“You’re staring, Aurelia.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth.
Heat rose to my cheeks. “Sorry. I just—I’m not ready for?—”
“While I’m flattered,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s not what I meant.” He hesitated, breath catching. “Not that I wouldn’t—” He cut himself off, exasperated. His gaze steadied on mine again,firmer now.
“Bite me.”
My mouth watered at the command, hunger surging anew.
“Absolutely not,” I whispered, though I was already leaning forward, drawn helplessly to his pulse.
“It’s all right,” he said softly, tilting his head. “Just…don’t drain me.”
I hesitated, searching his eyes for doubt. There was none. Only a quiet kind of trust. My palms found themselves cupping his jaw, turning his face until the strong column of his throat lay bare. The heat of him pulsed against my lips.
I hesitated—one final, fragile heartbeat—before my canines broke skin with a soft pop.
Warmth rushed over my tongue. Rich. Alive. Mine.
A low growl tore from me, half-pleasure, half-desperation. I couldn’t stop. The taste was fire and sweetness, pulling me under. I needed more.
Somewhere in the haze, I shifted—climbing onto his lap and curling my legs around his waist as though I could erase all space between us. His heartbeat thundered against my lips. I drank like it could quiet every fear.
His hand pressed against the back of my neck. Not harsh. Not forcing. Just steady. Anchoring.
“Aurelia.”
The sound of my name cut through the haze. My canines slipped free.
I drew back with a gasp, breath ragged, his blood warm at the corner of my mouth. For a moment, all I could do was stare at the mark I’d left on his throat.Mine.
Shame hit at the reminder of the scene from my tent, of the control I felt slipping.
“I—” My voice broke. I pressed trembling fingers to my lips. “Icould have?—”
He caught my wrist before I could pull away, his eyes steady. “But you didn’t.”
The words rang louder than the pounding in my head. Still, my chest ached with the weight of what I’d taken, of how close I’d come to losing myself.
I turned my face aside, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t want to become this.”
“You will,” Malachi said quietly. His hand lingered at my wrist, warm, alive. “But notthis.”
I froze.
“You’ll change, Aurelia. That much is certain. The bond, the hunger—they’ll shape you. But only you decide what shape to take. Monster. Weapon. Or something else entirely. That choice is yours. Every time.”
Something like relief—rooted me back to myself. Not peace. But the faint outline of choice.
41
Aurelia
I wokewith the weight of sleep still on my limbs. Warmth lay across my body—solid, steady, alive.
My leg was thrown over Malachi’s waist; my arm had slipped across his chest. For one disorienting second I believed I’d always slept like this—safe in the press of another’s body. Then I realized, with the mortifying clarity of a wet pillow, I’d drooled on him.
I lurched upright, the blanket tumbling from me in a rush of cool air that licked over my bare skin. I scrubbed at my mouth with the back of my hand, fingers tangling uselessly in my wild curls, as if taming them might restore some scrap of dignity.