Now she wants to meet there again.
And she wants me to feed from her.
My fangs ache, and the bitter taste of venom fills my mouth.
It’s been so long since I fed from a live vein. The very thought makes my throat dry and my chest tight.
I imagine Maeve’s pulse beneath my mouth. The slide of my fangs through her creamy skin.
And the first taste . . .
A tremor races through my body, making me clench her letter in my hand, the parchment crinkling in the quiet apartment.
I’ve fed from willing throats before. I know the intimacy in it—the surrender and the dominance both. But this feels different.
Maeve is different.
I rise abruptly from my armchair and pace to the window, where rain still batters the glass.
Three centuries of discipline. Of restraint. Of unyielding control.
I’ve never lost myself in a feed—though I’ve come close—but I’ve also never fed from someone who has lightning in her veins. Whose storm is at once both steadying and untamable. Whose very presence makes me feel like I’ll never be whole again without the taste of her blood.
I stare out the glass at the watercolor landscape, turned muted gray by the rain.
If I refuse her, it’ll be because of fear.
My fear of losing control, of losing myself.
And I’m not accustomed to letting fear dictate my choices. The thought of it makes hot anger race through my veins.
I look down at the letter still held in my fingers.
And I know I have no choice. I knew before today that if she were to ask again, I’d be powerless to tell her no.
Maybe I’ve got this all wrong. Maybe she’s not the one surrendering to me.
Rather, I’m the one surrendering to her.
And for once in my long, long life, I feel okay with not being the predator.
I’ll be Maeve’s prey. And I’ll submit to her storm, in whatever way she asks of me.
I stride across the apartment and grab my glass, draining it down my throat as I stare into the flames flickering in the hearth. The wind and rain whisper against the window to my back.
I’m ready to taste the storm.
Chapter 32
Maeve
IT WASN’T RAINING WHEN I arrived, but I felt in my blood that the storm would hit soon. And now, as I stand at the window of the small room in Boar and Badger, staring out at the city below, the first raindrops start to fall.
It’s a gentle rain, accompanied by mist and fog. The trees lining the cobblestone streets have already shed many of their leaves, and the ground is bathed in orange and yellow and red, the fallen leaves made more vibrant by the wet weather.
As it usually does, the weather calms me. My heart beats steadily despite what I’m about to do.
If Severin shows up, that is.
