Page 96 of Only Flames Remain

With an exasperated sigh, she placed the leaf under my tongue, leaning close enough that her chest was almost pressed up against mine. I closed my mouth around it, the bitter taste causing my nose to scrunch.

It was her turn to laugh. “The taste will subside in a moment. This will help break your fever. You need blood in order for this wound to heal, and you need it right now. Is there a way to call for your…feeder?” She said the word as if she were unsure.

That could be the only feasible explanation for why I wasn’t healing despite her presence. I needed blood, but I had none.

“The court is full of dignitaries and royals for the ball being held in my and my betrothed’s honor…I can hardly send for a courtesan.”

Was that…jealousy crossing her features? In the twist of her mouth?

“Aren’t there feeders that are not courtesans? Do you not have someone on hand for something like this?” she asked, patience wearing thin.

I merely shook my head.

I used to, but I had slept with her. When she wanted more from me than I could give, I had to dismiss her. I hadn’t had a chance to replace her yet. That didn’t seem like a piece of information I needed to share at this very moment, Aveline warm in my lap. Her delicate, pale hands pressed against my bare chest.

She turned; her brow creased as she fell deep in thought. The first time we had touched, it had been as if my fire had been magnified and sent back toward me. Ever since bringing her to Stormgaard, the sensation was different. As if the magic I felt beneath her skin was that of cool, running water.

Of mist. Tides.

But she was a human…she had no magic.

“I suppose you can have some of my blood. But only if you promise to take merely enough to heal that wound and get into bed,” she said, her gaze drifting back toward mine.

I was stunned.

Stunned that she was offering.

Stunned that it had been her idea.

My mouth instantly watered at the thought of sinking my teeth into her milky flesh. Of taking her blood deep into me, filling me with its warmth and vitality. A flush rose to my own cheeks, and her gaze turned warning.

“Do you have a glass?” she asked, moving to get up off my lap.

I reached out and clasped her wrist in my grip, holding her arm against my chest. Holding her in place. She lifted a brow in warning, but I shook my head.

“It is more…effective…from the source.”

Her expression turned chastising. “I’m afraid that isn’t an option.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have a glass,” I replied.

She took a deep, steeling breath before offering me the wrist still held in my own grip. “Fine. Go ahead, then.”

I leaned in, the scent of lemon and bergamot wafting off her skin so heady I felt drunk on it. So inviting.

“It will hurt less if I—” My words cut off as I brushed her raven hair back from her shoulder, exposing the column of her throat to me.

My gaze fixed on the junction where her throat met her shoulder, exposed due to the dress she had chosen. I had chosen.

Her breath caught in her throat, tendons contracting as she tensed.

“Relax, Aveline. I would never hurt you,” I whispered against her neck, close enough that my lips barely grazed her skin.

“Coming from the man who needed to remind me exactly how dangerous he is?” she asked, breathless.

She remembered that. What I had said to her that night after the tavern brawl weeks ago. Was she replaying the interactions between us in her head on a loop as I was?

I pulled back only enough to capture her gaze in mine, her wrist still trapped in my grip. “Never dangerous to you.”