Page 34

“Bellamy?” Séverin calls as he comes out of the building, looking the wrong way. His appearance shocks the last of my tears into submission. A merciful interruption.

“I’m here,” I call as I walk over, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as wispy as it feels. I can’t handle explaining why my eyes are red, so I bring up my earlier offer.

“So, are you hungry?”

He doesn’t answer, but his dilated pupils tell me all I need to know.

Holding my chin high, I lead him back into the club, through the throng of bodies and into the bathroom. I figure it’s better to be behind a lockable door than to stand out in the alleyway where anyone could stumble across us. People are far too drunk to care about two guys squishing themselves into a cubicle, they probably think we are going to fuck.

“Are you sure about this?” Séverin whispers, his fangs already descending. They must be sore, because he winces as they do.

“Yeah. But you should know, I might taste a little spicy.” I pull my bracelets out of the way, exposing my wrist.

“Spicy?” He lisps around the word.

“I’m a witch, Sev. So yeah, I might not taste completely human.”

“Oh…right,” he mutters, rubbing his arm and looking away. “There is something I should probably tell you. It is…embarrassing.” He looks down at his feet. “I…I tend to get—you know. When I feed properly.”

I try not to get hung up on the properly part, but I still don’t understand what he means. “Get what? Aggressive?”

He says something, but I can’t hear it over the sound of a rowdy group entering the bathroom. Sev sighs, stepping closer to me. He’s only a couple inches taller, so he doesn’t need to duck his head too much.

“Hard—I get hard, okay? I don’t know why. Not that you are not attractive,” he rambles. “You are exceptionally pretty, I-I would, but I think Sunday would tear my head off.”

I roll my eyes, pressing my fingers into Séverin’s chest as he makes a valiant effort at escaping the situation. If I let him out of this room, someone will get it in the neck. Literally.

“I’m flattered, but you’re not my type. What’s a boner between friends, anyway?” I smile, lifting my wrist.

Ever the dramatic twenty-one-year-old, he collapses backward and thumps his head on the stall wall. I give him approximately ten seconds to have a crisis about it, but then the alcohol catches up to me.

“Open wide!” I giggle, swooshing my wrist from left to right.

He snatches my wrist, his face breaking open into a wide smile. “Imbécile.”

He’s still smiling when he lifts my wrist to his mouth, passing his tongue over my veins before bringing the tips of his fangs to my flesh. His control slips almost instantly, teeth punching into my wrist as the first bead of blood wells up.

“Ow! Careful,” I scold, grabbing onto his shirt. He moans something into my wrist, which I think is an apology.

His limbs tremble with the first long pull he takes, his venom flooding my system. It tingles all the way up my arm, spreading pleasantly from the tips of my fingers to my toes and the top of my head. Okay, I see the appeal.

By the third pull, his eyes have turned pitch black, animalistic almost. When his face starts swimming, I know that it’s enough.

“Okay, you’re done.”

Of course, he doesn’t listen. His fingers tighten to a cage around my wrist, low growling vibrating through his jaw. It reminds me of a sassy cat guarding a bird it shouldn’t be playing with.

“Sev. Off,” I say, louder this time, pinching him in the ribs. Thankfully it works, bringing him back to himself.

He pulls off, a string of blood connecting his lips to the twin puncture marks. He looks like he’s just had the best sex of his life. Cheeks flushed red from the feed, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. And…

Yep. Hard as a rock.

I pat him on the shoulder. “Good for you.” Before he can have another crisis, I turn to unlock the door.

“W-wait,” he rasps, slumping against the wall again. He makes a grabby motion with his hand.

“Nope. You’ve had enough, I’m cutting you off.” And I am…quite drunk.