1. Livana

Chapter 1

Livana

D esire has a thousand different flavors, just like blood, and I need both of them to survive.

Which makes The Red Lion the perfect place to stock up.

Riverthorne sits in the southern, almost desolate landlocked portion of the continent, but its lone tavern is one of the nicer establishments I've worked at over the past few years.

The Red Lion is discreet, organized, and has a no-discrimination policy—any being can work or partake here, as long as they don't draw attention to themselves. The last thing businesses across the continent need is the Collector's attention, but that doesn't mean they'll turn away good workers or paying customers, even though royal decree demands it.

The owner, Aruk, hired me three weeks ago. I usually don't stay anywhere longer than two weeks, but against my better judgment, I've gotten comfortable here. He's stern—I'm pretty sure he's at least a quarter goblin thanks to the obsessive way he counts the tills every night—but he runs a clean place.

I mean, as clean as a pleasure tavern can be run, and I've worked at more than my fair share of shitholes. But he employs a healthy amount of half-bloods as bodyguards, centaurs and phoenixes alike, and their inherent strength goes a long way when mortals get in over their heads and cross lines that are in place for everyone's safety.

"You better get up on that stage, girl," Aruk calls to me from his position behind the wide, worn ebony bar.

He pours a few drinks for the smattering of patrons crowding the space—most are mortals, already half-drunk and ogling the other dancers on the stage.

"It's good to draw out the anticipation," I say, squeezing through a couple males until I can lean over the bar and grab a shot of whiskey that Aruk has ready for me. I throw back the amber liquid, licking a few stray drops off my red-painted lips. "Or do you like to just dive right in and get to the good stuff?" I tease Aruk, who's gotten used to my antics, but that doesn't mean he likes them.

"Money is what I like to dive right into," he says. "Get a move on."

I wink at him as I shift to the right, my body grazing the shoulder of one of the males I'd squeezed through. At the contact, a powerful shot of spice blooms on the back of my tongue—a mixture of nutmeg, ginger, and cinnamon. His desire pulses in flavorful light waves as our eyes meet.

He's gorgeous, with rich black skin stretched over tons of perfectly sculpted muscles, all visible beneath the tight black shirt he wears, a distressed leather vest over it. His eyes are a dark teal with a touch of pure mischief that matches the taste of his desire, and there's real power in them…he's not mortal after all.

"Excuse me," I say, a fake apology as I bat my eyelashes at him. Normally I'd press on and hop on stage like Aruk told me to, but this one tastes too damn good.

"You're excused," he says, his voice a mix of confidence and jest. It's like liquid velvet, and I eye the guitar strapped to his back before glancing over his full lips, which are turned up in a smirk.

"A bard?" I ask, wondering if Aruk hired him to play. I wouldn't mind bumping into him after tonight's shift. I bet his blood tastes just as good as the lust pouring off of him. His pulse spikes when I bite my lip while I wait for his answer. Goddess, this one looks like a good time if I've ever seen one.

And it's been ages since I've had a good time.

Feeding off the desire of those who watch me dance is one thing, but actually feeding off of it while having sex is a whole other thing entirely.

A dangerous one.

So why am I still standing here?

"Why?" he replies to my forgotten question. He leans forward a bit, the leather of his vest brushing against my bare arm. "You want me to sing for you?"

I almost say yes.

I can picture it now—a private room, his instrument in hand and that liquid voice humming out a melody I wouldn't be able to let him finish before straddling him, tilting his neck to the side and sinking my teeth into his flesh. I'd make it good for him, make it worth his time. I bet he tastes?—

"Girl!" Aruk's voice snaps me out of the fantasy, his questioning glance grounding me in the present.

I blink out of the haze the male put me under, and wink at him. "Maybe next time," I say before forcing myself to walk away.

It's easier after a few steps, almost like something external held me close to him, but I don't sense any magic, just pure intrigue.

I'm hungry.

It's been too long since my last proper feed. That's all.

I weave through the packed crowd, skirting past mortals and non-mortals alike while making my way to the stage. The walls are covered in rich red brocade with gold details. The amber lights hanging from sconces all along the walls cast flickering shadows, as if the flames are dancing to the music too. The sweet smell of burning incense barely reaches my nose thanks to all the lust emanating from the patrons eying the stage.

The twins are just finishing up their act, and I take a minute to appreciate the way the pair work in unison to create a dance so intricate and beautiful it puts all my solo acts to shame. Ava catches Jez in a full aerial sweep, spinning and bending with her, flawlessly mirroring her every move.

Cheers erupt, and I grin as I take in the lust-ridden faces of the crowd. If they're lucky, one of these bastards will earn a night with the twins, but the price is steep. Just like every other dove who's up for sale here at The Red Lion —they're worth every penny.

The twins smile and interlock hands, bowing to the raucous applause of the audience, and hurry to scrape up the coins and paper strewn about their feet.

An overzealous admirer reaches for Jez's ankle, but Ava tugs her sister back an inch, just out of reach.

For a second, I'm struck with a stab of jealousy. What I wouldn't give to have someone in my life I could trust like that. Someone I could depend on. Someone who would catch me if I fell.

Someone who wouldn't try to slit my throat the second they figure out what I am.

I shake off the ridiculous notion, heading to the stage while the twins finish collecting their goods, blowing kisses toward the crowd as they hold their previously shed clothes over their bodies, making their way down the stage steps. I'm just about to take the first step up when my senses prickle, freezing me.

"I said no!" a familiar voice cries, the words reaching my keen ears over the roaring crowd. "Stop it. You're hurting me ? —"

In a blink, I'm gone, moving faster than any patron can see. I careen down one of the hallways that hold the private suites, crashing through a locked door at the end.

A mortal male reels backward, a knife in one hand as he hovers over a bleeding and very terrified-looking Lera, who is sprawled beneath him on the bed. She's one of the most popular doves in The Red Lion with her flowing red hair and green eyes, and she's an absolute sweetheart . Definitely not someone who would agree to blade play.

"She said no ," I say, trying to keep my voice even as I step farther into the room.

"I didn't order two dove-bitches," the male says, eying me, his gaze lingering on the black corset cinched tight around my waist, leaving my cleavage on full display. "But I'll take it if you're offering."

"I wasn't." I jerk my head toward the door. "Shift's over, Lera."

She flashes me a grateful look, moving to scramble off the bed, but the male jabs the knife in her direction and she jumps back. She already has two cuts across her thigh, little red droplets trickling from the thin lines.

The smell of her blood is like a summer rose. Saliva floods the back of my mouth, but I swallow down the craving.

"I didn't say we were done here." The male glowers at me like I just tried to clear his plate before he was done eating. "Get out."

"You must've chosen wrong," I say, really doing my best not to stir up shit in Aruk's place. "Lera is a romance dove," I explain. "You'll want Delia for blade games."

He smirks. "I don't want someone who wants it," he says, motioning toward the bed. "You can try to stop me."

A rancid burst overtakes the smell of Lera's blood, the man's desire tasting like spoiled milk. Goddess, he's one of those mortals. The ones who find pleasure only when they're taking from someone who isn't willingly giving.

"You want to hurt me?" I ask, lowering my voice into the tone that ensures his attention is all for me.

"Oh, yeah," he says, shifting his focus on me and away from Lera.

Good little mortal.

I keep my eyes locked on his, easily breaking through his lack of mental shield and attaching my will to his sense of being. His arms go slack at his sides as I fully take hold of him with my influence.

I don't normally use this little tool in my arsenal because attracting attention to what I am is the last thing I want to do with outsiders. With my luck, someone will report what I am to the drifters, or worse, the collector core. More than that though, I'm all about consent, but this prick deserves it.

Stepping into his space, I drag my fingers down his chest and over his arm until I pluck the knife from his fingers.

"You are no longer welcome at The Red Lion ," I whisper so only he can hear me. "Nod if you understand." He nods, his eyes glazing over. "Lera gave you the best night of your life, so you gave her your entire purse." He nods again, untying the small leather bag at his waist before handing it to a stunned Lera. "You will no longer touch or harm another living thing without their consent."

"I won't," he says.

"Good," I say. "Now leave."

He walks out the door without so much as a glance back, and Lera and I both release a breath.

"Thank you," Lera says, clutching the purse to her chest over the sheer pink nightgown she wears. "He wasn't going to stop, and I couldn't fight him off no matter how hard I tried."

I hand her the knife. "Stick it in the groin next time."

Lera takes the blade, eyes wide as she nods. She's a quarter pixie, but mainly mortal, so I don't fault her for not being able to fight the man off. He was three times her size.

"Lucky you were walking by and heard me," she says, smiling up at me. "And you look ten times more intimidating than me, which clearly made him listen. Maybe I should go for black fishnets and armored corsets too," she teases.

I grin back, and she flinches, shifting to look down at her leg.

"Bastard," she says as more blood trails from her wounds.

The sweet smell swarms my senses, making my fangs throb before they snap out.

Fuck.

Lera gasps, and recoils. She gazes at my fangs in horror before racing out of the room like I just snapped at her neck.

"Sorry!" I try to call out to her, but she's already gone. "And you're welcome," I say quietly, then ignore the bolt of shame slicing through my chest.

Never fails. The second anyone figures out what I am—or at least, half of what I am—they're gone. Doesn't matter if I've just saved them, complimented them, or fed them, they only see a monster.

Thanks to the Collector.

Ever since he betrayed the four ruling families of the continent two decades ago, wiping out an entire species in one ruthless and strategic coo. The remaining families and other magical beings took up arms against him in an effort to hold onto the world as they knew it—one filled with a coexistence between all kind.

His power and armies were too extensive though, the Collector alone had the ability to shift into a ferocious, almost unkillable creature capable of wiping out thousands in an instant. It was a bloody battle that the opposing side lost, a war he coined The Great Purge because his brutal attack on one specific magical family sparked everything after.

The Collector gave all of them an option—submit to his rule and abide by his laws and live. Refuse and die.

So many submitted for a chance at survival, but the world as they knew it changed that day. The Collector views anyone other than his own kind—shifters—as lesser or as a threat, and he's ensured that his acolytes spout falsities about my kind so that everyone lives in fear of us. And it's not just my kind, but so many others live in a constant state of fear of being singled out by him and wiped off the map like he did the Enchantresses all those years ago. The fear of being rooted out of existence has made so many flee into hiding, fearful of drawing attention or being caught with the wrong kind of being.

Anger consumes me, burning the shame to ash as I make my way back toward the stage. I earn a glare from Aruk. The band of bards he employs plucks their instruments in an agitated way, playing my requested music for the night on a loop as the now-frustrated crowd awaits the next performance.

I climb the stage, trying to ignore the lingering sting of Lera's rejection. I'd just saved her from a horrible situation, did she really think I would demand her blood as a form of payment?

Yes, that's exactly what she thought. Because that's what almost everyone thinks about creatures like me.

And they don't know the half of it.

I force myself to remember that a life of connection and true friendship isn't in the cards for me.

Except Six.

The mysterious male who popped into my life a year ago, sending notes in the form of magical tattoos that appear randomly on my body, signifying him as my Matched—a mate granted by the goddess Aletha herself. A legend so rare I never thought it would happen to me. Not to mention, because of my nature, I can never have just one singular partner, but a Matched…that's not something you can ignore.

And Six is mine.

We've never met, but thanks to our connection, we can communicate through the magical bond, mentally constructing notes that appear like golden script anywhere on each other's bodies we choose.

I glance down at my arm, the urge to write to Six storming through my bones. He's been a constant the past year, but, just like with The Red Lion , I've become too comfortable with his mysterious notes.

It's better for me to spend my time alone.

Giving someone your trust only grants them power over you. I learned that the hard way.

And love? Love is even worse, or so I hear. No one has ever gotten close enough to love me before. Not really. Not since my family was murdered.

I feel my mask slipping back into place as I reach the final step onto the stage.

Survival and the promise of revenge has been my sole purpose since I was a youngling. Do what I must, take what I need, and move on until I'm ready to face the Collector once and for all.

Taking my place on the center of the stage, I sway my hips to the sultry beat still pulsing over the crowd. I turn down the damper I have on my powers, allowing the natural draw of seduction to seep from my skin and filter through the crowd. Everyone quiets as I dance, slightly entranced as I grab hold of the sturdy pole and lift myself around it, rolling my hips and leaning back in a graceful way that is both familiar and comforting. I love dancing, it's one of the only escapes I'm afforded.

Flavors hit me all at once—some luscious and rich, others acidic and bitter. Each ribbon of desire makes its way into my soul as I tease and coax the crowd into a puddle of lust and need. Each hit has my senses sharpening, my mind clearing, my hunger temporarily sated, and my energy levels restored.

Some mortals and creatures need food to survive, and while I love a good pastry any day of the week, it doesn't sustain me.

Desire is easier to come by—especially while dancing—and helps feed me. When I don't absorb enough lust, my body weakens along with my powers, leaving me vulnerable to attacks should a drifter cross my path or the collector core.

Blood is much harder to get on a regular basis. Animal blood can do in a pinch, but it doesn't give me the fuel I need to operate at full power.

Mortal blood is good, but the best kind is from those who are at least half something else—centaur, pixie, goblin, and more, whichever has more power in their veins.

Unfortunately, thanks to my kind being feared and hated, that kind of blood is a rare treat. I've had consenting partners in the past, those who were interested in being bitten once or twice, but what I wouldn't give to have a steady supply. If I did, I wouldn't constantly be walking the edge of starvation, leaving my powers weakened and my body just as bad. The weaker my body is, the more my heart acts up, and that's a recipe for danger.

I came close to starving once, right after I lost everything.

I'll never let that happen again.

That's why I love the stage. Before I discovered dancing, I'd resorted to pathetically flirting with any random stranger who crossed my path in order to try and feed myself. They could almost always smell the desperation on me, and desperation doesn't exactly attract the most savory of partners. I was barely sixteen the first time someone took my innocent flirting as permission to try and use my body for their own pleasure.

He didn't succeed, but it came too close.

I could taste his fear as I sank my fangs into his neck, ripping and tearing like an animal. Just as he was trying to do to me, but only in ways mortals are capable of.

I will never be that helpless again.

Shadows of sadness overtake my vision, threatening to kick me right out my performance as memories assault my mind.

Memories of dark alleys and cold nights.

Wandering the continent alone, afraid, and with no real understanding of what I was or how dangerous I could be to those around me.

"Run!" my papa screams, waking me up from a dead sleep. His movements are frantic as he rips me from my bed. I can hear horses clomping around outside our house. There are raised voices, and someone bangs on our front door. I look around but can't see Mama. Torch lights flicker in the moonlight outside my window. "Out the back, baby girl. Run. Run and don't you dare look back." He wraps my thickest coat around me, sliding a leather satchel over my shoulder. I'm crying even though I don't understand why.

"Papa," I say, my voice a whisper in the night. "What's happening?"

"They've come for us," he says. "They've come for us. I need you to run. I need you to do what the princess does in all our stories, okay?" He grips me hard against his chest, rushing through our small home before slipping out the back door. He sets me on my feet, kissing my forehead. "I love you. Remember that. You're good , Livana. You're the best of us. Now go. Do what the princess does."

Something sharp tangles in my chest, but instinct carries me away as Papa rushes back into the house.

It's on fire.

Flames dance from our thatched roof, hopping over to the beautiful, ancient trees surrounding our home. I race deeper into the woods, faster and faster, twisting and turning just like the princess does in all of Papa's stories.

She's a strong princess. Six years old, just like me. She's good at escaping the stickiest situations. She never gets caught.

The air in my lungs burns like the fire behind me, and a scream breaks the night, filling my entire body with dread.

It's my papa's scream.

And then there's silence.

I swallow the lump in my throat, and keep running.

The princess never gets caught.

I grip the pole harder, pushing my body to its limits as I dance my ass off, trying desperately to push the memory from my mind.

Maybe it's because I've started to settle here, started to find comfort in the routine and inclusion at The Red Lion . Maybe it's because when I settle, the sting of loneliness is harsher than when I'm on the move…when I'm working toward the same goal I've had since I was six years old. Since the night I became an orphan with no understanding of how to take care of myself or how to properly feed.

I'm not a scared, starving little girl anymore.

I dance with more intention, almost as if I can erase the memories with each sway of my body.

Thank Goddess for pleasure taverns. For the people who came here solely looking for an escape, whether that be watching or partaking fully in the services Aruk offers. Not that any one of these creatures or mortals could buy my body—a private dance, sure—but not me .

Not that I don't support or condone the exchange of pleasure for money, because I definitely do. But sex with me is…dangerous. There's no better way to describe it, and because of that, I have to select my partners very, very carefully.

I saunter around the stage, rolling my hips as I bend at the waist, giving the crowd a full view of the curves of my ass covered by fishnet stockings. I scan the crowd, finding myself looking for the male from earlier, the one whose desire tasted like autumn spices. I don't see him at the bar, and when I right myself, grabbing the pole to roll my hips against it, I don't see him in the audience.

Disappointment washes over me as I finish my routine, my body partially sated with the desire of the crowd but my hopes of spotting him dashed. He may have been a fun one-night conquest, and maybe even a much-needed bite. And after the night I've had, with the ghosts of my past doing their best to rob me of my present contentment, I really need a few hours of pure escape.

He certainly had seemed strong enough to handle me, unlike more than half the mortal men here who, to their credit, would flee in absolute terror if they saw even a glimmer of my fangs.

The band transitions the music into a quieter loop as my routine comes to an end, and the crowd applauds, tossing coins and paper and jewelry my direction. Riverthorne is close to a few major townships, and the wealthy venture here to discreetly spend their precious jewels.

I gather the goods, smiling and winking as I head off stage, only to run straight into Aruk.

"Someone bought a private dance," he says.

I hand him my loot as I tilt my head.

"Oh?" I ask, anticipation running through me. I'm rarely requested for private dances. The usual clientele are mortal travelers who have buried instincts telling them I'm fun to look at but dangerous to touch. "Which room?"

"Eight," he says, a hint of hesitation on his face.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I don't know," he grumbles, shifting my earnings into a large leather bag on his hip—keeping them safe until our shifts are over, returning them minus his twenty percent. "He's a big one. I can't tell what he is. Be careful."

I purse my lips, barely holding back a smile. It's been years since someone has actually cared about my well-being, and it hits different, even coming from a grumpy tavern owner like him. I hate that I like the feeling, hate that a traitorous voice whispers in the back of my mind that I could be happy here if only I stay .

But I can't stay.

I'm a danger to anyone who gets too close, and Aruk has never come out and said he knows what I am, but I'm pretty sure he has an idea. He spotted a drop of deer blood on the corner of my mouth my second day here. I haven't fed since.

He didn't kick me out, though, despite what he must suspect I am. And that's…everything. But he doesn't know all of me. If he did, he'd definitely chase me out or try to kill me himself.

So as much as his kindness begs me to settle, I can't.

I'll never have a permanent home until someone or something puts me in the ground.

Still, it's kind of him to worry.

"I will." I kiss his cheek before heading down the hallway toward the private dance suites. The music fades behind me as I move farther away from the main room, leaving the space eerily quiet as I take a breath.

It's definitely time to move on from Riverthorne. I'm starting to get attached, and that's the worst possible thing I can do. The last time I did?—

Blood, both mine and his streaking across the wooden floors ? —

No. Don't go there.

I have responsibilities. Promises I've made to myself now that I'm all grown up.

Revenge to take.

Collectors to kill.

One step at a time.

Right. I push those thoughts to the back of my head, my fingers lingering on the handle to the wooden door. A part of me hopes Autumn Spice will be waiting for me inside, but another part of me hopes it isn't him. The fact that I've thought about him more than once is a clear sign to stay away.

I open the door, ensuring I soften my features into the lust-hazy mask of my dancing persona, and give my hips an extra swish as I walk into the slightly darkened room. Golden lights flicker from sconces hanging on the walls, cushioned benches lining the small, windowless room beneath them.

And the sight of the male sitting in the middle of the bench stops me in my tracks.

He's wide and muscular and I swear he takes up almost all the space in the entire room. Bright, silver hair hangs atop his shoulders, half of it tied back to show off his strong jaw. His eyes are gold with flecks of pure amber glowing like embers in a fire, practically glowing against his pale skin.

Goddess, he's that rough kind of gorgeous. He isn't the standard idea of beauty across the continent, but beautiful in a broken sort of way that has all my senses firing up. His thighs are massive and spread, his black leathers barely containing him as he looks up at me.

It takes me a full minute to remember he paid for a dance, and I'm just standing here practically drooling over him. Damn, maybe I do need to have sex. It's been so long since my last bedmate, that must be the reason I'm stumbling over two different males tonight.

"Just arrived?" I ask, rolling my hips to the light music that filters in through the walls. Aruk keeps several sorcerers well paid, ensuring he has the best features of any pleasure tavern within fifty miles of Riverthorne.

"How can you tell?" he asks, tilting his head like a predator sizing up prey.

A zing of pure desire shoots through me at the move, something about the way his golden eyes consume me with just a look.

I shake it off, rolling my hips as I run my hands over my body, keeping my focus on him as I lightly drag my fingers over the corset barely holding back my breasts.

"I've never seen you here before," I explain, victory fluttering through me as his eyes track my hands. The corset I wear is silky to the touch and does wonders for my curves, but the boning is a bitch.

"And you make a point to know everyone in Riverthorne?" he asks, his voice deep and rough, almost angry.

I arch a brow at him, stepping closer and bending at the waist to place my hands on his massive thighs. The move offers him the perfect view of my cleavage, but his eyes don't so much as flicker downward. They remain on mine, even as I arch my spine and move my body to the melody.

"Passing through, then?" I ask, spinning so my back is to him as I grind my ass between his thighs. He grunts, and a flash of something bittersweet unfurls on the back of my tongue. I eye him over my shoulder, using his thighs to hold myself up while I rock against him to the beat of the music.

A muscle in his jaw clenches, his fingers gripping the back of the bench where his arms are stretched out, almost like he's having a hard time keeping his hands there. Pair that with the taste of his desire, and it seems like this mystery male is angry that he wants me. Which is ridiculous, since he's the one who paid for the dance.

"How can you tell?" he asks, grinding out the question.

I arch, walking my hands down his legs, my ass in the air while I tap his boots, which are covered in the white ash the streets of Spiderdowns are known for. I snap up and spin around, showing him the chalky substance on my fingers.

"Spiderdowns," I say. "Can't say that's my go-to for leisure spots. So, was it work that took you there?"

"Impressive," he says as he looks up at me.

I shrug, wrapping my arms around his neck while I straddle his hips, rolling my body to the buttery notes of the music. He groans, his biceps flexing underneath his loose cotton shirt.

I bite back a laugh. "It's okay to relax," I say, rocking against him. "I won't bite you," I tease. "Unless you ask me to." Not that he knows what I am, but it's all fun and games in here anyway.

"You'd choke on me," he says so matter-of-factly I don't know whether I should laugh or pity him. He's so uptight. Not the usual type for pleasure taverns.

"Would I?" I ask, my core tightening as I rock against something very large and very, very hard.

Surprise barrels through me at the pulsing ache between my thighs as I roll my hips over him. I'm never this affected by my customers, but something about him has my heart racing and my fangs throbbing, itching to taste what he can offer. I drag my hand down his muscled chest, sliding it between us as I trace the outline of his cock with my fingers.

" Oh ," I say, smirking as I draw back my hand. "I most certainly would choke on you."

His golden eyes flare and his lips part, but he doesn't say a word, like he's holding back on purpose.

Interesting.

I wrap my arms around his neck again, my fingers tracing the edges of a gold chain necklace that's half-hidden beneath his shirt.

He turns, his face lightly brushing mine since we're so close together, and I shiver at the sensation. Goddess , I'm aching. My entire being begs me to sink my fangs into his neck while he sinks his cock into me.

It's official, I waited too long between conquests.

And the deer blood from weeks ago has definitely worn off, not that animal blood ever really curbs the hunger for long, but it works in a pinch.

Damn it.

I make a mental note of how long it's been since I've had sex—six months? A year? Has it truly been that long? At least now I know my limit because tonight is definitely it. My head is spinning with desire, both his and mine, though his is bittersweet and battling where I'm practically gushing with need.

"You paid for this dance," I say, my voice slightly breathless as I run my fingers over both his arms still stretched out on the back of the bench. "You don't have to keep your hands to yourself."

Surprise flickers in his golden eyes, and I do my best to keep my face even. Usually, no touching on the buyer's end is Aruk's rule, and with good reason, but I can handle myself if this male decides to cross any lines. I'm not sensing anything menacing from him, not like I did with the mortal who attacked Lera.

And I'm certain this male isn't mortal at all. I can feel power radiating from him even though I'm not sure what kind it is. All I'm really picking up on is this strange disappointment that he wants me as much as he does.

"So I can do this?" he asks, dragging his right hand up my neck, his thumb teasing the line of my jaw.

I sigh at the touch, still moving my body against his to the music.

"Yes," I say, gripping his other hand and moving it to my hip. Goddess, it's massive there. He cups it in a dominant way that practically melts me.

Maybe he'll be kind and relieve me of this pain, of this need. Just once, and I'll be sustained for another year.

"And this?" he asks, his rough voice sending ripples of pleasure down my spine as he inches his face closer to my neck. He pushes some of my hair away from my face, exposing my neck, and Goddess help me, I let him. I'm completely enthralled by this male, and I only have myself to blame for waiting so long between partners. I know better. The lust I drink while dancing is like taking a power nap every night when what I truly need is a full night's sleep.

His lips barely graze the skin on my neck, just beneath my jaw, as his thumb rubs over a spot behind my ear. He tilts my head, his mouth poised above my pulse. I'm humming, almost purring as he holds me there.

"Is this how you do it?" he asks. "Is this how you strike?" He goes still beneath me, his grip on my hip and neck intensifying to the point of pain. " Succubus ?"

Icy panic douses all my pent-up desire. I glare at him, eyes falling to the necklace hidden beneath his shirt, and I jerk the fabric down.

My fangs punch down at the sight of the spinning gold star hanging above his heart.

" Drifter ," I hiss, shoving against his chest to dislodge myself from his grip. I propel myself off the bench, making it to the other side of the room?—

He slams into me from behind, his bulging arms encircling me. I jerk against him, and my heart speeds up in the wrong damn way, galloping down a treacherous path I know all too well.

Not now.

Not fucking now.

"Where do you think you're going?" he growls into my ear, his grip tightening the more I struggle.

I try to breathe, try to will my heart to stop malfunctioning, but it's like trying to swim against an ocean current.

"How?" I hiss, my breaths short and heavy the faster my heart beats.

Slow, slow, slow. I beg my racing heart to calm, but it doesn't listen, and my goddessdamn medicine is buried in my corset beneath the drifter's arms.

"Doesn't matter," he growls. "If you stop struggling, it'll make this less painful."

"I've never minded a little pain," I spit back, stomping on his boot with the sharp tip of my spiked shoe.

He grunts, releasing me enough that I stumble forward toward the door. If I can just get far enough to take my meds, he won't know what fucking hit him. I throw open the door, looking over my shoulder to gauge his speed?—

"Still want me to sing for you?" The velvety voice and taste of autumn spice fills my space as new arms grip me, shoving me back into the room.

" You ." Shock ripples through me. "You're with him." It's not a question, not as they both herd me into the corner.

I can't catch my breath as my heart pumps, stops, and pumps again at twice the speed. My chest aches and my fingers tingle as I lose circulation. I reach into my corset, trying to rip open the secret pocket sewn in there, trying to grab the vial I need to stop this?—

"Ah, ah." Autumn Spice grabs my hand, stopping me as he gently but firmly hauls me to him. He looks over at his friend. "You were in here long enough," he says, smirking. "And you said it would be easy for you to resist her."

"Not now, Jagger," he growls before those golden eyes find mine. He steps up to me, looking down. "Are you going to come quietly or?—"

"Never," I say, baring my fangs and lunging for his throat.

Jagger hauls me back, his laughter warm and inviting while his hold on me is anything but. "Wouldn't step too close, Zev," he says. "She's a feisty little dove."

"Fine," Zev says. "Have it your way."

My muscles lock, my heart stumbling over itself as my condition takes over and renders all my powers useless. I fight anyway, trying to break Jagger's grasp.

With one last play, I become dead weight in Jagger's arms, falling to my ass as I slide my arms through his grip, momentarily breaking free. I shove, tripping him as he fights to regain balance, and all his muscled weight slams into Zev before they both hit the floor.

I hustle to the door, tripping into the hallway as my vision blurs.

Meds. Fuck, I need my meds.

My fingers are thick as I fumble with the pocket over my rib, but I manage to get the vial out. The fine purple powder only fills the vial a quarter of the way. Shit, I didn't realize I was that low.

I pop the cork and dump the contents into my mouth, the sweet powder dissolving on my tongue and I swallow it down. I take a deep breath, feeling the effects as it weaves through my system, my heart stuttering a few more times before it finds its normal rhythm again.

I lean against the wall, my vision clearing enough to see a flash of gold script flare over my forearm.

Are you done for the night, my Matched?

I ignore the writing on my arm, unable to respond. The gold handwriting fades after a few seconds.

I drop to my knees a moment before a fist barrels into the wall above my head.

Spinning around, I bare my fangs again, shooting up with my accelerated speed, clocking Jagger beneath the jaw so hard he stumbles back into Zev.

I stand up, glaring at them both.

Fucking drifters.

"You're ours," Zev says, his tone rough and demanding, and the claim in his voice stirs up the earlier desire I felt between my treacherous thighs.

Goddess, what is wrong with me?

"You'll have to catch me first," I say before racing down the hallway.