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“It’ll just take a moment to fix.”
Her trust in me—almost a complete stranger—was adorable.
She placed her hand in mine, shut her eyes immediately and turned away, as though she didn’t want to know what I was about to do with the small offending splinters.
I plucked them out in seconds, making sure there weren’t any shards left behind.
And then it happened. A fat drop of blood welled on the tip of her finger, and...
Oh gods.
I felt it everywhere.
The sweet scent of it burned my nostrils, awakening my taste buds. This—this was the base of the rich scent that had haunted me the moment she’d stepped out of the box.
My throat ached, resounding with a dry click as though it hadn’t seen a drop of water in days.
The depth of her scent swirled around me, closing the distance between us in a fraction of a heartbeat.
I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
My vision narrowed to a tiny point. I could only see the blood; I could only track the blood.
The thud of my heartbeat had gone from zero to a hundred in half a second.
There was a delicious tug in my chest, compelling me forward, forcing my lips to part and close around her bleeding finger. I fought a moan as the sweetness ran over my tongue—gods, this was the distilled essence of her scent. Her skin. It was enticing, addictive and sublime.
Almost on instinct, I sealed the wound with the flat of my tongue, but I wanted more. My body cried for more. My fangs ached with the effort I exerted to keep them in.
“Is it done?”
The small, worried voice cut into my hazy desire.
I blinked several times, wondering if I’d just licked a droplet of blood off this girl’s finger. An actual stranger.
What the hell had happened to my body? My self-control? Why was the sweet scent of her blood still lingering on my tongue? Why could I hear her staccato heartbeat?
“Yes,” I said and she opened her eyes to look at her fully healed finger.
“Hey, how did you do that so fast?” she asked, although her words sounded slightly slurred. Slightly drunk. “Are you wearing perfume? Because it smells really good in here.”
I looked around the barn incredulously, wondering if she was having some kind of aneurysm. Although clean, a barn was still a messy place with not the most pleasant of smells. Animals, in general, did not smell like roses.
Want, need, want. Smells so good, why so good.
I blinked. The voice in my head wasn’t mine. It was foreign and soothing, like the notes to a song I’d forgotten a long time ago.
Want, want, want. Please touch me.
Oh gods, I shouldn’t have taken her blood. It had been wildly inappropriate and stupid—an act of great intimacy for my people that I had cheapened by acting out in a barn.
As I watched, Twyla pushed her curls over one shoulder, baring her neck in what would have been the epitome of Fanger submission if she was one of my kind.
She seemed to gravitate towards me, pressing herself against my front with a sigh.
Her eyes were glazed over, as though she were thoroughly drunk.
It took about two seconds to fully understand what was going on.
