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I was silent as he carried me back to the nightclub, then buckled me into the back of an expensive, dark green truck.
My legs were still refusing to work, and my body was still shaking, so I stayed silent as he drove through town. The war against my hunger was painfully intense.
I continued fighting it as he parked in my apartment building’s garage.
He owned a floor in the building, but when he unbuckled me and carried me to an elevator, he didn’t type in the code for his floor; he typed in the code for mine.
He did the same for my front door.
I didn’t ask how he knew it, and he didn’t offer up an answer.
Instead, he set me on one of my kitchen’s barstools and opened my freezer.
My body stayed perfectly still, minus the trembling, as he counted the bags and checked the dates.
I let out a long, shaky breath when he grabbed a dozen bags and put them in the sink, under hot, running water.
And I closed my eyes when he started walking around the apartment, clearly looking for something.
The bastard knew I had another freezer somewhere.
He wouldn’t have a hard time finding it—there were no locked rooms. Bash had carried it up to my spare bedroom without asking why a few months earlier.
Zander’s feet were on the stairs soon enough, and a moment later, I heard his footsteps stop.
The sound of the freezer opening followed.
And a low curse followed that.
If I’d been able to work my damn legs, I would’ve high-tailed it out of there. Instead, I was trapped.
A few more minutes passed before he climbed back down the stairs. My eyes were still closed when he turned off the water, cut one of the bags, and put a glass cup in the microwave.
It was probably one of the big glasses. They were the only ones big enough to hold a whole blood bag, and just barely.
I grimaced.
Controlling myself since I was turned had been damn near impossible, and Zander was going to wreck my control in one night. I just knew it.
…But I wasn’t so blind as to see that what I was doing wasn’t working.
My legs hadgiven out.
That, at least, wasn’t debatable.
Zander set the glass down in front of me, and I finally opened my eyes. My fangs were still descended. They had never shifted back.
My gaze flicked between the tall glass of blood, and the gorgeous man.
Both smelled incredible.
He smelled better, though.
“Drink, Miles. Now.”
“I need a straw,” I whispered.
It was stupid.
