Page 104 of Hunger & Harmony

Me.

“The stars were right to weave you into my fate.” He cups my face, his thumb brushing away tears I didn’t realize were falling. “Take my life, Cadence. It always has been and always will be yours.”

I’m breathless, only able to press into his hand. Resistance is killing us, yet his devotion only deepens.

“I . . .”

My voice cracks. I couldn’t do that.

To leave it like this, though, is unbearable.

His irises flash brighter, and another wave of desert-dry heat pulses between us. Feeling every spike of pain and how crushing it is, I don’t know how he’s still upright, let alone staring at me with such tenderness.

Pain runs red, but so does his devotion. So does his love. Even if he doesn’t bleed, he does now for me.

Blood. Which is all he needs, right?

I lean back enough to look him over. He holds me close, but doesn’t restrict me, his brows furrowing curiously as I stare.

I’ve become the poison coursing through him.

I can be the antidote, too.

“Take your life?”

It’s not anger, and it’s not even warmth in my whisper. With clarity, I bunch his shirt in my hands and pull him closer.

“Let me give you yours.”

Love can’t survive as penance. We have to try, and if he surrenders to me, then I will choose him back.

Not waiting for his response, I release his shirt and curl my hand around the back of his neck. When I pull him down to me, his hands grip my waist, tense as I force his lips to my pulse.

“Drink,” I say, and his words tremble against my throat.

“Cadence. . .I . . .”

“Don’t say no,” I beg, free hand cradling his hair.

He hesitates, and I shiver when he leans in. As quickly as he considers it, he pulls back, swearing under his breath.

“This isn’t right,” he says, and I let him sit upright to face me again.

“You’re starving,” I retort softly. “It hurts, and this will help, right?”

His throat bobs harshly, looking every part wrecked and wanting.

“You would give your life-force to me?”

I could almost laugh.

“When you just said you’d give your entirety to me?”

Maybe I’m moving too fast. I’ve never thought about how groupies and bloodbags feel, but this isn’t cheap or thrilling. I don’t fear the swipe of his tongue over his lips, sharp ivories glinting momentarily.

This is more than the symptoms of a cursed bond wearing us down. Our affection is genuine, and I can remember each part. Every quiet laugh, every charged glance, every time he comforted me, and I returned it.

I’m immune to his control. By blood, I am his equal. To be his life-force, his star⁠—