As wicked as the dragon King who made the order to claim her kingdom?
"I’m no different than them," she realized. "Because I-I don’t… care. Should I care? Why don’t I care? Why doesn’t it hurt m-more?" Her sobs turned to hiccuping gasps. She couldn’t get enough air.
Her back twinged again from the force of her sobs. A sharp, dragging pain pulsed out from the torn skin beneath the bandage. Wings she could feel, but not move.
Another thing that was not hers. Another lie.
Forcedout of her.
She was cold, yet on fire. She was as thin and weightless as the clouds, yet heavy as the crashing waves.
Numb.
The fire crackled in the hearth, the jewels glimmered in the piles, and her heart broke in her chest.
6
WHATEVER IT TAKES
BASTIAN
The scent of fire and blood slammed into Bastian as he entered the dragon’s den.
The vampire staggered, bracing a hand on the cool stone walls. Water dripped from his black hair and splattered on the floor as he hung his head, trying not to fight through them all for just a taste. Trying not to ruin everything for a moment’s relief. All he wanted was to get to that enticing scent of blood, sink his fangs into supple flesh, and drink until the raging ache of hunger inside him was quelled.
He hadn’t seen her yet, but he did not need to. He could envision her easily. Pale flesh, veins a beautiful shade of blue-green, scarlet blood dripping from the wounds in her back.
His fangs pulsed like a heartbeat.
He breathed in—short, shallow, and ragged.
Another breath, stuttering out as his traitorous brain kept trying to talk him into ruining everything for a taste of her blood.
Again, hoping that it would all go away.
But Bastian knew better.
This wouldn’t go away.
Not unless he gave in.
Animal blood was all he had been able to stomach lately—he was sick at the thought of drinking anything if it was not fromher.
His bones felt weak and weary, the longer he ceased to give in.
Gods.
He breathed in, scenting Luella’s strawberry-tinted blood, tinged with only the slightest of sicknesses.
Burning embers momentarily clouded the scent of her enticing blood. A heavy hand, hot like coals, fell on his shoulder.
"Are you going to be okay?"
Bastian looked up. He hadn’t realized the others had gone ahead without him, leaving the vampire with Vale, who had held back to speak with him.
The King was nude as the day he was born, utterly uncaring of the fact. Rainwater dotted his chest, and smoke wafted from between his pinched lips. His green eyes kept drifting to the cavernous halls that Bastian knew would lead to Luella.
Bastian swallowed. "I am trying, Vale. But it’s"—he released another shuddering breath—"so hard. I’ve never felt agony such as this."
