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“Yes.”

He buried his face in my neck and breathed in. “You taste like sunshine after summer rain, like a heart’s first love, like the breaking of chains.”

“Oh, uh . . .”

“Adam.”

“Yes?”

“Forgive me.”

“What for?”

“This.” He bit down, and this time, pain mingled with pleasure. As his mouth and jaw moved, drawing blood from my veins, each tug pulled on my cock, hardening me off. Need surged. I clutched at his shoulder. His mouth worked, and my cock responded as though it wasn’t my neck he sucked on, but my dick. And he sucked it deep. It happened so fast, and the riot of pleasure came on so strong, all I could do was hold on as he dragged me down. And I wanted it—wanted him, wanted to fall, wanted to let go. He sucked on my neck, my cock, bringing me to the verge of climax with a brutal efficiency that had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with desperation.

I was going to come and he hadn’t even touched my cock, but by the old world gods and the new, I wanted him to. I wanted him to seal his lips around me for real, to take my dick deep into his perfect mouth, between his fangs. It would be remarkable. But for now, I was chasing the edge, trying not to come, and woefully losing.

Then I passed out.

I dreamed of a dark room, and in the deepest, darkest corner of that room something was buried under a pile of blankets. I didn’t want to know, but moved toward it anyway, and the closer I got, the more the mound took shape. The blankets weren’t blankets at all, but wings, tucked around a quivering demon.

Zee.

The clack of a teacup woke me.

I jolted onto my elbows, on Reynard’s bed—not in it—thankfully still dressed. He sat in a chair by the dresser, drinking tea, just out of reach of the sunlight pouring in through the window.

Had we . . .

No? Yes? Wait? I touched my neck and winced. Alright, that had been real, which meant the rest of it had been real too.

“We need to talk.”

I swallowed. I’d let him drink from me. I’d wanted it. Wanted him. Still wanted him, sitting there looking perfect, while I probably looked and felt as though I’d been dragged through a field backwards. I flopped back down and blinked at the ceiling. Bad, bad move. What the heck had Tom Collins put in that drink?

“How much we discuss, is up to you.”

“Did we . . . ?” I waved a hand at the empty side of the bed beside me.

“No.”

So we hadn’t had sex. Technically. I wasn’t even sure I’d come, but I’d been close to it. Why was I disappointed? But that wasn’t the problem. Lord Victor Reynard had had his fangs in my neck, and my blood in his body. My little attempt at hiding in plain sight was rapidly disintegrating.

Perhaps he didn’t suspect anything. It was unlikely he’d ever tasted anything like me before, even in all his many, many years. So he couldn’t know what I was, just that I wasn’t as human as I claimed to be.

Oh deary.

“The more I know you, the less I know you⁠—”

“Gideon Cain is a sorcerer.” I propped myself on my elbows again. Reynard’s left eyebrow arched. “He has Zee. I have to get him back. Are you going to help, because if not, then I don’t have time to chat.”

“Adam.” He placed his cup down on the dresser and leaned forward, skirting close to the sun’s rays. “I’ve already helped you a great deal.”

That sounded a lot like a no, so it was time for me to leave. “Alright then. Thank you for the, uh . . . whatever that was last night, but we’ve definitely crossed far beyond the host-guest boundary, and it’s time I—” I climbed off the bed, then fell backwards. The room spun, my stomach lurched. A gurgling groan tumbled from my lips.

“Give yourself a few hours to recover.”

“Zee doesn’t have a few hours.”