Chapter 38
It takes me more time than I’d like to admit to pick myself up off the floor and put myself back together.
Zeke’s words didn’t just bruise my ego; they flayed me to the core.
I don’t know why he affects me this way.
His tone has been consistent since I arrived here, much like Aamon’s.
He has no interest in me, and he’s given me no reason to believe otherwise.
But if Aamon’s mind could change . . . then maybe Zeke’s could, too.
I shake my head, rising to my feet and dusting myself off.
I shouldn’t want his attention. I don’t need him to accept me.
I have three amazing males right here in this clubhouse, ready and waiting to fulfil my every want.
It’s enough. But even as I let the words echo through my mind, settling the ache in my heart, I recognize them for what they are. A lie.
Voices rumble from down the hall and I lean against the island to quickly collect myself. I swipe the dampness away from my cheeks and will my body to calm, attempting to act casual as the males enter the common space.
“There you are,” Quinn chirps, snaking a hand around my waist from behind and softly kissing the shell of my ear.
“Here I am,” I say, my voice quiet as I force a smile and look back over my shoulder at him. “Sorry, I just couldn’t sleep anymore. Didn’t want to wake you.”
He lingers beside my ear, humming softly as he tightens his hold, and I can feel the outline of him against my ass.
“Hungry?” Aamon asks from across the island, and my head snaps up to meet his gaze.
Suddenly I’m caught between the two of them again, Quinn’s hunger behind me and Aamon’s intensity before me.
Both males are nothing short of ravenous.
For me, I realize, as I feel the electric force crackling in the air of the small kitchen.
I swallow hard, and it’s almost enough to forget the events that transpired with Zeke. Almost.
But that doubt creeps in, the small voice inside of me saying I'm not wanted by these males, that their attention is nothing more than physical.
That they'll surely get bored soon and discard me.
Just as Zeke had when he walked away from me today.
Just as my father had when he banished me weeks prior.
Everybody rejects me. Eventually.
“Angel.” Aamon catches my attention when I don’t immediately answer. I force myself to nod, even though I can't stomach the idea of food right now. “Famished.” I force another tight-lipped grin.
Aamon watches me for a moment but doesn’t challenge me to share where my mind’s gone.
Quinn lets go of me, his presence at my back a black hole that nearly cripples me.
But to my surprise, he doesn’t head towards the stove to whip up breakfast. He heads towards the fridge, leaning in as he pulls the metal door open, grabbing something from inside.
He turns, tossing it at me and I somehow manage to catch it without even thinking.
I blink, looking down at the blood bag. He’s just handing it over to me like it’s nothing.
Like this isn’t their livelihood. Like I’m not draining them dry with every second they spend taking care of me.
Reluctantly, I set the bag down on the island.
It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, forcing my fingers to release the blood.
But I make myself, clamping down on the ache deep inside my belly and echoing through my bones. “I”m okay, actually.”
Quinn straightens, cocking his head to the side. “You need to eat,” Aamon calls out from behind me. Quinn’s inquisitive look slips from me to Aamon, and a hint of amusement creeps across his features.
“That’s rich, coming from—”
“She’s fresh.” Aamon cuts Quinn off. “Blood priority goes to the freshest amongst us. And the less she eats, the harder it will be for her to get along with the Arcane inside her.” He comes around the island, into my field of vision as he crosses his arms over his bare chest.
Fuck, why is he never wearing a shirt? And why can’t I stop staring? Oh right, it probably has something to do with the two . . . no, make that three orgasms he gave me last night.
“And seeing as how the Arcane is what kept us from almost losing you yesterday, I’d feel a lot more comfortable if we try and keep it happy.” His eyes flick down to the blood bag on the counter and my fingers twitch in response, mere inches away. He dips his head, motioning for me to pick it up.
But I hold strong. He may have a point, but I’m reluctant to give in. Perhaps it’s because I truly don’t want to be indebted to Andras. Or perhaps it's because I love the look he gets in his eyes when I defy him. “I’ll drink if you drink.” I level my gaze at him, quirking my brow in challenge.
I don’t fully understand what’s going on between Quinn and Aamon, or between Aamon and feeding in general. But I’ve been among them long enough now that I’ve caught on to the way that Aamon rarely feeds—way less frequently than the other males—and the way Quinn is always fussing after him about it.
“Oh fuck yes,” Quinn growls, sliding past us and reaching into a cupboard on the other side of the kitchen, producing two tumblers. He returns to our side, slamming them down on the island between me and Aamon and breaking open the blood bag to fill each of them.
The metallic scent hits me as soon as he starts pouring, and I nearly snap.
I flinch, forcing my body to go rigid so I don’t jump Quinn and wrestle the whole bag out of his hands.
Gods do I want it all to myself. But I tamp down on my resolve, clinging to the tiny bit I can fabricate, and stick to my plan.
Aamon is watching all of this take place—Quinn pouring the blood, me trying to remain in control—with a stoic surety on his face.
He seems completely unfazed by the blood, or at least exceptionally skilled at hiding how it affects him, and I find myself sneering at him in frustration.
Quinn finishes his task and steps back, sticking the tube of the bag in his mouth and sucking down his own serving as he watches us.
“Ladies first,” Aamon drawls, nodding down to the glasses. My lips curl up into a devious grin.
“How do I know you'll keep your word?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest. To my surprise, he steps forward, pinching my chin between his thumb and forefinger.
“Angel, I always keep my word.”
I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him—rain, water running over river stones, the smallest hint of something earthy like moss or soil.
He drops his hand, but it doesn't land by his side. Instead he reaches for his glass, his fingers curling around it and lifting it slowly to his lips. He doesn’t break eye contact with me as he swallows it down in one go, sending a wave of desire straight through me.
Fuck, why is everything he does so ridiculously hot?
He pulls the glass away, smacking his bloodstained lips as he sets it down on the counter. “Your turn,” he purrs.
“Hmm.” I let my eyes dart to his mouth, debating leaning forward and licking up the remnants of blood threatening to slip down his jaw; but he’s faster than me, and the motion of his tongue working over his lips has my core going molten. “I think I’m good, actually. Had a big dinner last night.”
I can see the flare in his eyes as he’s reminded of the encounter. “Angel,” he warns, and the word sounds like lust on his tongue. “Drink. Now.”
I take a step backwards. That’s it, just one tiny step.
He’s on me before I can do more, his hand around my throat, pulling me into him so that my head tips up at the sudden movement.
And before I can understand what he’s doing, his thumb is digging into the dimple of my chin and popping my mouth open.
He’s so incredibly strong, and even with my newfound power, I’m completely at his will. He lifts the other glass above my head—I hadn’t even seen him pick it up—and pours the thick, crimson liquid into my mouth.
“Swallow,” he orders.
I can’t seem to do anything but obey. It’s not just the desire pooling low within me, some innate need to please him. It’s more than that. Like the magic in my veins can’t or won’t say no to him. Not when it's a direct order like this.
But I can barely focus on what it means as the blood hits my tongue.
My eyes flutter closed and pure bliss explodes behind my eyelids.
It’s not quite as good as when I fed from Aamon or Quinn, but damn is it close.
I understand what Aamon warned me about now.
This pleasure, this feeling . . . I'll be spending every waking moment of my life chasing after this. It’s better than sex, better than any high I’ve ever experienced.
And I could see how one could easily lose sight of anything else but the bloodlust.
Too quickly, the stream is cut off and I open my eyes to find Aamon setting down the now empty glass beside his own.
His hand on my throat recedes, but his thumb darts out at the last second to swipe away the blood pooling at the corner of my mouth.
He takes his thumb between his lips, sucking as he holds my gaze and steps back.
Quinn’s slow clapping breaks me from Aamon’s spell.
I lick my lips, running a hand through my hair as I try to bring myself back into the present.
“That was—” Quinn shakes his head, pushing off the counter and taking a deep breath.
The bag of blood he was finishing off lies on the counter behind him, empty and discarded.
“I mean, wow. The tension? The pour? The bloodbound magic?” I cock my head, ready to ask him what he means, but he brings his fingers to his lips and makes a kissing sound. “What a beautiful, erotic moment.”
“Fuck off,” Aamon grumbles, turning away and taking the two glasses to the sink.