Dax knocked once.
The movement inside stopped.
“Who is it?” a woman asked.
Her voice was wary and stronger than he had expected.
“Dax. I’m one of Rhen’s brothers.”
Silence followed.
“I don’t know you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“What do you want?”
“I brought blood.”
Another silence stretched between them before the latch moved.
“You can come in.”
Dax opened the door and entered slowly, keeping his movements visible.
Veya sat against the headboard of the bed with her knees drawn up. An oversized dark sweatshirt covered most of her hands, while her damp hair clung lightly to her temples. Her skin was too pale, and a bright, hungry strain sharpened her eyes despite the composure she was attempting to maintain.
She studied him with open suspicion.
Dax closed the door but remained beside it.
“I’m Dax,” he repeated.
“You said that.”
“I thought the name might improve on a second hearing.”
It did not earn a smile, although the faint tightening around her mouth suggested she had understood the attempt.
Dax held up one of the blood bags.
“I brought two. One for now and one for later.”
“I’ve already had blood.”
“Then you know this works better than pretending hunger will disappear if you ignore it.”
Veya’s gaze fixed on the bag.
Her expression did not hold disgust so much as fear of what accepting it represented.
“I’m not hungry.”
Dax looked at her trembling hands.
“Of course not.”
Her eyes narrowed.
