He was wound up, his hunger close to the surface, his body ready.
I could feel it rolling off him, his need to fight, to tear through the threat, to consume. But he was still Declan.
“Stay close,” I told him, low and firm.
A flicker of something passed through his gaze. Amusement? Maybe. Dark satisfaction? Definitely.
Then he moved.
And just like that, the battle swallowed us whole. Declan exploded into motion, vanishing into the chaos like a wraith.
One moment, he was at my side and the next, he was a blur of dark clothes and flashing fangs, launching himself at the nearest rabid vampire.
The creature barely had time to snarl before Declan ripped through it.
I saw it all in fragments, his hand snapping out, his knife slicing deep into flesh, the sickening crunch of bone as he tore into its throat.
It let out a wet, gurgling screech before collapsing, twitching, its blackened blood pooling at Declan’s feet.
And he didn’t stop.
He was fast. Faster than I’d ever seen him move.
A second rabid lunged from the side, shrieking. Declan pivoted sharply, dodging with almost inhuman ease.
His lips peeled back in a snarl, his fangs gleaming in the firelight as he struck, sinking his knife straight through the thing’s ribcage and pulling.
Dang. He was tearing through them like they were nothing.
Ruthless. Precise. Efficient.
But there was something else, too. Something dangerous curling at the edges of his movements. Hunger.
His strikes were brutal, but there was too much force behind them.
A need that went beyond just killing. Every vampire he cut down left his breaths heavier, his pupils darker, his stance more on edge.
I swore under my breath. I didn’t have time to drag him back from the ledge. Not yet. Not with the fight still raging around us.
I turned to the closest shifter, a man mid-shift with sharp, golden eyes and a bloodied arm. “Where’s the rest of your people?”
He jerked his chin toward the back of the village, where a cluster of sparrows were huddled near a collapsed structure, fending off another wave of attackers.
I bolted. A vampire lunged at me from the side, but I was faster, driving my knife into its throat before shoving it away.
I reached the group just as a rabid broke through their defensive line, its claws swiping for a young shifter barely old enough to fight.
I didn’t think. I just moved. I tackled the rabid from behind, driving it to the ground.
It screeched, twisting beneath me, jaws snapping. My blade was already moving before it could lunge again, slicing across its throat.
It twitched. Shuddered. Then stilled.
I pushed myself up, scanning the battlefield. The rabid vampires were thinning. The shifters were pushing back. My gaze snapped to Declan, and my stomach twisted.
He was still fighting. Still killing. But he was moving differently now. His shoulders were tense, his fangs bared. And his eyes were locked on the nearest body. Lust. Hunger.
I could see it crawling through him. The need, the temptation, the razor-thin edge between restraint and surrender.
