Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 72056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Rogan.
Rogan saved me.
But…why?
I walk, willing myself not to stumble, toward Rogan, where he’s got the third guy pinned against a brick wall next to the dumpster where I left the man I fed from.
I glance quickly around. The man is gone.
Can’t blame him. He probably woke up to this fight and fled to save his own hide.
“Who sent you?” Victor growls. “Who fucking sent you?”
The thug spits in his face.
Rogan tightens his hold until the thug is gasping for air.
“You will answer me.”
Mind control. Weres don’t have the ability. Vamps do. I’m not as good as a full blood, but I can do it if the need is dire.
Right now, I need Victor’s blood. That’s my dire need. Which means this thug needs to answer Rogan’s question so I can get what I crave.
Problem is, I’m weak. My body has taken a beating. Will that hamper my ability to exercise control over this thug’s mind?
I walk toward Rogan until only three feet separate us. I concentrate, meeting the thug’s gaze.
“Answer him,” I say.
Nothing.
I close the distance a foot. “Answer him.”
“Vampire…mind…tricks,” the thug chokes out.
As I suspected, I’m too weak.
“Don’t…work…on…me…”
My breath comes rapidly. Just that little bit of focus took all the energy I have left. Mind control doesn’t work? It works on most humans, which means…
This thug isn’t human.
He’s not a vampire or a wolf. I’d be able to scent him.
Rogan pulls the thug toward him quickly and then knocks his head against the wall. The thug crumples to the ground.
Rogan turns to me, his eyes wild and feral and intense. He growls, and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to change.
Right here before my eyes.
He holds it together, though. Sort of. A wave of lust is thick between us, almost visible in its intensity.
I’m still breathing rapidly, my legs weak, and I fall against the brick wall.
He moves toward me, his heart so loud and furious. His blood. Oh, God, his blood…
I don’t expect kindness or gentleness.
So when he cups my cheek, I widen my eyes.
“Are you okay?” He gazes at my neck. “You need a bandage.”
“I’m clotting already. It’s fine.”
Indeed, the neck scrape is the least of my concerns.
All I can see is that thumping artery in his neck.
All I can hear is his blood racing through his body.
All I can smell is his musky and outdoorsy wolf scent.
All I can feel are his warm fingers against my flesh.
And inside…the hunger. The hunger I fear I’ll never be able to sate if I don’t take this chance.
My gums tingle and I embrace the sharp pain as my teeth grow downward. Fangs. My fangs. Need to feed.
The blood lust strengthens me, gives my legs back their muscles, my spine back its straightness.
Now. Now. Now.
I melt into Victor Rogan, grab two fistfuls of his hair, pull him toward me…
And I sink my teeth into his neck.
7
Darkest of reds. I don’t see, but I know. Black-red. Ambrosia. A gourmet succulent feast. Spicy like the hottest chili pepper and smooth like the finest dark chocolate. The consistency of honey from the sweetest smelling bloom.
Rich. Oh, so rich.
This blood. This wolf blood. An elixir I can never get enough of.
I drink.
And I drink.
The answer to my hunger—the hunger that has plagued me since I first saw Victor Rogan in a photograph.
The hunger I fear will never be sated by anything but his blood.
I drink.
And I drink.
Surely he’ll stop me.
Surely he’ll…
But he doesn’t.
He allows me to feed.
I’m ravenous. So ravenous. Yes, I fed from a bag earlier. Yes, I fed from a man earlier.
None of that matters.
All that matters is this man. This blood.
With every drop of his blood I ingest, I feel my strength returning, my body healing.
“Princess.”
His voice. A growl. Coming from somewhere outside the cloud surrounding us.
“Princess.”
You’ve had enough, Hannah.
Oh, but I don’t want to stop. His essence intoxicates me, strengthens me…
“Princess.”
I remove my teeth from his flesh and lick the wounds to coagulate them.
Then I step backward, meet his gaze.
His eyes are the dark green of a forest full of evergreens. They smolder. He growls again.
“My blood is on your lips, dripping down your chin. Fuck. Beautiful. I’ve never seen anything so—” He inhales, closing his eyes.
Then he clamps his mouth to mine.
I open, knowing he tastes his own blood on my tongue. The idea thrills me, enthralls me. His groans vibrate into me as we kiss.
His heart… My heart… Their beats don’t quite synchronize, and it’s music to my ears, beautiful in its discord. Our own disharmonic symphony.
Until he jerks away, breaking the kiss.
“Fuck,” he growls.
“Sounds good to me,” I say.
“What is it about you?”
He’ll jump through all kinds of hoops to get to you.
“I don’t know. What is it about you?”
“I let you take my blood.”
“Yes, you did.” I clear my throat. “Thank you. It was…” Delicious? God, so much more than that. Luscious? Intoxicating? Fucking glorious? “Good.”