Page 54

“What affliction?” I ask.

He swears before he answers me. “It’s better if you learn about it from your sire.”

I run my tongue over my teeth as my fangs snap free. “Quill drank my blood the night of the rite.”

Eivor reaches for a jar and unscrews the cap. “And that is only one of the reasons why he’s found himself in a steaming pile of shit.” Sniffing the container’s contents, he grimaces. “Fox blood. Disgusting but drinkable for the desperate.” He reaches for another jar and inhales deeply. His broad chest puffs up and deflates. “This one. You’ll like this one.” He hands me the jar, eyes sparkling like the sun off an icicle as he adds, “It’s much better than rabbit.”

I take it from him and sniff. It’s sweet, almost nutty. I sip it, savoring the taste of the blood and the cooling in my throat.

Licking my lips, I ask, “Wild boar?”

“You’re a natural.” Eivor beams.

“That was my breakfast.” Carver saunters into the room. His fingers brush mine as he takes the jar from me and licks what’s left from the rim. His full lips come away crimson. “How do you know she didn’t just make a lucky guess?”

“Don’t be broody because it took you over two years before you could pinpoint the flavors of blood,” Eivor scolds, flicking Carver’s nose and failing to snatch the jar from him. “Give that back to her.”

“Is that unusual?” I ask.

“Maybe.” Eivor shrugs. “Or maybe Carver here is really bad at being a vampire.”

Carver flings the opened jar at Eivor’s head, who just barely dodges it. It shatters behind him, and blood splatters across the gray stone walls.

“You bastard!” Eivor launches himself at Carver, who’s far too swift for him to catch.

It takes all of two seconds before a fight erupts between the two of them, with glasses shattering and blood splattering. Chaotic bouts of laughter fill the kitchen as they try to peg each other. My pretty dress is soaked in blood, my face speckled with it. I lick the drops splattering my arms—deer, cow, and… fox. It’s disgustingly bland and almost dry in taste.

Eivor hadn’t been lying. Fox blood is foul.

The room swells with silence as both Carver’s and Eivor’s eyes simultaneously land on the last jar on the counter. They bolt for it in a blur of movement, but somehow, I’m faster. I grab the jar and climb up on the counter, kicking my satin slippers off, and wrench the lid free. It takes them a millisecond to glance up at me and even less time for the blood to rain down, painting their handsome faces scarlet.

Eivor roars with laughter.

“Oh, you’re in trouble now!” Carver snatches me from the counter by my waist. The contact sends a jolt of need through me for another set of large hands… the ones belonging to my sire. He places me firmly on the ground and shakes his drenched hair at me like a wet dog after a bath. “You like that?”

Blood splatters against my collarbone and squishes between my toes. I squeal, pushing him away from me. We both slip and slide and fall onto our asses, taking Eivor down with us. My head lands in Eivor’s lap as I peer up at him, laughing. There’s a faint scar on his neck. A bite mark, much like mine, but smaller. Carver pulls my legs across his thighs, and I can’t help but wonder if this is what it’s like to have true friends. Silly fights and bouts of laughter and then… silence.

A comfortable silence.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

I startle as Quill’s voice ignites a burning in my throat that travels all the way through me to my core. I glance at him just in time to see his eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

Carver points at Eivor who points at Carver. “He started it,” they say at the same time.

Quill rakes his gaze over me, lips twitching toward a smile. It’s almost as if his hands are skimming across my skin from the feeling his smile gives me. “Did you at least get to eat some of this?”

I nod, biting back the urge to crawl toward him on my hands and knees and worship him. I want nothing more than to take Quill right here, regardless of Eivor or Carver being present. They could watch or they could join. I don’t care so long as I’m able to touch him, taste him, ride him.

He’s outright grinning now. Right. Because he’s my sire, he can hear my thoughts. But how much can he actually hear? Only active thoughts or my innermost desires?

There’s no time like the present to find out.

Are you able to hear this? I ask.

“Yes.”

Can you feel how badly I want you right now?