No.
"Kayden?" I say carefully.
He doesn't move. Doesn't blink. His gaze is locked on my hand, the blood still dripping down my wrist into the sink.
"Kayden," I repeat, louder, firmer, but my voice cracks. The fear hits like a drop in air pressure.
And then he's on me.
It happens in a blink. I'm slammed back against the wall, my injured arm yanked up.
"Kayden!" I scream, but it's like he can't hear me.
I kick, twist. Nothing works. His grip is like iron. His focus absolute.
And then—
Pain. White-hot.
His fangs rip into my wound. It's not a gentle bite, but a tearing sensation that makes me sob out loud as blood gushes straight into his mouth. He drinks like he's starving.
He ignores my cries, silent, focused on feeding, as if it's not Kayden here with me, but a creature without self-consciousness who just looks like him.
"Kayden,please…" I whisper. It's all I can manage to say now.
But it lands.
He jerks back like I hit him. Staggers, eyes wild, blood coating his mouth and dripping down his chin. He stares at his red stained hands, then at me.
Something in him breaks.
"I—" he chokes. His voice is hoarse. "I'll call my brother."
And then he's gone. Just a blur of motion and air.
I slide down the wall, breathing ragged, hands shaking.
I press a cloth against my wound—anything to slow the bleeding, to feel in control again.
I must've blacked out for a moment. Or longer.
When I jolt back, there's a sting in my arm and a puddle of blood glistening beside me on the tiles. The cloth I was using issoaked through, lying limp in my lap. I fumble for another one, press it hard against the wound, and try to push myself up.
I stagger, barely catching myself on the counter. The pain pulses like it's synced to my heartbeat. The blood loss from the bite is too much. This isn't going to get better on its own, even with my enhanced nymph healing.
Then the front door slams open.
"Asher," I whisper, my legs buckling.
He's already moving, taking in the shattered wine bottles, the red puddles on the floor, the streaks of my blood everywhere. His gaze lands on me—pale, trembling, clutching my arm—and raw concern flashes in his expression.
"Sage," he breathes, crossing the room in two strides. He catches me just as I start to slip again, his arm anchoring around my back.
I search his face, trying to read past the calm exterior. For a second, I expect the same hunger I saw in Kayden. But he's steady and focused.
At least for now.
"I need stitches," I murmur.
