Chapter 9

CHAPTER

NINE

For such a tiny thing, Twig could scream like a banshee when she wanted food.

We were immediately accosted by the feral fuzzball the moment we walked into the apartment, the wailings of a starving creature that hadn’t had wet, fishy goop in a few hours. Kevin, of course, was a perfect angel who wanted nothing but to judge, and did so by blowing a snarky bubble when I called him handsome.

With the adrenaline fading from my system, I could feel the lingering bruises from the previous fight. My chest didn’t just ache metaphorically from the emotional beating I took, it still actively bled from the stab wound Austin had inflicted before Zane’s intervention. Unlike the previously stated psychological damage, this one wasn’t deep, but it did hurt.

Peeling the fabric of my shirt off the wet wound stung. “I kinda liked this shirt.”

“You had one adult shirt without a stupid saying on it, and it got ruined in less than two hours,” Zane announced as he carried his hellspawn around in his palm. “That has to be a record for you.”

“Probably.” I jabbed at my wound to test how badly I was stabbed, annoyed as a new, tiny stream trailed down my chest. “Hell. I think I need to stitch this up.”

The screaming banshee was momentarily silenced by the vampire’s offering of tuna-flavored nasty flakes, her little naked tail shaking from excitement. Zane left the creature to feast while he grabbed my first aid kit, setting it beside me on the couch. I noticed that he didn’t look in my direction while I had blood on my chest, his jaw bunching from the proximity.

While my chest was dripping, his was horribly static. The black, old blood from his much deeper stab wound was dry on his sweater, barely a halo around the tear. Blue veins had started to show on the backs of his hands, icy rivers under a sheet of pale ice.

He looked like he could sleep for days if given the chance, and since Thrall vampires didn’t sleep, I imagined it was torture to be that exhausted without any relief. Zane sat in his favorite chair, a well-worn, threadbare recliner that had come with the apartment, and stretched his long legs out in the universal slump of a man who was bone-tired.

Maybe it was the events of the night that had made me sentimental, or maybe it was the drugs, or the open wound in my chest that made me feel guilty for him being so worn down. I knew he was hungry. I knew he was struggling. I had pushed it out of my mind to keep myself comfortable, to shield myself from getting lost in the past.

The final nail in the coffin was watching him close his eyes as if to take a nap. I knew I had to stop being such an asshole to the guy.

“How often did Sandros give you blood?”

Zane opened his eyes like a groggy toddler, face scrunched in sleepy confusion.

“What?”

“You needed to feed off him, right? Isn’t that…how it works?” I tried to sound casual, but I was floundering like an awkward teenager asking the hot girl for a dance at prom.

Zane rubbed at his exhaustion-bruised eyes with his finger and thumb.

“It was different with him. He and I didn’t have the…same reaction…as we do.”

“What was it like? I mean—” The floundering sequel was so much worse. “If, um…if it’s okay to ask. Is it weird that I asked?”

“You sure as hell are making it weird.”

“I don’t know how to ask about the emotional mechanics of blood drinking and it not be weird! This is all weird!” I wiped some blood off my chest with my ruined shirt. “If you don’t want to answer, never mind.”

Zane sighed, sinking down into the chair more to rest his head against the plush cushion.

“It didn’t feel intense. There was a connection, like a string being pulled, or like feeling the vibration of a guitar string being plucked.” He watched the ceiling as he recounted it, lost in a memory I couldn’t see. “It was nice. Warm.”

“What about Esdras?” I asked, wincing when he scowled.

“Very cold. Transactional. His blood tasted bitter, but it was all I had. It was like learning to love drinking pickle juice out of a cold jar.”

“Saints, that’s gross.” I shivered. “How do you know what pickle juice tastes like?”

“I try food sometimes.” Zane shrugged, the gesture barely there. “I can’t swallow it, but I want to see what the fuss is about. Pickles are fucking disgusting.”

“To a vampire, yeah.” I fished for some gauze absently. “How often did you get blood from them usually?”

Zane exhaled slowly, like the question was something he had been dreading.

“Every day.”

If I had been floundering before, I was in a full-on frazzle at Zane’s admission.

“ Every day ? Are you serious?”

“Like I said,” he repeated slowly. “It was different with them.”

“Saints, Zane. It’s been…over a month, at least. Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m fine, hunter,” he growled. “You sound like Twig before dinner.”

“Hey, I am way more charming than that little gremlin,” I retaliated.

“Disagree.”

“How long can you go without blood?” I asked, but he ignored me, just shutting his eyes again and lacing his hands on his stomach. “Zane, I’m being serious.”

“Not having blood doesn’t kill me, it just limits my abilities,” he answered after a few breaths. “I can’t move as fast, my mist powers are harder to control. The sunlight burns a bit.”

“You also look dead. Well. Deader.”

“Still got more goth boys than you,” he mused back.

My stomach was in slippery knots as I gathered my nerves, my heart reminding me how loud it could be when I was about to do something dangerous, exciting or stupid. My new reflex was to check that my magical Zane blocker was still on, and I touched the plastic device hanging around my neck as I committed to my dangerously exciting, stupid idea.

“Once a week. Let me get used to it.”

“Hm?” Zane cracked his eyes open again. “What are you talking about?”

“Giving you blood. It’s…going to be…weird, and I can’t promise it’s not going to freak me out, but I think I can do once a week for now. That seems fair.”

“Hunter—” He sat up as I got to my feet, tossing my bloody shirt aside. When I approached him, he shook his head. “We don’t need to do this tonight.”

“Yeah, we do, because I might chicken out tomorrow.” I tugged my knife out from my back pocket. My heart was pounding, my gut on fire, and I didn’t try to hide my discomfort as I exhaled a long, silent curse.

Zane pressed, “Dallas, I’m serious. Tonight’s been difficult enough.”

“It’s always going to be difficult,” I parried. “It’s always going to be uncomfortable and rough for me, but I want to do this. Let me return the favor.”

In the soft light of the tableside lamp, Zane’s face settled into an expression I hadn’t seen on him before. The hard lines around his mouth softened, the crease in his brows melted away. The hunger tugging at the corners of his eyes strained the blue veins near his cheeks.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he whispered.

“Yeah, I do.” I nodded for him to lean back. “We’ll do like before. Try and curb the sex noises.”

“Hunter,” Zane warned gently. “I’ve never gone this long without feeding. When permission is given…”

“Yeah, and I’m sure it’s going to be intense for both of us so…” I exhaled through my lips as I flicked my knife open. “I’ll give you blood, you’ll be fed, and we’ll both just, you know, ride the wave until it’s over. This is strictly?—”

“Don’t say it.”

“—Business boners.”

In order to try my best to keep blood from dripping onto the recliner, I braced my knee on the cushion next to Zane’s thigh, leaning my outstretched arm over him. I didn’t like having to cut my hand, but it was the least awkward way to get blood into his mouth while staying far from it. One clean cut to open my palm, and I could squeeze a steady stream into his mouth without our skin touching.

I had felt his lips and tongue on me before when we had to feed in front of Sias and his friend, and I wanted to try and mitigate that as much as possible.

I knew the moment blood hit his tongue, the sexual high would turn us both into horny idiots, so we didn’t need touching in the mix. It was going to be awkward enough as it was.

Distance was key. As much distance as possible while still getting the job done.

Zane’s pupils began to dilate, the burning red irises swallowed by a slow expansion of obsidian hunger. His vision swam over me, trailing down the stream of blood on my stomach before floating back to meet my gaze.

“You’re sure?”

“No, but we’re gonna do it anyway.” I shook my hand out and clenched my fingers in anticipation. “You ready?”

“Yes,” he said in a rush.

“No teeth.”

“No teeth,” he agreed quickly.

“Alright. I hate this part.” I gave myself a beat to settle my heart rate. “Do you…damnit. Do you want my gift inside of you?”

“I do,” he confirmed, eyes now black with all-consuming appetite.

“I really hate how that is phrased.”

“Hunter, please,” Zane gritted out through his teeth.

“Right. Sorry. With this gift, I give you life.” I put the knife to my palm. “Tethered to me from the endless void.”

“Permission,” Zane breathed out, voice shaking. “Give me your permission.”

“You can drink my blood. Just lean your head back more so I can?—”

Zane’s hands flew up to my hips before I could react, my body forced forward with icy fingers digging into the fabric of my jeans. The greedy, blood-starved vampire didn’t wait for me to cut my palm and drizzle blood on him. Instead, he heaved me onto his lap like I was nothing, and licked the trail of blood from my stomach to my chest.

The first time I gave Zane blood, he was writhing on the floor after being stabbed and was in horrible pain. He was still well-fed back then, alive enough to bleed and suffer. The sensation of my blood on his tongue had been overwhelming—like my nerve endings were being seared by sizzling lust. I had never felt anything quite like that: a slow, constant burn that had risen and exploded into a very awkward night on Barnaby’s kitchen floor.

This time, Zane was starving .

And I was not ready for what it felt like to have a starving Thrall feed after fasting as long as he had.

Whatever part of me that should have been offended by a vampire licking me died a miserable, silent death by the volcano of lust that boiled within me, my entire body reacting so strongly to his tongue that I became the sex noise problem. I didn’t care that I was straddling his lap like a stripper, or that his breath was about as frigid as an open freezer door. His tongue was icy on my skin, his fingers frozen iron on my hips.

I hated how turned on I was. It was embarrassing, but I couldn’t control how viciously the magic between us caused my body to respond.

My knife was tossed onto the ground to free up my hands, and I raked my fingers through Zane’s hair and grabbed a fistful of it. His mouth was getting warm from the blood, his tongue less arctic as he licked at the stab wound. Each swipe of his tongue was a bolt through me, a churning wave of molten passion that nearly lifted me off his lap. His hair was soft in my grip, the motion of his skull erotically similar to someone giving me head, which did not help the thundering want that was raising my body temperature.

Zane’s skin grew warm, his breath hot as it tumbled over me in humid waves. In one of his upward laps, his tongue grazed my nipple, and I responded by bucking my hips.

I felt a very obvious ridge rub against mine.

My chest knocked hard as Zane let out a slow moan, a shiver danced down my spine as his fingers trailed up my sides. The frantic feast on my blood paused, his bottom lip catching on my skin for just a breath. My pulse was rounding the corner of a marathon, galloping full speed into the next bend as Zane planted his hands on my ribs and drew me in closer.

My fingers gripped his hair, his soft, pretty hair, and I yanked his head back to look him in the eyes.

It was a mistake.

I made a horrible, stupid fucking mistake.

Because Saints damn me, Gods curse me, I was lost in what I saw.

The pale, deathly sallow of Zane’s complexion was gone, lost in the flush of rose that now painted his features. Sickly white was warmed to a living cream, lips pink with life, eyes bright and crackling with red fire.

Zane wasn’t technically alive, but in that moment he was. He was warm under my fingers, hot under my thighs, boiling in my gaze. His stubble darkened his jaw, finally growing back, and I was amazed at the sweat beading at his temples. I could smell the moisture and heat on him: grave flowers and ozone mixed with musk.

But the worst part, the part that pushed me a little too far, was how his fangs looked outlined in red.

He was…

Zane was…

Oh no.

Oh no.

The knocking in my chest turned into a hammer, heat curled through me like a lightning strike, and Zane was knocked in the forehead by a bone white stick that suddenly shot out of my sternum. We both yelled in different pitches of outrage and alarm, Zane’s tinted in pain and mine in pure surprise. In the throes of the sexy, blood-drinking spell, I had forgotten that the end result was always this goddamn thing making itself known.

Thank the damn Gods for that.

Because I had almost made another horrible mistake. One I wouldn’t have been able to walk back from.

“Shit!” I crawled backwards off Zane and hit the floor, staring down at the stick rotating in my chest. The ivory rod protruded out about eight inches, the carved inscriptions clicking and locking into place as it spun slowly counterclockwise. There was no pain when it shot out of my body, or as it twisted, only a little pressure and a whole lot of confusion. The moment I tried to touch it, tried to reach up and grab a hold of it, the mystery stick retreated back into my chest and disappeared without any trace it had ever been there.

“What the fuck is that thing?” I rubbed at my chest, not sore and not exactly soothed. “And why does it only show up when you feed on me?”

“I don’t know.” Zane rubbed at his forehead, scowl back on his face. He was alive enough that the rod had left a red circle on his forehead and the stab wound in his chest was healed and gone. It was amazing how different he looked with color back in his cheeks, how human he seemed with black stubble peppering his jaw.

I needed to leave.

I escaped to my bathroom and scrubbed the Zane spit and dried blood off my skin, disinfected the holy hell out of my wound, and stitched it closed in record time. It was truly amazing how fast I could be at routine tasks when I was sprinting away from a problem. Since my “adult shirt” had been slashed and bled on, I had to default to my normal, punny, secondhand stuff to make my exit.

“I’m going to Sias’s,” I announced to the apartment, grabbing my jacket on the way to the door. Zane was still stuck to the chair, rubbing at the newly grown stubble with his palm. He barely reacted, nodding that he had heard me but nothing more.

I didn’t wait around for the awkwardness to balloon out further, and I locked the door behind me before flying down the stairs.

This night was fucked. My heart felt like there was a vise grip of guilt wrapped around it, but it had been placed near a cozy blanket covered in vampire stink. What the hell was I supposed to do with this? Where did I compartmentalize these very conflicting, very painful, very powerful feelings when I was still coming down from a drug high and desperately lonely?

I decided, stupidly, to let my heart decide.