hands and knees, staying there for a moment to get my bearings until I realize that my hands aren’t in water at all.

I stand much faster than I should, hot embarrassment flushing through me when I feel the damp denim of my jeans rubbing against my tender skin. I’m not sure how I’m going to get out of the building and walk home like this without anyone seeing what a pathetic excuse for a human I am. Maybe I can raid the historical costumes box and find something that’ll fit.

A particularly loud sob has my head turning toward the source. My eyes follow the line of the floor to a pair of brown boots and chinos cuffed at the ankle, tangled with bare legs I would recognize anywhere. My heart leaps into my throat.

Bellamy is cradled in Séverin’s arms and⁠—