Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
DECLAN
"You’re important to me."
Donovan’s words wouldn’t leave my head. They looped, over and over, burrowing into the parts of me that still remembered what it felt like to be human.
I didn’t know what to do with them. Didn’t know how to hold them, how to believe in them when all I could feel was the steady, gnawing ache inside me.
My blood thirst spiked. Hard.
I clenched my jaw, trying to swallow it down, but it was relentless, an unyielding drumbeat inside my skull.
My throat burned. My muscles coiled, strung so tight they felt close to snapping. And Donovan’s scent, his heat, his pulse, was everywhere.
I caught myself staring at his neck again, at the way his pulse fluttered just beneath the surface, warm and alive. My fangs ached.
I forced my gaze away, my fingers curling into the sheets beside me. I had fed. A rat.
It had been disgusting, the fur and flesh unbearable, but the blood had been wonderful. Hot and thick, sliding down my throat like fire, igniting something deep in my bones.
But it had been hours ago. Maybe even a full day ago.
The relief had been fleeting, barely a flicker before the hunger returned, clawing its way back up my spine, making me feel desperate again.
I clenched my hands into fists. Don’t look at him. Don’t think about it.
"You’re hungry." Donovan’s voice cut through my thoughts.
I flinched. His eyes were on me, sharp and knowing, too knowing. He had caught me staring at the slender column of his throat.
I opened my mouth to deny it, to push him away, but before I could form the words, he moved. Slow. Deliberate.
He reached for the collar of his shirt, fingers hooking beneath the fabric, and pulled it aside, baring his throat to me.
"Why don’t you drink from me?" Donovan asked.
For a second, I stared at him stumped. A sharp, searing need shot through me, curling tight in my gut, making my head spin. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.
The hunger inside me roared, an insatiable, clawing thing that rattled inside my ribcage, demanding, frantic, so loud it drowned out every shred of rational thought.
No. How dare he? How dare he offer himself so freely, so recklessly, as if I wasn’t barely holding on by a thread? Didn’t he understand that I could lose control at any second?
That one wrong move, one moment of weakness, could mean the difference between me taking just enough and taking everything?
Didn’t he get it?
Didn’t he see the way my hands were shaking, the way my fangs ached, the way every muscle in my body was strung so tight I felt like I could snap apart at the seams?
And yet, he wasn’t afraid. Not the way he should have been. His heart pounded strong and steady, but not with fear, not really. His scent was warm, calm, sure.
Like he trusted me and that confused the hell out of me.
There had to be something wrong with Donovan.
Some kind of wiring issue, some missing piece of self-preservation that made him look at me, at what I was now, and not run.
Because if he was smart, if he valued his own life the way he should, he’d be terrified. He’d be miles away from me.
But instead, he was here, standing too close, breathing too evenly, staring at me like he could see right through me. Like he wasn’t just offering himself to me, like he wanted this.
I jerked back, shoving myself away from him so fast my vision blurred for a moment.
"You don’t know what you’re asking." My voice was rough, unsteady. I barely recognized it.
Donovan didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. His pulse remained steady, but his eyes serious.
"I do." His voice was quiet but firm. "I trusted you then and I trust you now.”
I let out a harsh laugh, bitter and sharp.
"You shouldn’t."
Donovan was still watching me, his expression unreadable.
"You don’t want to hurt me," he said simply.
I laughed again, this time lower, more broken. "That doesn’t mean I won’t."
Silence stretched between us. The tension was thick, pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t shake.
I could still see it, the line of his throat, the quick, steady rhythm of his pulse. I could still hear it, the rush of his blood beneath his skin, calling to me, tempting me, testing my control. I wanted it so badly.
The craving burned through me, hot and relentless, coiling in my gut like a living thing, whispering dark promises in the back of my mind.
I could taste it already, his blood, warm and rich, sliding over my tongue, filling the hollow, aching void inside me. It would feel so good.
Gritting my teeth, I forced my hands into fists at my sides.
"This is a really bad idea," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper, rough with want.
"It isn’t," Donovan countered immediately, firm, certain. "Actually, it’s probably for the best. If you feed from me, you don’t need to feed on anyone else."
His words sliced through the haze in my head. My gaze snapped to him, searching his face, because what the hell was he thinking?
He wasn’t afraid. Not even a little. His lips twitched, like he knew something I didn’t. Like he had already decided something.
"I don’t know what came over you—" I began, but he cut me off.
Donovan tilted his head slightly, his gaze piercing, unshakable.
"I’ve already told you," he said, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to make sure I heard every word. "You’re important to me, Declan."
My stomach twisted.
I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, desperate for something, anything, to ground myself.
Because this was dangerous. This, us, was dangerous. The heat between us shifted, grew heavier, thick enough to drown in.
I was close enough to feel him now, the warmth rolling off his skin, the steady rhythm of his pulse, the scent of him wrapping around me.
Familiar. Safe. Something I didn’t deserve.
I was still starving. Still holding onto my control by a thread. And yet, his words made sense. If I fed from him…
I swallowed hard, barely realizing I was entertaining the idea. Donovan leaned in, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down my spine.
He was too close. I should have pulled away, but I didn’t.
"Drink from me," he said again, softer this time. A command. A plea.
The hunger inside me roared, deafening now, drowning out my hesitation, my self-hatred, my fear. He was so close.
His pulse thrummed in my ears, louder than anything else, louder than the frantic pounding of my own heart.
His scent was intoxicating, thick with warmth, with life, with something familiar, something mine.
I was losing this battle. No. I had already lost.
Donovan tilted his head ever so slightly, a silent invitation, his breath warm against my cheek. "Take what you need," he whispered.
I let out a low, broken sound, and then I caved. With a ragged inhale, I gripped his waist and pulled him flush against me, burying my face in the curve of his neck.
I could feel his pulse hammering against my lips. I squeezed my eyes shut, my entire body trembling with restraint. I could still stop. No.
With a strangled sound, I sank my fangs into his skin. Donovan let out a sharp gasp, his fingers digging into my shoulders, but he didn’t push me away.
He held on. It was heaven.
His blood hit my tongue, and my body shuddered, every nerve ending alight with sensation.
It was like sinking into warm water after being trapped in a blizzard, like oxygen filling starving lungs, like finally, finally feeling whole. I drank deep, desperate, greedy.
I should have stopped, should have pulled away, but his hands were clutching at me, his body pressed tight against mine, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t.
This was everything I craved. Everything I hated.
A moan slipped from my throat, muffled against his skin. He tasted so good.
Warmth flooded through me, dulling the gnawing pain in my stomach, smoothing the jagged edges of my hunger. And then his fingers tangled in my hair, pulling slightly.
I almost lost myself completely. Too much. Too good.
I forced myself to stop, pulling back with a ragged inhale, my breathing uneven, my lips still wet with his blood, Donovan’s head lolled slightly, his eyes glazed, his lips parted.
"You okay?" I rasped, my voice rough with guilt.
He blinked up at me, dazed, his breathing heavy.
"Yeah," he whispered. Then, a faint, teasing smirk tugged at his lips. "Told you you'd feel better and honestly? I kind of enjoyed it?”
“You what?” I asked in disbelief.
“I thought it would hurt more but it didn’t,” he explained. Donovan flushed for no explainable reason. “The first moment did but after? It was kind of hot.”
I stared at him like I had never seen him before. Kind of hot?
He had just let me sink my fangs into him, let me feed from him, and instead of pulling away in disgust or fear, he was looking at me like he wanted to do it again.
Like he wanted more.
"Donovan," I said, disbelieving.
He just shrugged, his smirk softening, but there was something dark and knowing in his eyes. "Face it, Declan. You’re stuck with me,” Donovan said.
Before I could think of something, anything to say, he leaned in and kissed me. And I was gone.
A shudder rolled through me as his lips met mine, warm and insistent, like he had been waiting for this. Like he had been starving for this just as badly as I was.
I didn’t hesitate. I couldn’t. I kissed him back, hard, gripping the back of his neck and dragging him closer, needing to feel him, needing to take.
Donovan let out a quiet sound, half gasp, half moan, and the heat between us ignited, sharp and blinding. I could still taste his blood on my tongue.
He fisted his uninjured hand in my shirt, pulling at the fabric like he was trying to bring me impossibly closer. Like he wanted to be consumed.
I groaned, tilting my head, deepening the kiss, drinking him in like I had all the time in the world. He wasn’t fragile and he wasn’t careful.
He kissed me back with everything he had, reckless and eager, his fingers sliding under my shirt, pressing against my bare skin, burning hot.
I needed more and I needed him. I didn’t even realize I had lifted him until I heard the startled sound he made against my lips.
His legs wrapped around my waist like instinct, his breath hitching as my hands slid down to cup the backs of his thighs, holding him against me.
"Declan—" he started, but I swallowed his words with another kiss, carrying him across the room, barely able to think.
The world had shrunk to this moment, to him, his taste, his heat, the way his body fit against mine like it belonged there.
I kicked the bedroom door open, barely noticing the way it hit the wall, barely caring, because Donovan was already kissing down my jaw, making my head spin.
I dropped him onto the bed, following him down before he could take his next breath. His heart was pounding so loudly in my ears.
The hunger in my chest had shifted. No longer just thirst, but something deeper, something hotter, something I had been fighting for so long.
I ran my fingers up his sides, dragging his shirt up with them, desperate to feel him, all of him. Donovan arched into my touch, breathless, eyes dark with heat.
"You still think this is a bad idea?" he whispered, voice teasing, but there was something raw in it, something aching.
I cupped his face, brushing my thumb over his swollen lips. I should have said yes. Should have stopped but I didn’t.