If I were to ask you to feed on me... would you?
I sigh and press my forehead against the cold windowpane, letting the glass cool my skin.
Would I?CouldI?
I want to. Fuck. I want it more than anything.
But I don’t want to ruin this. And I don’t want to hurt her.
I’m not a youngling, and I’ve not worried about controlling myself during a feed in centuries. But with Maeve, I’d want to be extra cautious. I can’t stomach the thought of hurting her. I’d drive a sword through my own ancient heart if that happened.
Yet... hurting her isn’t what scares me most.
What scares me most is becoming irreparably connected to her.
I pace away from the window and across my sitting room, bare feet silent against the cold stone. I’ve honed my control through centuries of practice, temptation, and the need for survival. I pride myself on no longer being lost to the lure of hunger.
But this wouldn’t be hunger alone. It’d be so much more than that.
It’d be . ..
Maeve. Her storm. The current that buzzes across her skin.
My fangs and gums ache, as if trying to convince me that I need her blood as desperately as I want it.
In the light coming through the window, I cross to my desk and brace my palms against it, bowing my head.
If I did this—if I drank Maeve’s blood—I’d have to be controlled. I’d have to find the restraint I’ve cultivated and cling to it like a lifeline.
My gaze flicks to the empty flask standing on the side table.
Blood from the bank sustains me, but it doesn’tfeedme. It doesn’t chase away the scratch of thirst, the desire for more. Not anymore.
Only Maeve’s blood can do that.
I curl my fingers into fists, nails pinching into my palms.
Somehow, this feels inevitable. Like no matter how hard I fight, I’m going to lose.
I know if she asks again . . .
Gods help me.
I won’t be able to refuse her.
Chapter 29
Maeve
WHEN I RETURN TO NT33 from the bathhouse, muscles sore from another swordsmanship lesson with Severin, I find Poppy alone in the dorm room, pouring water for tea with one hand, holding a book with the other. She’s so lost in the book, she accidentally overfills her cup, then gasps when the water sloshes onto the table.
Behind her, I laugh, and this startles her too, making her whirl and drop her book.
“Goddess!” she yelps. “You scared me.”
“I’ve made plenty of noise,” I say as I plop my boots down beside the door, my shower bag still looped over one shoulder. “You were lost in your book again.”
Still frazzled, Poppy fetches a cloth, then begins to wipe up the spilled water. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” She mops up the puddle, then glances up at me. “You want a cup of tea?”
