Chapter 4

I fought against the urge to lean closer, to breathe him in deeper, to taste the power coursing through his veins. I was a wolf, and wolves don’t prey on each other. But the struggle was becoming more difficult with each heartbeat as my body reacted to his presence in ways I couldn’t fully comprehend.

“What are you waiting for?” Irritation dripped from his rich, cultured voice, each syllable a sharp jab. “Drink!”

“Who do you think I am, vampire?” I hissed, fighting against the primal urge within me. I willed my fangs to retract, but they remained defiantly extended, a cruel reminder of my hunger, which was intensifying with every passing moment. My muscles cramped, a taut reminder of my desperate need.

“A bit shy now?” he sneered, the amusement in his tone cutting deeper than any blade. “Considering how you used to be insatiable and drain everything in your path, this is quite the change.”

I frowned at him, “Don’t pin all this shit on me like the others!”

I struck a leg out toward him. He didn’t duck but let me hit him. I knew why now, as I winced at the blooming pain spreading through my ankle. I’d probably just slammed into marble.

I swayed where I sat, not from the pain of kicking the vampire but from resisting his blood. Hunger made my vision blur as the scent of his blood rushed toward my nostrils like Manna from the heavens. Or Birkins.

Jason sighed in exasperation and shoved his bleeding wrist to my lips.

“What the—”

As soon as his blood touched my lips, some magic seeped into me, rendering my will useless. I nearly let out a moan at the taste.

"Drink deeply," he said softly, his voice carrying a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. "You need strength to get out of here. I can’t afford you being a liability." His gaze bore into mine, unwavering and cold, but beneath it, there was something almost desperate. "It took a lot to get to you, and I don’t plan for the mission to fail simply because you can’t stand on your own two feet. Not after everything."

His words held a gravity that made my chest tighten, but I was too weak to argue. I tried to speak, but my throat was parched, the words catching like sandpaper. Before he could continue his lecture, I grabbed his arm with trembling hands and clamped my cracked lips around his wrist. My fangs sank in with little effort, piercing the already scarred skin. The familiar rush of copper and warmth filled my mouth, and I felt the subtle tension ripple through his body as his blood spilt into me.

I glanced up at him, my vision blurry with exhaustion, and caught the fleeting expressions that danced across his face—need, pleasure, and something I almost didn't recognize—regret. For a moment, his eyes softened, but the cold detachment quickly returned, hardening his features once more.

His blood flowed thickly, warm as it rolled over my tongue and down my throat, each drop smoothing the raw thirst that had clawed at me for hours. It wasn't just nourishment; it was life. I drank deeply, the sweet, metallic taste sating a hunger that gnawed deeper than I had realized. The moment stretched as my senses dulled, and I lost myself in the sensation.

Somewhere in the haze, I became aware of a low, primal sound in the air. It took a second longer to recognise it as my own—a mix between a growl and a purr, echoing from deep within my chest. I was making satisfied, monstrous noises, and for a split second, I felt shame creeping in, but it was drowned out by the overpowering need to drink more.

I didn’t stop until he pulled his wrist away, his arm slick with blood and the faintest tremor running through his hand. "That’s enough," he murmured, his voice strained.

No, I don't want to stop.

I was a bit shocked at my unbecoming behaviour and ordered myself to pull back, but I couldn’t let go of his wrist. I wasn’t strong enough to fight my own hunger, and nothing had ever tasted sweeter, more exquisite, or more powerful than the Vampire King’s blood.

Just one more mouthful, I told myself, not willing to dwell deeper on what I had become or would become while I succumbed to the temptation. Well, everyone had weaknesses, and I’d never said I was perfect.

One more mouthful of blood wouldn’t do any harm. The vampire was right that I needed strength to get the fuck out of here. Drinking his blood was the right thing to do. If I became a liability, I’d get him killed, and no one wanted that.

I wrapped my lips tighter around his wrist to suck in his blood faster. It was really tasty, and I hadn’t had a drop of water for days.

Then a sudden déjà vu crashed into me, as if I’d done this hundreds of times. Thousands of times.

A flood of witches speared my head, violent and jagged, tearing through my mind in relentless waves. I hadn’t just drunk from the vampires; I had drained entire human villages, their lifeless bodies strewn about like discarded dolls, piled at my feet. Their faces, gaunt and twisted in agony, burnt into my memory. The smell of death, the taste of fear—it all felt too vivid, too real. And no one—no one—had been able to stop me until—

A black wall slammed down abruptly, severing the stream of horrific visions. The flood of carnage ceased, but the aftertaste lingered like poison in my veins. My heart raced, pounding in my chest as if trying to break free of the memories that still clawed at the edges of my mind.

I blinked hard. The weight of the silence that followed was deafening, my thoughts a chaotic whirl. Fuck. What had just happened? I realised too late that I had glimpsed something I shouldn’t have—his memories, his impressions. The Vampire King’s dark, predatory gaze locked with mine as he erected his mental shield, cutting off the nightmare i witness before they could overwhelm me.

Shock reverberated through me. I had seen myself through his eyes, and what I saw was nothing short of monstrous. I was horror incarnate, a nightmare made flesh. The realisation left a bitter taste in my mouth. If he thought so little of me, then perhaps... I should drink more. The dangerous thought coiled in the back of my mind. Maybe if I took just a bit more, I could pull more fragments of his memories. Learn more. Control more. The ones I’d caught were harsh and unflattering, but knowledge was power, and I was ravenous for it.

"That’s enough, Ollivara!" he snarled, his voice low but sharp as a blade. He yanked his wrist away from me, though the pleasure was still evident on his face—his lips slightly parted, his expression twisted in a mix of ecstasy and anger. His reaction betrayed him—the conflict between his desire and his control. I could feel his restraint fraying.

But I didn’t want to stop. It was intoxicating, like a child tasting candy for the first time and unable to let go of the sweetness. His blood thrummed through me, filling the hollowness inside, and I hungered for more; I craved it like a drug. My grip tightened as my fangs dug deeper, pulling more of his life force into me.