She pulled the gag from her mouth, and her long hair fell onto his face, tickling his skin. He blinked up at her and reached for a perfect, silky lock, inhaling the orange-and-vanilla scent he loved so much.
Dorian’s life force was fading. The demon was no longer a threat, but the damage from the hellfire was extensive, and Duchanes’ poison still pulsed through his bloodstream, consuming a bit more of him with every faint heartbeat.
He didn’t have much time.
If this is where I meet my end,he thought, losing himself in her touch, her sweet scent,I shall spend my eternal damnation in utter gratitude…
“Charlotte,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I—”
“Shh. Don’t talk. Drink.” She pressed her wounded wrist to his mouth.
Dorian clamped his lips shut.
“Jesus Christ,” she snapped. “Don’t fight me on this, Bone Crusher. Youwilllose.”
Dorian tried to bat her away, but she grabbed his arm and slammed it to the ground, her grip impossibly strong in the face of his weakness.
“You’re going to die, you dickhead!” she shouted. “And you still owe me a Midnight Marauder rematch! So fuckingdrink!”
Still, he resisted, even as the first drops reached his tongue, the taste bringing him back to that sinful, erotic moment in the Ravenswood basement when he’d first sampled her blood. The scent filled his nostrils, chasing away the last of the smoke.
The urge to suck was nearly overwhelming.
Above him, Charlotte’s eyes softened in the moonlight, glassy with emotion.
“I trust you, Dorian Redthorne,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Iknowyou won’t hurt me. Please drink. Do it for me.Please.”
Shifting her wrist, she pressed down harder, the blood seeping through his lips, warm and decadent on his tongue, instantly soothing.
Instantly sweet.
Instantly addicting.
The last of his resistance shattered, and Dorian opened his mouth, fangs burning through his gums. He latched onto her wrist with a quick, hard bite.
Charlotte gasped, but she held firm, stroking his hair with her free hand, quietly urging him back to life.
Dorian closed his eyes.
Her blood filled his mouth completely.
And then, he swallowed.
He drank.
And hesucked.
Charlotte’s blood slid down his throat in a warm, wet rush, a pleasant buzz spreading from his stomach to his limbs. Cell by cell, his body knit itself back together, healing the burned tissue and damaged organs, chasing off the poison.
It was a magic elixir, and it brought him back from the precipice of death.
It made him whole again.
It sharpened his instincts, chased the cobwebs from his mind, strengthened his muscles, remade his bones and skin and teeth. He felt the light return to his soul, the full, undimmed power awakening inside him after a long, dark sleep.
The familiar sight of his bedroom faded away as the craving took over, blotting out his rational mind. He was dimly aware of Charlotte’s soft whimpers, the tremble in her arm, the faint tug as she tried to pull back, but none of that mattered.
He couldn’t stop now.
