“Sterling—” Zeke steps forward, one hand raised as if he’s trying to calm a scared animal.
“No.” Sterling throws his hands up again, pushing past Zeke’s body to the living room, behind me on the couch. “You’re going to fix this, Zeke. She's hurt. The sun exposure alone was enough to weaken her, but Laurel has made it more than clear that whatever kind of magic runs through her veins makes her delicate, susceptible. You’ve caused her an enormous amount of stress and heartache, taking her away from the others she’s bloodbound to. Without enough Arcane blood she won’t survive. And thanks to whatever you and Aamon did, she’s now down two abled offerings.”
Sterling rests his hand on my shoulder from behind the sofa and I still, forcing myself to lift my gaze to meet Zeke’s. It may be through lowered lashes, but at least it’s something. His tanned and stubbled face is rigid, fierce, and it takes all that’s within me not to cower away.
“So what are you going to do, Ezekiel?” Sterling’s question rings through the room. It’s a challenge. An ultimatum. Accept me or lose him. For good.
Zeke stares at us for several palpable moments before stepping forward. Slowly but surely he makes his way across the room to us. For a second I think he’s going to smack Sterling, there’s so much rage in his features. But I go slackjaw as he drops to one knee before me, folding up the sleeve of his flannel shirt before biting into the skin of his forearm and offering it to me.
“Zeke,” I breathe, slowly shaking my head. “You don’t have to do this. I don’t want—”
“I do." He cuts me off. But there’s no conviction in his voice. Only anger. “Drink, Evangeline.”
The way he says my name, the way he commands me. I don’t need a bloodbond to force me to obey him. I lean forward, taking his arm in my hand. His skin feels electric beneath my touch, and I kick myself for wishing this was more.
Too many times I’ve thought about Zeke, too many times I’ve tried to deny that desire to have him. It is nothing but a daydream, a foolish, naive fantasy. There’s only so much fortune in the world, and I’ve already been lucky enough to claim three of them.
I pause at the thought. Well, one now. I suppose.
But no matter how much fortune I found amidst the Blood Order, no matter how much the gods might smiledown on me, I never expected him to offer himself up to me like this.
“Only in blood,” he adds, as if he can hear my thoughts.
My heart pangs with agony as I lower my mouth to the beads of blood now collecting against his skin. And I force myself to drink. Because Sterling’s right. He made me feed from him when we first arrived here, but it did little to mend my wounds, both internal and external. And if I wanted to survive out here, without Aamon or Quinn or any other Arcane beings, then this was the solution.
So I harden my heart as I draw his blood into my mouth. I don’t admit to myself how delicious it tastes, nor how desire pools in my core at the close proximity of his body to mine. I don’t even admit when I think I hear the slightest of breaths drawn from his lips, refusing to let myself get my hopes up that he may want what I want. Because he’s made himself more than clear. Time and time again.
And there’s only so much rejection I can take.
Two days pass in the log cabin. I don’t leave, don’t go outside, barely move off the sofa because my body still hurts too much. The only time I do move is when the sun rises, streaming through the bay window in the kitchen, and Sterling helps me to bed. I can’t even pinpoint the pain. It’s like leaving Requiesse has damaged something deep within me. No matter how much of their blood I consume, I’m not getting any better.
Zeke insisted Sterling and I take the bed our first day here, staying up all hours of the day to keep watch over us. I don’t know when he’s sleeping, if he’s sleeping at all. But the rigidity in his shoulders is wound so tight, I’m worried he may snap at any moment.
Zeke and Sterling tiptoe around each other in an odd dance—neither one wanting to offendor set off the other. Like strangers trapped in this house together. Zeke goes out when the sun sets, checks his traps, makes his rounds, comes back covered in blood and offers something to Sterling, which he accepts silently.
He won’t feed from Zeke. I’ve overheard them arguing about it when they thought I was sleeping. It appears Sterling also has a bloodbond to Zeke. But Sterling insists on only allowing me to feed from Zeke—seems to think saving Zeke's blood for me will somehow help me heal faster. But at this point, I’m starting to wonder if I will ever heal at all. Or if I’m damned to the pain infecting my blood and bones for the rest of my life.
“You need to go hunt.” Zeke’s clipped, harsh voice wakes me. I’m back in the bedroom now, but the sun has long since set and I’m surprised I slept as long as I did.
“I’m fine.” Sterling’s voice drifts from the kitchen.
“You’re not. Consuming animal blood will only help you so much. If you won’t drink from me, then you need to go straight to the source. No more drinking the blood of dead animals.”
Zeke’s right. I’ve noticed the sluggishness in Sterling’s movements since we arrived here. The bags under his eyes. The taste of his blood going sour and flowing slower each time he’s had me feed from him.
I push myself slowly from the bed, my bones protesting at the movement, and stumble over to the door frame.
“I can take care of myself, Zeke." There’s disdain in Sterling's tone, so much so that it makes me cringe. "I don’t need you to mother me.”
“You’re fuckingpoisoningyourself, Sterling! And for what? Some heroic idea that you’re saving her? Did you ever stop to think that if you don’t take care of yourself, you won’t be able to take care of her either? That poisoning yourself may actually be poisoning her too?”
“You’re one to talk about self-deprecating heroics,” Sterling scoffs.
“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Zeke comes around the far side of the kitchen counter, towering over Sterling.
“He’s right,” I call out, interrupting them. Both of their heads snap up from the peninsula. Sterling rushes over to help me to the sofa, but I shake my head, turning towards the kitchen instead. I can’t waste another night lying on that gods-forsaken couch. Even if it pains me to do so, I want to stand in the kitchen with them.
He guides me over to the peninsula and I lean against it for support. “He’s right, Sterling” I repeat again. “I can taste the difference in your blood. You’re going to kill yourself if you keep at this. You need to go hunt.”
