CHAPTER 20 #3
I freeze, unprepared for this direct approach.
“She’s new,” Revenant tells the bloodmaid, who offers me his hand. “Perhaps start with conversation rather than feeding.”
The young man nods. “As you wish, my lord.”
I shake my head frantically, a mix of confusion and disgust lodged in my throat. “I don’t drink from the vein.”
Revenant’s hand settles heavy on my shoulder, pressing just enough to anchor me, grounding me in place.
He leans in close, his lips nearly brushing my ear.
“It seems like you’re the one hiding what you really are.
” His voice is laced with accusation as he flips my own words back at me. “If you’d rather starve, be my guest.”
A bitter fire flickers behind my ribs.
Back home, ‘bloodsucker’ is a curse, something to spit out, a word that carries the sting of fear and loathing. It brands those who directly feed on others as monsters. Outsiders. Threats to everything human.
But here? It’s just a word thrown around like dust, meaningless and hollow. The realization turns my stomach sour. How many others have lost that line between predator and protector? How many pretend to be saved while they’re being devoured?
Revenant doesn’t need to do anything more than stand there, his presence looming like a shadow bearing down on my back. There’s no need for threats or violence. The shift in the air around me is enough to make my muscles tense and my breath catch.
It’s a silent command, unspoken but understood: resist, and I’ll find out just how far his patience extends. And for now, I’m not looking to test it out.
I hold back the dreadful sensation with a controlled gulp, hesitating, then place my fingers in the bloodmaid’s hand. His skin is warm, like Max’s once was, even feverish compared to the cool touch of vampires. Human. Alive.
I allow him to lead me to an empty alcove where he draws the curtain partway, revealing a small settee and side table that make the space feel both comfortable and discreet. He sits, patting the spot beside him.
“My name is Oliver,” he says as I sit. “This is my third season serving the Ravens.”
“Why?” I ask before I can stop myself. “Why choose this?”
He seems unbothered by my directness. “My family owns a farm, but the soil tends to be poor and the harvest unreliable. What I earn here in one month supports them for half a year.” He leans closer, his eyes bright with something like pride. “And I’m good at it. The Ravens always pay extra for me.”
“Good at being fed upon?”
“Good at making it pleasurable for both of us. There’s an art to it, you know. Finding the right vein, the right setting, the right moment.” He touches his neck. “When it’s done well, it can be transcendent.”
I bite back a retort about trauma bonding, dismissing his words as the delusion of someone manipulated into subjugation.
There’s no hint of coercion in his manner, no fear in his eyes. I won’t get through to him; he believes what he’s saying.
“You don’t have to feed from me,” he says, noticing my discomfort. “We can just talk, if you prefer.”
The offer is tempting, but my hunger has grown near impossible to ignore. The scent of blood fills the air as others feed around us, and my body responds with a desperate, primal need.
“I’ve never…” I begin, then stop. “I don’t know how to do this.”
Oliver’s expression softens. “I’ll guide you. Just follow my lead.”
He shifts closer to me, his movements calm and unhurried. With practiced ease, he unbuttons the first few closures of his shirt, exposing the curve where his neck meets his shoulder.
“Here,” he says, touching a spot just above his collarbone. “The skin here is thin, and the vein close to the surface. It will be easier for both of us.”
I lean in, my heart racing. Oliver’s skin is sparkly clean, carrying the faint spice of cologne, and beneath it all, the rich promise of blood.
My fangs extend fully, an automatic response I can’t control.
A sudden rush of power threatens to consume me, pulling me closer to the dangerous edge I’ve never dared to approach, restraint slipping like sand through my fingers.
“Slowly,” Oliver warns, his hand coming up to cup the back of my head. “Breathe with me first.”
I follow his instruction, matching my breathing to his. The rhythm calms me, centers me in the moment. When he guides my mouth to his neck, I no longer feel like a predator about to strike, but something closer to a participant in a dance whose steps I’m just learning.
My fangs pierce his skin with surprising ease. Something that feels like panic floods my chest, but it fades quickly, overtaken by desire.
Blood floods my mouth, hot and vital, nothing like the blodas from Penn City. The taste is exquisite, complex and layered, carrying notes of his emotions.
Oliver gasps, his fingers tightening in my hair. It’s not pain I sense in him, but intense pleasure. His pulse quickens beneath my lips, his body arching slightly toward mine.
I drink deeply, lost in the sensation. For the first time, I understand why vampires pursue as they do, why they risk everything for this one moment of connection. It’s not just about sustenance.
It’s about power and surrender, intimacy and distance, all wrapped in the primal act of feeding. Everything that Evan and Haden ever told me about bloodsucking is true. It’s deeply intoxicating, more so than the strongest bliskey Lou has ever made me.
It’s so overwhelmingly good that the world around me begins to blur, colors bleeding and twisting at the edges of my vision, all senses softening into a fiery haze that wraps around me like a warm, fuzzy blanket. My heart pounds with an intense, electric pulse, drowning out everything else.
I never want it to stop.