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He certainly didn’t sound like he believed I was a traitor who might be working with SI to plan a coup.
My heart hammered in my throat. I opened my mouth, then shut it again.
Part of me wanted to talk to him, to plead my case. But I flashed to Ridley, pale and helpless in my bed, and knew I couldn’t risk it. She was sick, unable to defend herself.
It was one thing to ask Father to forgive me for doubting him. But Ridley was a slayer, the slayer who’d kidnapped me and encouraged me to go after him. What if he insisted on taking her into custody, or even staked her on the spot?
Both parts of me—the vampire and human—snarled a hell, no. She was my mate, and I wasn’t letting my father anywhere near her until I was sure it was safe.
I hit End Call.
The screen immediately lit up with a return call from Gabriel’s number. I hit End Call a second time and powered off the phone.
I was pretty sure I hadn’t stayed on the call long enough for Father to track me, but I couldn’t take the chance. Removing the SIM card, I dropped it into a desk drawer along with the phone, then returned to the bedroom and Ridley.
31
RIDLEY
“Drink, baby.” Zaq’s voice, a low croon in my ear, pulled me from somewhere black and nameless.
My face was pressed to his neck. His throat was covered with stubble. I could smell his dark Zaq-fragrance, and I wanted to taste him. So bad.
Hunger gnawed at my insides like a ferocious little animal. My fangs tingled with the need to sink into his neck, to reach the blood pumping in the artery beneath my lips.
I licked the hollow of his throat. My mouth watered.
His muscles moved beneath my lips. “That’s it, sweetheart. Drink. You need to feed.”
Yes…
Without opening my eyes, I slid my hand around the back of his neck. He was strong, masculine, his skin rougher than mine even here. His upper body was bare, as was mine except for an exercise bra. His chest hair pricked my nipples through the stretchy material.
My fangs lengthened. I dragged the tips over his carotid.
His arms tightened, drawing me closer.
A stabbing pain in my abdomen made me groan and suck in a breath. My left side burned but I couldn’t remember why, and I didn’t care. I just wanted to feed.
“Easy, easy.” Zaq arranged me so the burning lessened, and I returned my attention to his throat, pressing kisses to the stubbled skin.
His cock pushed against my hip, hot and insistent.
“Drink, baby.” He stroked the back of my head. “It’s okay.”
I opened my mouth to obey—and froze, flashing back to the last time I’d drunk from anyone. It had been my mom, and I’d been five-and-a-half-years old. Up until then, she’d let me feed from her because it was clear I wouldn’t thrive without it.
But that last time, I’d glimpsed her expression, mouth turned down, nose scrunched like she smelled something bad.
Distaste, aversion—I didn’t know what to call it then, but I felt it in my belly. Not for me—Mom had showered me with love—but for what I was.
A monster.
Like the men Mom had to hide me from.
A sick shame gripped me. I pushed away from her. “I’m not hungry.”
She rolled her lips into her mouth. “You sure?”
