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The sound of the fabric tearing makes me shudder and, slowly, my back is exposed. When the sweater is torn all the way from the hem to the neck, he eases it off my shoulders and over my arms.

Then he unfastens my bra and lets it fall to the floor.

Having him stand behind me, naked, his fingers on my skin, all I want to do is lean back against him and encourage him to cup my breasts with his large, strong hands.

I want to feel his thumbs on my nipples.

I want to lose myself in him and forget the way he looked at me in the pool, and the way Trent looked at me, and the sound his neck made when it snapped, and whatever the fuck happened to me when the shadows started to cocoon me as if I belonged to them.

Lucien moves away from me, and I hear him stepping into the bath. When I turn around, he’s holding out his hand.

I take it and climb in, then he sits down and steadies me as I ease myself down into the water.

I don’t resist him or ask him why he’s sitting behind me; I just sink into him. I lean back and let him gently scoop water over my breasts and stomach.

A familiar scent fills the air. Blood. His blood. He has opened his wrist for me and is holding it to my lips. “It will heal you,” he whispers. “Let me heal you.”

I cradle his hand in mine, watching his blood drip into the bath and bloom like rose petals on the surface.

“I know you don’t believe me, Luna, but all I want is your safety. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“You’re right,” I answer him. “I don’t believe you.” But as he sighs and almost pulls away from me, I start to suck.

I seal my lips onto his wrist and suck his dark, deadly liquid into my mouth. With each drop that slides down my throat, the pain in my shoulder eases. The rest of the pain grows lighter too, quieter, softer.

My foot no longer hurts.

I am not exhausted.

But I am turned on.

I spin around and shift so I’m sitting in his lap, and our lips meet with a furious heat that makes me moan into his mouth. How have we missed each other so much when we have only been apart for a few hours?

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my neck as he pushes my hair back over my shoulder. “I pushed you away. I was cruel. And I’m sorry.” He sits back and meets my eyes.

And that is what makes him different. Because he apologized, and he means it.

I don’t reply, just kiss him again and feel him begin to grow hard beneath me.

“Do you trust me?” he asks me the question for the second time.

His hands find my breasts and squeeze them lightly.

“Are you afraid of me?”

“I wasn’t. From the second I arrived here, I felt safe with you. But after the pool. The way you looked at me…”

Lucien looks genuinely wounded. He draws in a deep breath, then eases me off him and leverages himself out of the bath. He strides away from me, back behind the screen, his bare ass looking so delicious I can barely pay attention to why he’s leaving or what he’s doing.

I follow, grabbing a towel, and find him standing at his desk. He is facing away from me, and when he turns around, he’s holding something in his hand.

“Is that a stake?” I ask, frowning.

“A silver stake.” He weighs the object up and down in his palm. It glints in the dim light. Outside, it is still raining, and the storm is still rumbling. He walks over to me and presses it into my hand, then he moves to the bed and lies down on his back, arms spread out at his sides. “There is some rope beneath the bed,” he says.

Not quite understanding what he is doing, I reach under the bed and pull out a metal box. I lift the lid and look inside.

Two large pieces of rope. “They’re made of…”