Chapter 30
Drop the knife and run, drop the knife and run, drop the knife and run.
Drop the knife.
And fucking run.
It’s a simple communication from her brain to her muscles. She should be able to do it.
But instead, Mallory can only stare in paralyzed horror as Ezra wraps a hand around hers, forcing her to press the knife even tighter to his throat. Blood runs down his neck in tiny rivulets, trailing over her knuckles, her wrist.
“Stop,” she whimpers to the dark thing inside him, burying the sudden, electric flash of hunger at the sight of the open, dripping wound. “Don’t hurt him.”
The creature that’s taken hold of Ezra only barks a harsh laugh. He swipes at the slashed skin with his free hand before smearing wet, red fingers over Mallory’s lips. Coating them with Ezra’s blood.
Sudden thirst explodes in her stomach. She clenches her jaw, burying it down, down, down—
“Look at you,” that voice growls. “Trying so hard to pretend you’re not hungry. That you’re not craving this.” He traces the seam of her mouth, vacant stare combing her face. “I told you I’d make you beg for death. How does it feel, living with my eternal need?”
Mallory can’t even process what he’s saying, overcome with the sudden feral instinct to lick her lips. She won’t. She won’t.
But then the demon forces Ezra’s fingers into her mouth, stroking her tongue. A whine escapes her as a warm, cinnamon-spiced flavor seeps onto her taste buds, hazardous and lush, and Mallory fights every muscle in her body not to take more, take everything.
That cruel smile widens as Ezra withdraws. He threads a large hand in her hair, guiding her toward his bloodstained throat. Mallory’s traitorous hunger multiplies, flimsy resolve cracking, and he notices with a purr. “There’s no dignity in starvation,” that creature muses. “Drink.”
Mallory frantically clutches what’s left of her willpower. But he smells so good. Like cloves and autumn. And she’s suddenly so hungry, so thirsty, so—
Ezra’s hand tightens on the back of her neck, closing the space between them until her lips are flush with his throat. She cries out at his taste, at the way he has her pinned. Something shatters inside her, messy and primal, and she has no choice but to surrender and feed.
There’s nothing demure about the way she does it.
She drains him the same way he’s taken from her.
Scraping his flesh with her teeth. Sucking at the flowing cuts without remorse.
The demon’s laugh darkens as Ezra’s blood fills her mouth, spilling out the sides, a mockery of her restraint until she finally finishes with a desperate, greedy swallow.
“There she is,” the demon purrs, stroking her hair. “Taking it so well.”
Mallory rips her mouth away, shamed at how she still wants more.
“Why am I like this?” Mallory chokes out. “Is it because you bit me? Fed from me through him?” She shakes her head. “Why didn’t you do this to the other women?”
Ezra scoops a droplet of blood from her chin, pressing it back between her lips.
“You’re special—your heart is the key to my salvation, Lily Flower.
My seventh perfect heart.” He whispers his knuckles over her cheek like she’s a cat with a collar.
“You almost slipped away from me, but I won’t lose you again. We’re nearly finished.”
“Salvation?” she echoes, delirious. “Finished? I don’t underst—”
“No more questions,” he interrupts with a hiss. “It’s time for a trade.”
Ezra pries the knife from her hand, twirling it before pressing her into the thorns. He wedges the blade under her chin, harshly tilting her face to his.
“Please,” she begs, “don’t, Ezra. It’s me, it’s me.”
“I play fair,” the beast growls. “An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.” Ezra presses his nose into her neck and takes a long inhale. Like he’s lingering in her scent. “Blood for blood.”
“I’m sorry,” she tries. “I don’t know the rules.”
She can feel the curve of his smile against her. He traces the cords of her throat with the knife’s tip, hooking it beneath her choker necklace.
“Why do you hide what’s under here?” that terrible voice snarls. “You should show the world who you belong to.”
And then he cuts the fabric in two, baring the marks to the night air.
Mallory gasps as Ezra’s hand hovers over her neck, remembering the agonizing sting from Victor’s touch. “Don’t—”
Ezra’s thumb connects with the marks—but there’s no white-hot spark of pain.
Instead, his hand brings a curl of unexpected, feverish pleasure.
A flame in her stomach, between her thighs.
Burning hotter and hotter as he caresses her swollen skin with those skillful fingers.
Confusion consumes her—why is her body betraying her like this, capitulating so readily to something so evil?
It’s like his bite woke something inside her that’s just as sinful, and they’ve been tied together since.
Mallory finds Ezra’s eyes in the shadows, fully black now. A latticework of veins erupts around his lashes, pulsing. His mouth has also changed, lips parted to reveal a glint of razor-sharp fangs.
She wonders if she looked like that when her hands were soaked in bunny blood.
Ezra lets out a hungry growl and lowers his mouth to her throat. “You’re going to look so pretty,” the demon purrs, “bleeding just for me.”
Mallory arches her neck obediently, as though attached to puppet strings. Treacherous heat throbs inside her as she anticipates the slice of his fangs, the whisk of that long, coaxing tongue.
“That’s my good girl,” he praises. He brushes a soft kiss over the puncture wounds. “This will be over soon.”
She sighs as he strokes her neck with the blade, running it lower and lower with each pass.
Parting her coat. Tracing her breasts, the space between them.
Her heart. She hardly notices. This will be over soon.
Her mother said that once. On a beach, near a towering bonfire licking the night sky.
Kiki had been there, too. Kiki, with her golden curls and bruised limbs.
Tears gather in Mallory’s eyes as she thinks about her mother in that white dress, the way she whispered those promises into the salt-drenched air.
It will all be over soon, it will all be—
Ezra eases his fangs into their rightful spot with a groan. Mallory’s lashes flutter—
Just in time to catch something barreling into Ezra’s shoulder from the other side.
He sails to the ground. The knife falls, and the other person snatches it without missing a beat. It takes Mallory several tries to blink her eyes into focus.
Saskia.
“Touch her again,” Saskia snaps, hovering over Ezra, “and I’ll fucking kill you.”
Ezra stares up at her, coat spread beneath him, long legs strewn amid dead leaves. For a second, he almost looks like himself again. But when he speaks, the demon’s voice seems to blend with his own, fangs catching the moon as he smiles.
“Evening, Saskia.”
Saskia’s eyes widen briefly at the low rattle in his tone, but then she points the knife closer. “Did you hear me? You’re going to leave Mal alone. You’re never going to touch her again. Is that clear?”
Ezra sits up slowly, elbows resting on his knees. He rubs at the cut on his throat, completely unfazed by the blade inches from his face.
“Is that clear?” Saskia repeats, and Mallory’s chest tightens as she hears it: the small crack in Saskia’s question, unveiling the fear that’s starting to slip through.
Ezra notices, too, that catlike smile deepening.
“Poor Saskia.” He reaches up to skim his fingers over her white hair. “Trying so hard to be brave, to be the knight in shining armor.” He cups her cheek, tapping the side of it like someone might do to a child. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you? You can’t rescue someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”
Saskia slowly looks at Mallory. And there’s something about her stare, the questions buried in it, that forces her to turn away.
She thinks about Ezra’s cinnamon-slick blood in her mouth, the way his hands on her neck filled her with desire.
How, moments ago, she was seconds away from letting him consume her.
Perhaps it’s not that she doesn’t want to be saved, but that she’s too far gone to even be found at all.
Ezra stands, raising the collar of his coat. “Besides,” he continues, in his normal voice now, “it’s already done.”
At that, Saskia scrambles to her feet and Mallory steps away from the thorny greens.
“What’s already done?” Mallory asks, and Saskia snatches her hand.
Shadows gather like storm clouds beneath Ezra’s cheekbones. His eyes, lingering between black and green, are blank as he stares down at them. He looks every bit the undead thing that’s been taking up residence inside him.
“What’s already done?” Mallory repeats, voice lowering.
But he only turns away, coattails swirling like a raven’s wing.
“Ezra!” she shouts, his name swallowed by a bite of wind.
He throws her an unreadable glance over his shoulder. The night seems to consume him, his silhouette disappearing into the blackened sky.
“Better get some sleep, Jules,” Ezra calls. “Hell Week may be over, but there’s a reckoning still to come.”