“Enough,” he bites out bitterly, leaning forward and leveling his gaze at me. His dark eyes are near pitch black in the shadows of the bedroom and my skin pricks with the anger in his voice. Magic stirs inside my veins—not that of the Arcane, but that of a vampire bound to another. “When I need your help with her, I will ask for it. Do you understand?”
My jaw tightens, my body tensing as I try to fight the power. I don’t want to drop this. But the magic in me isworking like a drug, suppressing the fight building in my blood.
“I just”—I try to overpower the will to obey—“want to make myself—available—if need be.” My words are sandpaper on my tongue, nearly silent as I choke them out.
He sits back, his hold relaxing a fraction and I let out a huff of air at the released pressure. “I know,” he says calmly.
I lean back against the headboard, trying to catch my breath from the exchange. It’s the only sound in the room for several long moments. “How does it feel?” I ask at last. “To have her bound to you.”
The crushing power doesn’t return, and I assume it means this is a topic he’s more willing to discuss. Still, it takes him a while to respond. “Different,” he says at last. “Your bond, it feels easy. Natural.”
I smile, knowing exactly what he means. I've never been able to tell why, but something about our souls just melds seamlessly together. Part of me believes we were meant to find each other. To live side by side as something without definition. Friends, brothers? Maybe even something more. Something spiritual.
We made the decision many years ago to be bound to each other. Aamon resisted for a while, still wary of the bloodbond after his experience with Andras. But after many,manyarguments, I was able to convince him that this provided a layer of security for him, a foothold to something else besides Andra's ruthless existence. Bindinghimself to me, and in turn me to him, gave his soul another tie in this life.
The truth is, I had no idea if that would actually work. But I couldn’t stand to see the pain in Aamon’s eyes, the way Andras’ rule over him was sucking the life force out of him. I figured if I could convince him to be bloodbound, perhaps he’d at least have me—in the end. As a punching bag, as a blood source, as a voice of reason when he inevitably pushed himself too far.
“But with her—” Aamon’s voice grows distant and I bristle, desperate to know what he’s thinking. “It’s abrasive. Like my body wants to reject the bond, or like it’s . . .” He trails off and I swallow hard, knowing without him voicing the word what he means.
Incomplete.
I know because I can feel it too. The energy shift when I offered my blood to her, the way my magic recoiled at the feel of her own. And yet, there’s this promised intent between the three of us. What could be if we took from her like she did from us. Our bond, right now . . . it only goes one way. I can’t help but imagine the pure euphoria we could experience if I—ifwe—fed from her.
The feel of her blood is suddenly so fucking strong, so loud right here beside me—and I lean in to inhale the intoxicating scent. “And you?” I ask, clinging to anything to distract myself. “How are you feeling after making that call?”
“Fine,” he says too quickly. I know it’s a lie.
“I know that was hard for you to do, Aamon. But I cannot explain how thankful I am to you for offering—”
“I said I’m fine,” he reiterates. He stands, stretching his arms above his head and pulling on his leather cut. “I’m going to get some sleep, and you should too.”
“Aamon, I—”
“Tomorrow is a full moon, after all.” He cuts me off, throwing me a wink as he makes his way to the door. “You never know what kind of mischievous behavior may require our attention.”
I don’t get the chance to respond before he’s slipping through the door and pulling it shut behind him. I sink back into the bed, breathing in deeply as visions dance through my mind of what his statement could've possibly meant. Evangeline stirs momentarily beside me, and I freeze, nervous I'll wake her. But instead she settles deeper against me, her head nestled in the hollow of my collarbone, giving me a pristine opportunity to smell her scent once more. And fuck me, despite all we’ve done tonight, I’m hard as a rock, once again.
Istir awake to the sound of Quinn’s monstrous snores filling the dark room and reverberating off the walls around us. His thick arm is draped over me, so heavy that I have a hard time pushing him off and slipping out from underneath him.
But when I do, I take a moment to stop and watch him in his sleep. His blond hair falls loose against his face, so unlike I’ve ever seen it. He’s always so diligent about slicking it back, keeping it tamed. But there’s something about seeing it like this, so wild and free, that has me weak in the knees. He’s so beautiful, so at peace, despite the obnoxious noises coming from his throat. I stifle the urge to giggle, not wanting to wake him.
Instead, I tiptoe through the small bedroom and ease myself into the hallway, making sureto soften the latch of the door behind me. I take a moment to get my bearings, realizing this is the first time I’ve been alone since fully coming into my power. I lift my hands in front of me, flexing my joints and letting the feel of the Arcane roll through my limbs.
It’s an interesting sensation. I’ve always felt it, in some ways. From what little bit my father shared with me about how I came to be infected, I was touched by the Arcane at an incredibly young age, its powerful presence lurking just beneath the surface.
But now? What was once a whisper of power threatening to pull me under, is now a burning fire radiating from the depths of my soul and bursting to life in my veins. And as good as it feels, it still terrifies me. This is what I’ve spent my whole life running from. Rejecting. The poison that supposedly made me so weak, so breakable. And despite the strength I feel with my new powers, there’s a part of me that’s still incapable of trusting it. Like letting the Arcane out will once again take me under.
I sigh, dropping my hands and rolling my shoulders. I know it will take some getting used to, but I could use somebody to talk to about this. Not Quinn. And definitely not Aamon. Despite the care they took with me last night, I worry sharing these fears with them will only cause them to walk on eggshells around me, even more than they already are.
Sterling though . . . Sterling once told me that he saw me. That he believed the pain in my soul mimicked his own. He’s been my anchor in this new world, from the moment the Blood Order found me. If there's anyone who would understand, anyone who might understand my pain, I know it will be him.
I start forward, determined with my decision to find him and hopefully confide in him this new whirlwind of emotion raging inside me.
The clubhouse is quiet, even at midday, which may as well be their dawn. And while the rooms are thoroughly blacked out from the sun, the common area has little in the way of protection. I hiss at the sudden brightness as I turn the corner. It doesn’t harm me, per se. But it doesn’t feel good. I'm beginning to understand the Blood Order’s nocturnal schedule.
As my eyes try to adjust to the brightness, I turn slowly through the room. Sterling is nowhere in sight, nor is anyone else. I sigh, pushing forward, and flit my eyes over to the kitchen. It doesn’t take long to clear, due to its small size. But just as I’m about to slip back into the hallway and move on, my eyes catch on the fridge. I don’t have to open it to know what’s on the other side of that door. I can sense it from here. Through the metal and mechanics of the appliance, it calls to me, begs me to reach forward and consume it.
Quinn had insisted I feed again after our time together last night, lifting the bag of blood he brought into my roomto my lips as I greedily gulped it down. It wasn’t the same as feeding from him or Aamon. Yes, it ignited my insides and satiated that near constant ache deep in my belly. But there was something off about it, a sour tang underneath the pleasure.
