Page 23

Silence.

I hold my breath, pressing my palm flat against the wall like I can feel him through it. My heart hammers so loud I’m sure he can hear it.

A soft knock. “Kaia.”

I don’t answer. Can’t. My throat has closed up and the hunger is clawing at my insides, desperate and animal.

“I can feel it.” His voice is low. Rough. “What the baby needs.”

“I’m fine.” The lie barely makes it past my lips.

“You’re not.”

Another wave crashes over me. I double over, forehead pressing against my knees, trying not to whimper. The heat in my stomach is unbearable now, like I’ve swallowed coals.

The doorknob turns.

I didn’t unlock it. I know I didn’t. But the door swings open anyway, and suddenly he’s there, filling the doorway, backlit by the dim glow from the street lamp outside.

“I told you to stay downstairs,” I manage.

“And I told you I wouldn’t let you die.” He steps inside. Closes the door behind him. “The baby is draining you.”

“I ate. Two hours ago. A whole loaf.”

“That’s not what it needs.” He crosses the space between us. Kneels in front of me on the hallway floor. His eyes catch the faint light from the window, reflecting it back like an animal’s. “You need what I gave you that night. Essence.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The baby isn’t human.” His hand lifts. Hovers near my face. “It needs power. Life force. And you’re running out.”

“I don’t have any power.”

“No.” His palm cups my cheek. The contact is like touching a live wire. Heat floods through me, chasing away some of the hollow ache. “But I do.”

I lean into his touch without thinking. My eyes flutter closed and I just breathe, pulling in his scent, his warmth, anything that might fill the emptiness.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“Feeding you.” His thumb strokes across my cheekbone. “The essence I gave you that night is still connected to me. I can replenish it.”

“How?”

“Like this.” His other hand finds my waist. Steadies me. “Just breathe.”

I do. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. Each breath pulls his scent deeper. Ozone and darkness and something underneath that makes my body relax in ways I didn’t know it could.

“Again.”

I breathe again. The warmth from his palms spreads outward, sinking into muscle, into bone. The hunger starts to recede. Not gone, but manageable.

“Better?” he asks.

“A little.” My voice shakes. “But it’s not enough.”

“I know.”

“I need more.” The words come out desperate. Pleading. “Please.”