Chapter Twenty-Eight
Asher
I've cleaned the mess in the kitchen. The blood in the car. Texted Eira. Checked the perimeter for Kayden. Twice.
With nothing left to do, my mind circles back to what happened.
I promised I'd keep her safe, and my own brother broke that promise. Nearly did, anyway. The very thing she feared came true. Because of us.
Because of me.
I clench my fists, the tension burning through my forearms. I should've followed protocol. Standard containment procedure. Not instincts. Not… feelings. That's what happens when you stray from discipline.
To reset, I drop into push-ups. Let the motion drive the thoughts out.
Seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty—
A ping breaks the rhythm. Eira.
"She asked to come back. I'm bringing her now."
Damn it.
Forty minutes later, I hear the car outside. I open the door and wait, arms crossed. Eira steps out first, composed as ever. Night shifts never seem to frazzle her.
Sage follows.
She looks good. Confident stride. Eyes clear. No visible disorientation. The only sign of what happened is a fresh bandage on her arm.
"You sure about this?" I ask, skipping pleasantries. "I can pay for a hotel."
She meets my eyes. "Do you want to bite me?"
Always. But not like that.
What I say is, "No. I'm in control."
"Then I'm good." She smiles, small, but steady, and walks past me into the house.
I shake my head, exhaling through my nose.
"I have to get back," Eira says, returning to the car. "Take care of her."
"I owe you one."
"You don't," she replies. "It's what we do here."
And then she's gone.
I close the door and follow Sage into the house.
She stands near the fireplace, watching the flames crackle. The moonlight from the window cuts across her figure, casting cold silver against one side, while the firelight paints the other in warmth.
"You look better," I say.
She nods. "Eira helped. She also stopped in an old grove on the way. Just ten minutes there did more than the IV drip." Her voice softens. "It… grounded me. Healed the inside."
I allow myself a small smile. "You nymphs are mysterious creatures."
She turns toward me. "We are, I guess. Even I don't fully understand what I am."
A beat passes.
"Did you see Kayden?" she asks, stepping further into the room.
"Not since he found me," I answer.
She stops in the center, eyes on me. "And how are you?"
"I'm fine." I stay where I am. "But this… this situation is dangerous. You shouldn't stay."
Even as I say it, the words feel wrong in my mouth. Like betrayal.
She looks away, but not before I catch the flicker of pain. "Is that what you want?" she asks. "For me to go?"
"No." My voice drops lower. "But it's what makes sense. At least until the druid arrives. Maybe she can explain what's happening. With you. With your blood."
She looks back. Our eyes lock, and in that silence, everything else fills the space—the tension, the memory of what passed between us, the ache of what I let happen.
It would be easier to make her leave if not for what I've already allowed to grow… if not for how badly I want her to stay.
"What do you want?" I ask, voice steady.
She gives a small, almost exasperated smile. "What I want?" she repeats. "I should want to leave. I did. I tried. I ran from you—both of you. And part of it was because of the danger of what you are, especially to me."
I nod once. "I know."
She steps closer, arms crossing in front of her, mirroring my stance.
"But I don't want to run anymore. The me from six months ago would think I've lost my mind.
Staying with two vampires. Sleeping with two vampires.
And now… after everything, still wanting to be here.
" Her breath catches, but she keeps going.
"It doesn't make sense. But it also does. "
She glances away, jaw tight. "Kayden bit me. He lost control. But he got it back. He didn't drain me. He found you. And you—" Her eyes flick to mine. "You kept control the whole time. I was bleeding all over your car and you clung to your iron discipline."
I say nothing, letting her speak.
"I'm tired of being lied to. Of half-truths. Of being told who I am or what I should fear." Her gaze drops. "I want to know for myself."
She's still sorting it through, still speaking more to herself than to me. I wait. I could close the distance between us in a heartbeat, but I don't.
I won't.
Finally, she lifts her eyes again. "First… I want to tell you the truth. About my blood. What it actually does to vampires. It's not just the taste."
I brace.
"It gives a kind of illusion. For a while, after drinking it, it makes you feel alive. Like you did when you were human. It doesn't last long, but it's enough to make it something vampires crave once they taste it."
I process the words slowly. I'd suspected something unusual, but this… this changes the game.
"I understand why they'd hunt you for it," I say. "And why you didn't tell us." My tone softens. "Thank you. For telling me now."
If Kayden has enough of her blood in his system, he's likely confused, his senses turned human.
She steps forward again. Closer. Only inches between us. Her scent strikes me like it always does—earth, flowers, a sunny day.
"There's something else I want," she says.
I stay perfectly still. "What?"
"I want you to bite me."
I blink. It takes a second for the words to register. I step back instinctively.
"No," I say, shaking my head. "You don't."
Her smile is soft but steady. "I know it sounds crazy. It does to me, too. But Kayden stopped himself. And you said it yourself—he's more susceptible to bloodlust. You have control."
She pauses, searching for the right words.
"I want this to be on my terms. I want to know what it does. I want you to know. So it's not some mystery between us. So you can tell me exactly what it feels like. And maybe… maybe that'll help me understand myself better, too."
I grit my teeth. "Sage…"
She closes the remaining space between us, whispering, "Don't deny me that."
I close my eyes.
This woman. She doesn't just test my control—she annihilates it.
When I open them again, she's still there, watching me with an unshakable calm, like she knows exactly what she's asking for.
"You do realize," I murmur, "that you are the greatest test of my self-control since the day I was turned?"
Her smile curves slow and wicked. "Is that a yes?"
I exhale. Every instinct in me screams yes. Every ounce of training warns otherwise.
But there's a narrow path in between. And maybe—for her—I can walk it.
"All right," I say. "But not without precautions."
I step back, cross the room, and shift a painting aside. Behind it, a hidden safe clicks open beneath my touch. Inside: old identities, emergency cash, a tarnished medal I never talk about. A handful of keepsakes from lives I no longer live.
And a gun.
I retrieve it and hand it to her.
She frowns. "Really?"
"If I lose control, shoot me. It won't kill me," I say. "But it'll snap me out of it."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Then keep shooting. It hurts more than it should. That's the point." I pause. "Do you know how to use it?"
She answers by flipping the safety, checking the slide, and readying the grip like someone who's done this before.
I let the corner of my mouth tug into a smile. "Not such a defenseless forest creature, are you?"
I sit on the sofa and nod for her to come closer. She approaches with the gun in one hand and settles onto my lap with far too much grace. Her weight, her warmth, the shift of her thighs against mine—they fray my control instantly, though it's not the bite that flashes through my mind first.
My hands skim the sides of her waist. I guide her hand with the gun until it's resting against my ribs—close enough to disable, not kill. Just in case.
Her green eyes meet mine. Wide. Luminous. There's something in them—anticipation, maybe. Or nerves. Or both.
"Are you sure?" I ask again.
"Yes." A small and steady nod. "And I'll try not to put a hole in your side without a reason."
"I appreciate that," I say dryly. "I'll be gentle. But it is a bite."
She nods once more, then shifts her hair over one shoulder, exposing her neck. The movement is unguarded. Trust, in its purest form.
My gaze lingers on the delicate curve of her neck. I let go. Let the instincts rise. My breath deepens. My fangs descend with the familiar, aching snap.
The predator in me wakes. Not unchained, but unleashed.
My hands slide over her waist as I draw her closer. Her scent wraps around me, rich and dizzying. I can feel the staccato rhythm of her pulse beneath her skin, rapid and alive.
There's the gun at my ribs. A cold reminder of consequences.
I press a line of kisses against the soft column of her throat. Her breath catches, but instead of fear, she shifts against me, hips grinding ever so slightly. That sound she makes—a breathy gasp laced with desire—lights me up like a fuse.
Then I bite.
The moment my fangs sink into her skin, sensation explodes.
It's not just taste. It's heat and clarity and everything I've been denying.
Her cry, a moan of surrender, cuts through me.
I'm instantly, painfully hard. The rush of her blood, the sound of her breath, the feel of her body pressing closer.
I want more. Need more.
But I hold the line.
And the taste. Gods, the taste.
It's drinking sunlight. Not heat, not fire, but light itself. Pure and golden, liquid sun that does not burn me. Laced with softer notes: dew, nectar, something ancient and green. It blooms in me slowly, spreading from my chest outward, wrapping around my ribs like warmth after a long winter.
I drink deeper, and I want more.
The instinct to take everything surges up so fast it's dizzying, but the alarm in the back of my mind blares. I pull back before I lose the thread of control.
Her blood trails down her neck, red against pale skin. The sight claws at the predator in me, whispering: Go back. More. Just one more taste.
I close my eyes.
Breathe.