Saint growls, immediately on his feet, a blade in his hand. “Aurora? What’s wrong?” he asks once he’s ascertained there’s no danger other thanme.
“Either make good on your dreams or get out,” I snap, every nerve in my body tangled with need.
“You saw…” He shifts on his feet. For a second, I think he might give in. That maybe my surprise pillow attack has shaken some sense into him. “Fine.” He stomps out of the room.
I hear his footsteps make it to the room next to mine across the hall, then the door slams shut. I fall back into bed, thirsty, achy, and frustrated.
CHAPTER 9
Saint
Aurora’s new home is so quiet, even as the night staff comes in and does a quick clean, filling the house with food and any other supplies they think we might need. I sit on one of the cushioned lounge chairs near the illuminated pool laid into the stone courtyard. I’ve been out here since night broke, doing my best to reinforce my mental shields.
Flashes from last night burst behind my eyes. My dreams of Aurora—touching her skin, kissing her again, feeling her beneath me, sinking my fangs into her neck.
Fuck. It had felt so damn real.
I’ve never lost control while sleeping. Not once in all my years. But with Aurora? The lines between her soul and mine are getting blurry. We’ve shared a mind-space so often, I naturally reach out to her any time she’s near.
I rebuild my shield, hoping that taking the guest room next to hers, and not the couch in her bedroom, will help me keep my fantasies to myself.
Hunger gnaws through me, a suffocating thirst that makes me ache. It’s been nine days since I fed from a volunteer feeder. I can feel the effects—my head pounds, my fangs ache, and there’s a burn in my throat that no amount of water can satiate.
I clench my fists and crack my neck, desperate to move. I’ve been hungry before. Samuel damn near starved me when he took me captive, and before that, I walked the line of bloodmadness with my obsession with human blood. I toed that line, never crossing fully over like Samuel did, but this…this feels different. A unique kind of hunger I don’t fully understand.
Once I hear the night staff leave, I head back into the house. I can still smell the humans’ lingering scents. Not one of them smells appetizing, but I’d stayed outside just in case. I may be an asshole, but at least I’m aware.
It doesn’t take me more than a second to pinpoint where Aurora is in the house, and I head toward the kitchen that could fit an entire restaurant in it.
Aurora leans against the black marble kitchen island, spearing a fork into a plate of pasta. She takes a bite, her lips wrapping around the fork in a way that has my fangs begging to punch out. Fuck me, I need to get a grip. But with her, it’s impossible. She’s always been my responsibility, but she doesn’t realize she’s been myundoingsince the moment I laid eyes on her. The more time I’ve spent with her, the harder I’ve fallen. And I hate it. Because she deserves so much more than me. The hunter who might have a slip in sanity at any moment. The twin who shares a bond with her abuser…the bond that might kill me when I finally manage to end my brother.
“This pasta is amazing,” she says before looking up at where I linger just outside the kitchen.
I step farther into the space, wondering if she knew how long I’ve been watching her.
She sets her fork down and studies me as I stop on the other side of the island.
“You okay?”
“There’s no sign of the Sons,” I answer. “No sign of a threat anywhere on the property.”
Aurora nods. “That’s great to hear, but that’s not what I asked.”
“I’m fine.” I double the ice around my heart.
She scans my face, her eyes lingering on mine. I can’t help but wonder if every time she looks at me, she thinks abouthim.
“You look hungry.” She pushes the plate toward me. “I’ve got plenty to share.”
She looks so damn hopeful, I can’t help but pick up the fork and scoop up a bite. It’s a fine dish, but it’s nowhere near close to the food I want or need. My eyes trail to her neck, to the whorls of black ink that make up my and my twin’s mating mark.
Bite. Claim. Fuck.
The territorial bastard inside me imagines stepping into her space, running my hands over her body, picking her up and spreading her on this very kitchen island. Fuck, I’m certain she’d taste like heaven spilling into my mouth. Filling me, fueling me in every single way I need.
I clench my eyes shut, searching for that thread of control I can feel stretching so tight, I’m afraid it’ll snap.
“Saint?”
