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Fresh blood.

Human blood. So much blood. The sweet copper tang of it filled the air.

I froze.

The moment I zeroed in on it, I realized I could hear Brent panting in pain. He had somehow ended up on the other side of the room, near the door.

He was lying on his back, the entire front of his shirt soaked with his blood, shockingly red. There was a pool of it around him as well.

My fangs dropped and, before I even realized what I was doing, I zipped across the room. My mind went totally blank, shutting down everything human about me. The man lying on the floor wasn’t Brent anymore to me, a real person with wants and needs, hopes and dreams.

He was just a way to slake my thirst.

And I was still so very hungry.

He let out a soft cry at the sight of me, so I must’ve looked frightening with my fangs out and my hungry gaze glued to all that blood.

I didn’t care either way. His fear of me didn’t matter.

The predatory instincts in me surveyed how much of a fight he still had left in him. Which was not much at all.

He was pale and his forehead was coated with a sheen of sweat. He’d been shot in the torso three times. Once in the chest, near his shoulder. The bullet might’ve punctured his lung, but he’d live through it. But he’d also been hit twice in the abdomen. Those were the wounds that would end him—at least one of the bullets had nicked an artery, judging by all the blood.

His heart was already beating weakly enough in his chest that I knew he was close. Another minute and he’d lose consciousness. Another two minutes and he’d be gone.

How many times had I experienced that—another person, right on the edge? How many times had I, devoid of human emotion, savored it?

I seized his wrist, preparing to bite into it. The predator in me rejoiced. I could just let go of everything that mattered, give myself over to sensation and want. It would be so easy.

So much easier than living with my endless guilt.

I just needed to drink—there wouldn’t be much left, of course, but he could just be the start. I’d find others, ones who would last longer, who would satisfy my hunger better.

“Don’t,” he gasped, tears in his eyes. His breathing was becoming shallow and uneven. “Please don’t.”

I froze.

They were very blue, his eyes.

They were filled with pain and terror. A man who knew he only had moments left. A man who feared that his already short life was about to be cruelly cut even shorter by a ravenous monster.

This wasn’t merely a source of blood, was it?

No, this was a person. A real person. And his name was Brent.

Derek had loved him, once. Or, at the very least, had cared about him.

And the weak, fluttering heartbeat in his chest—how many times had Derek put his head on Brent’s chest and listened to it? How many times had it beat only for Derek?

After all, he’d saved my mate’s life. Twice. It was why he was here now, dying.

I blinked a few times, coming back to myself.

I didn’t want to do this, did I?

The predator in me rebelled. I could almost hear it in my head, a whole other presence: You do. It will be easy. Just let go. Give in. Drink.

Oh, it was seductive, that voice. I didn’t know if it had always been a part of me—the darkest, most selfish part, which had emerged and taken over when I’d lost my ability to experience human emotion, when I had lost any sort of compassion—or if it had been put there when Magnus had ripped my humanity away, a side effect of becoming a vampire.