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He’s sitting on the floor, at the foot of his bed, leaning against the intricately carved black wood. His white shirt—an actual button-down shirt made from a fabric so soft it billows at the cuffs—is unbuttoned at the neck, giving me glimpses of a chest hard and chiseled like marble. His—
“Would you have wanted me to bring you a random girl?” Jason says from the door. He has propped a shoulder against the doorjamb and folded his arms over that broad chest, and—
“Jax,” Ashton says, and I look back at him, at the strange expression on his face, surprise with a measure of joy that turns the gray of his eyes into a stormy ocean. “What are you doing to me?”
To him? What about me? Good God, is this like hottie ping pong—following the ball from one to the other, my gaze undecided where it wants to spend more time?
“Let me see the wound,” I tell Ashton decisively, crouching down in front of him, forcing myself to look away from his face. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”
“I like it down here,” he mutters. “It gives me a different perspective on the room.”
“Can you get up?”
He pauses as if thinking about it, then shakes his head. “I fell,” he whispers, cupping his hand over his mouth, glancing at Jason. “But the carpet is quite thick.”
“Are you high?” I turn to glare at Jason. “You left him alone when he couldn’t even stand upright?”
Jason sighs. “I went to grab you for him. I never get any gratitude.”
“You left me at the door,” Ashton says, letting his head fall back against the footboard of the bed with a smallthunk. He’s grinning. “I didn’t think you were coming back.”
“Well, you were wrong,” Jason says gruffly, toying with the leather band on his wrist.
“And you…” Ashton turns back to me. “If I had a flower for every time I thought of you... I could walk through my garden forever.”
“Quoting Tennyson,” I whisper. “You’re definitely high. Are you drunk?”
“Rather the opposite. Kind of thirsty, as the wolf has probably told you. But I can’t drink from you.”
“I only came to check your leg,” I say, because I hadn’t seriously thought about letting a vampire drink my blood. “That’s all.”
“Then check away.” He performs a little flourish with one hand, like a medieval courtier, then lets it drop by his side. His lashes lower over his eyes. “Damn, I’m tired.”
“Mia.” Jason leaves his spot by the door and comes to crouch beside him. “He isn’t looking good.”
That’s surely relative, but I know what he means. Ashton’s face is so pale that I can see blue veins below his eyes, and the way his head lolls isn’t a good sign.
“He needs blood,” Jason goes on. “I told you.”
But… I think of what Jason said earlier. Of how he asked Ashton if he was supposed to bring him a random girl. The expression on Ashton’s face, as if… As if Jason’s choice had been a good one and Ashton approved even if he hadn’t expected it.
“Magical blood would be best,” Jason says. “It’s more potent. It will help his wound heal.”
I’m not a witch, I want to say but that would give away my new plan.
“You don’t have to give me your blood,” Ashton murmurs, barely raising those dark lashes. “But decide fast, or get out of the room. You smell like…”
“Like what?” I ask helplessly as his lashes lift and his eyes find me, dark and hungry.
“Like chocolate cake. It’s not safe for you here. Jason, take her out.”
“No, wait.” I swallow hard. My blood doesn’t have demonic or elemental magic. I’m only human, though they don’t know that. But… “I’ll do it.” They both stare at me. “What? It’s what Jason brought me here for, isn’t it?”
Ashton produces an incredulous noise. “Jax—”
“Shut up and drink,” Jason says.
“The magical races feel this more,” Ashton whispers, his eyes never leaving mine. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
