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"Until one of us dies."
Tavia swallowed, her eyes widening as she attempted to absorb what it might mean to always feel his presence as a part of her own being. The dark throb of his emotions was a powerful force, intense, but not exactly pleasant.
Watching her reaction, Chase scoffed quietly. "I should've made sure you understood what you were doing - what it would cost you - before you bit me."
"I don't know that you could have stopped me," she said, recalling all too vividly how ravenous she'd been that day in his keeping. In the moments after her fever had broken and Dr. Lewis's medications had worn off, a savage creature had torn loose for the first time. "I'd never felt hunger like that before. It owned me. If you think I blame you - "
"You should," he grated harshly. "It was up to me to be the one in control. There were any number of ways I could've kept the situation from getting so far out of hand. Regardless of how good it felt to have your pretty fangs sunk deep in my throat." His eyes scorched her. A bolt of desire shot through her - his or hers, she wasn't even sure in that moment. He reached for her, his fingers light on her chin, his thumb stroking her lips with tenderness. "You feel so fucking good. The sweetest thing I've ever known."
"But you regret it."
He gave a faint nod. "I'd take it all back in a second. The blood bond is sacred. It's unbreakable, and it's meant to be shared with someone you love, Tavia. With your mate." And obviously, he wasn't volunteering for that role. That wounded pang she felt in response should have been relief. The way her life was going right now, getting involved with a semipsychotic, blood-starved vampire was the last thing she needed to be dealing with. Except she was involved. Whether either of them chose it or not, they were very much involved now. Especially if she was going to be linked to him by some kind of inextricable psychic bond.
A one-sided bond, she realized, watching the remorse play across his harsh, handsome face. "Have you ever been bonded to someone, Chase?"
"No."
"But you wanted to be," she said softly. "The woman in the photograph I found at your old house ..."
"Elise?" He blew out a curse and shook his head.
Tavia thought back on how he'd told her that woman was his dead brother's mate. Just the mention of her at the time had made Chase very defensive about what he might have felt for her. "You said you weren't in love with her, but that's not quite the truth, is it?"
He let out a long sigh and leaned back on the carved wood of the headboard, quietly contemplative. She waited to feel his emotional walls climb higher. She knew so little about him, but it wasn't hard to imagine that her prying would only make him slam the door in her face that much harder.
She cleared her throat and started to sit up, suddenly wanting a little space herself. "Never mind. You don't have to tell - "
"I did want her," he blurted. The words were rough, self-condemning. "She belonged to Quentin, had always belonged to him ... but there was a part of me that wanted her anyway." Tavia stilled beside him, pivoting around to face him. "Did you seduce her?"
"In my thoughts, many times. That was bad enough." He gave a vague shake of his head. "Elise was only part of my problem, but it took a while for me to realize that. I wanted everything my brother had. I wanted to be like him, everything he was. All the things that seemed to fit him so well. Things that came so easy to him yet were never within my reach. I tried to be the man I saw in him, even after I realized I was only pretending I could even come close." There was such torment on his face, it made her chest squeeze. His eyes were haunted, filled with guilt and shame and a secret, inwardly directed contempt she could hardly fathom. Good lord, how long had he lived with this intense hatred for himself?
"Did your brother know how you felt?"
"No. God, no. Nor would he have suspected." He pursed his lips, eyes downcast. "We were both Chases, after all. It would have been beneath Quent to think I envied him, even a little. We'd been groomed to be morally pristine, nothing less than perfect in every way. Our venerable father would've accepted no less." His voice had taken on a brittle, caustic edge. "There were certain expectations that came with being born one of August Chase's sons. Quent had no problem exceeding our father's exacting standards."
"And you?" Tavia asked gently.
His mouth twisted sardonically. "Top of my class in every contest. Influential, respected. Well connected in my profession and among my social peers. The path ahead of me was golden, spread out before me as far as I wanted to take it."
"I don't doubt that," she replied. "But that's not what I was asking. I meant - "
"My father," he finished for her, no inflection in his tone. "The problem with having a brother like Quentin ahead of you is that he tends to cast a very long shadow. It's easy to get swallowed up by it, to become invisible." He shrugged. "I gave up trying to compete with my brother when I was still a boy and he was already a decade in the Agency, making good on the Chase family's centuries-long legacy of service."
"Then what happened?"
He grunted, nonchalant. "A lot of years of going through the motions. Decades of following every rule, doing whatever was expected of me and then some. Pointless time spent collecting Agency accolades and admiration from people who called themselves my friends only as long as it served their interests or their whims."
"But not your father." Tavia understood now.
"He already had the son he wanted. I was ... redundant." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You've told me how alone and empty you feel, after realizing your past was built on lies and that no one you knew ever really cared about you." At her nod, he went on. "Sometimes you can feel that way even when you're surrounded by family."
She reached over and unfolded the fist that rested at his side, twined her fingers with his. For some time, he remained silent, staring at their linked hands. When he spoke, there was an odd vulnerability to his deep voice. As if he were letting her peek inside one of the dark chambers of the heart he seemed so sure he didn't possess.
"My brother died six years ago. He was killed on duty for the Agency, by a Rogue who'd been brought in for rehabilitation."
"A Rogue?" She shook her head, uncertain.
"If a member of the Breed lets his hunger overtake him, addiction isn't far behind. It's called Bloodlust, and there's no turning back once it takes hold. You go Rogue - the worst kind of insanity. You thirst, and you hunt, and you kill. You destroy, until someone either takes you out or you do the world a favor and let the sun ash you."
