Page 57 of On Brutal Thrones

I turn toward the towering field again.

“All right,” I say. “What do we do now?”

Thorian stares at it before releasing a bone-deep sigh. “I have absolutely no idea.”

8

Talon

For half a second, I don’t know where I am. I’m propped against a tree, every part of my body aching, with the taste of old blood still coating my mouth. Then I see them. Nyx is kneeling in front of Thorian, dabbing blood from a cut across his face. There’s a bandage wrapped around her forearm.

Fenric is stretched out on the ground nearby, shoveling berries and nuts into his mouth with enough determination to suggest he intends to consume everything edible within a mile of us.

They’re alive. All three of them. Relief hits so hard I close my eyes again. Nyx is hurt, Thorian is battered, and Fenric looks like he’s been dragged through hell, but they’re here. Breathing. Moving. And from what I can see, I didn’t kill or seriously injure any of them.

Then I see Nyx running from me in my mind.

Fuck.

I remember the blood field. The smell. The hunger building until it seemed to occupy every inch of my body. Nyx’s blood running down her arm, and everything else disappearing.

Fighting Fenric. Fighting Thorian. Nyx looking at me with fear in her eyes. Chasing her into the forest while every instinct in me screamed to find her.

Shame twists through me.

I’ve heard stories about bloodlust like that since I was first turned. Vampires losing themselves completely to hunger, attacking people they loved, doing things they could never take back once they finally regained control.

I never thought it would happen to me. I’ve always had control. Blood was blood. Necessary, certainly, but hardly worth losing my mind over.

Then I tasted Nyx.

Her blood changed that. I crave it in a way I’ve never craved anyone else’s, and apparently combining that particular weakness with an entire field designed to torment a vampire was enough to strip away every shred of control I thought I possessed.

That explanation does absolutely nothing to make me feel better.

I look at the bandage around her arm again. “Nyx?”

Her head snaps toward me.

Relief floods her face. “You’re okay.”

She’s moving before I can respond, crossing the space between us and dropping beside me. Then her arms are around my shoulders, holding me so tightly that I can’t think at all.

“Thank the gods,” she whispers against me. “You’re back.”

I go rigid.

She’s hugging me. After everything I remember, after seeing the terror on her face as she ran from me, she’s hugging me.

Slowly, I bring my arms around her. “Nyx, did I… feed on your injured arm?”

She pulls back enough to look at me. “What?”

I gesture toward the bandage, my hand not quite steady. “Your arm. Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She shakes her head quickly. “One of the bats did that.”

Air leaves my lungs.