Chapter 24 Sable
SABLE
I’d been pacing the main room of the safe house for twenty minutes, my bare feet finding every loose board and worn plank, while Rhys sprawled on the leather couch with his eyes closed.
He was watching me through his lashes, watching every movement with the patience of a predator who’d already decided his prey was caught.
Rhys was a beta with alpha energy, and I still had to get used to that.
It was the signature of the Orions. I’d felt the same thing in his brothers when I’d touched them.
Those brothers were the least of my concerns now.
A vampire had appeared at the border, and I’d reacted like someone who knew exactly what they were capable of.
Because I did. I was giving myself away, and what had been a lifelong secret was on the verge of bursting out of my every pore.
The presence of vampires was bringing my nature out to the fore.
Rhys was watching me as if he were solving a puzzle. I pretended I couldn’t feel the weight of his suspicions.
The proximity was helping with the bond damage—keeping the worst of the hollow ache at bay—but something else was building.
“You’re going crazy,” Rhys said.
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
How could I say it was about how to explain why I knew vampires were coming before anyone else scented them? About why my first instinct was to assess my escape routes instead of defensive positions. About how I recognized them, beyond their being a threat.
“Nothing important,” I lied.
“You’ve been ‘thinking’ since we got here. At some point, thinking becomes brooding.”
I completed another circuit of the room, noting how the afternoon light streaming through the windows made his hair look like spun gold. His pulse beat steadily in his throat, visible even from across the room. The scent of his blood was becoming more noticeable with each passing hour.
That last thought should have alarmed me more than it did.
“Sable.”
“What?”
“Stop. Moving.”
I froze mid-step, every muscle in my body going taut.
It wasn’t that he’d commanded it—I’d spent too many years watching the dominance displays of Heraclid alphas to be impressed—but because something in his tone made the thing I’d been suppressing for days lift its head like a snake tasting the air.
Hunger.
“Since when do you give me orders?” I asked. My voice came out lower than intended. I looked away from him, hoping to break the enchantment.
“Apparently since you started looking at me like I’m dinner.”
The words hit like ice water. I spun to face him, and I saw the way his nostrils flared as he scented the change in me. His pupils dilated despite the bright afternoon light and his hands gripped the arms of the couch.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Even as I said it, I could feel my canines lengthening. Just slightly. Enough to press against my lower lip when I spoke.
His eyes dropped to my mouth, and his throat worked as he swallowed hard.
“Your eyes,” he said quietly. “They’re different.”
Shit.
I turned to the window and caught my reflection in the glass. Silver eyes stared back at me, pupils elongated like a cat’s. The irises I’d worn my entire life had been consumed by metallic light that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
His heartbeat.
“This isn’t happening,” I whispered. My voice carried harmonic undertones that made the glass vibrate. My vampire nature was coming out against my will.
Behind me, I heard him stand. His sharp intake of breath. “Sable.”
I didn’t turn around. If I looked at him with these intense eyes, with fangs pressing against my tongue and hunger clawing at my ribs like a caged thing, I might do something we’d both regret.
Or worse, something we’d both want.
“Stay back,” I managed.
“Like hell.”
His scent hit me as he moved closer—pine and wolf musk and all Rhys, and it made the predator in me purr with satisfaction. But underneath that, something made my mouth water and my newly emerged fangs descend fully.
Blood.
Fresh blood under his white T-shirt, seeping slowly from those wounds that wouldn’t heal. The ones I’d given to him. The metallic tang carried promises my vampire nature recognized as both sustenance and salvation.
I whirled around before I could stop myself.
The wounds were actively bleeding, looking as fresh as the moment I’d inflicted them.
“You’re bleeding again,” I breathed.
He looked down at himself, surprise flickering across his features as he took in the spreading stains on his shirt. “These were almost closed yesterday.”
They weren’t almost closed now. They were open, weeping, creating thin rivulets that traced the contours of his chest like some cosmic joke designed specifically to test my control.
My vampire nature surged forward with the subtlety of a tidal wave. Wounded. Vulnerable. Ours.
“Rhys.” His name came out as a growl that made him tense up.
“Your teeth,” he said, wonder filling his tone as he came closer. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”
I pressed my lips together, trying to hide them, but it was too late. He’d seen. He knew what I was becoming—what I’d always been beneath the careful control.
The room seemed to contract around us. Every breath he took carried the scent of his blood directly into my lungs, and my body responded with hunger so acute it was almost painful.
“If your wounds are reopening, this is bad,” I whispered.
“How bad?” He lifted his shirt.
Before I could answer, one of the wounds on his chest opened further. I watched in horrified fascination as the longest cut—the one that traced from his collarbone to just above his heart—split wider, sending fresh blood soaking through cotton like an offering.
The scent hit me. Rich and copper-bright. Buzzing with the life force that vampire legends were built on.
My knees buckled and I fell to the floor.
“Sable!” He moved toward me, but I held up a hand to stop him.
“Don’t.” The word came out strangled. “Don’t come any closer.”
“You’re falling apart.”
“I’m managing.” But I wasn’t. The hunger was building, layer upon layer, until it was all I could taste. All I could think about. His blood. His life force. The way it would feel flowing down my throat, warm and vital and his.
My vampire nature whispered seductive promises. Just a taste. Just enough to stop the burning. He’s bleeding anyway—we’d be helping him. Healing him. Taking only what was already lost.
“Sable.” His voice was growing desperate. “What’s happening to you?”
“I’m turning into exactly what you think I am.”
Understanding dawned across his features. “A vampire.”
“Half-vampire.” The distinction felt important.
“The side I’ve been suppressing my entire life.
You’re bleeding, and I can smell it, and this bond has stripped away everything I’ve always used to control it.
” I forced myself to stand, to put distance between us, but the hunger followed me like a living thing.
“I’m fighting it. There’s this need telling me to—”
“To what?”
The question hung in the air.
“To feed,” I whispered.
The word seemed to echo in the small space. His eyes darkened.
“Would it help?” he asked quietly.
“Help what?”
“This. Us. The way we’re both falling apart.”
I tried to process what he was suggesting. Because he was right—we were both falling apart. The damaged bond had caused dependency, and it was making our supernatural natures war against each other. My vampire side was emerging while his wolf couldn’t heal his wounds—they refused to close.
Our bodies were rejecting the separation we’d tried to create. Denying what we were.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never… I mean, I’ve always suppressed this side of my nature. I don’t know what happens if I feed. I don’t know what it might do to the bond. To us.”
“But you think it might help.”
The honesty in his voice broke something open inside my chest. “Yes. Maybe. The hunger isn’t just for blood—it’s for connection. For the kind of intimacy feeding creates between vampire and…” I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
“And prey,” he finished for me.
“You’re not prey.” The words came out fierce, protective. “You’re…”
“What?”
I met his eyes, letting him see the silver fire burning there. “You’re mine.”
His breathing went shallow, controlled, like he was fighting not to show how much the blood loss was affecting him. But his eyes…
His eyes were locked on my mouth. On my fangs. And there was no fear there anymore.
There was a hunger that matched my own.
“You want this,” I whispered, shocked by the realization.
“I want you to stop hurting.” His voice lacked any pretense. “I want us both to stop falling apart. If this helps…”
“It’s not just about helping.” I moved closer, drawn by forces I no longer had the strength to resist. “Feeding creates a bond. A connection deeper than what we already have. Once I taste your blood, once that connection forms, there’s no going back.”
“Going back to what?”
“To pretending we’re not what we are to each other.”
That was what we’d been doing, wasn’t it? Pretending the mate bond was just magical dependency and that the pull between us was an inconvenience rather than an inevitability.
We were pretending we didn’t want this as much as we needed it.
“I’m tired of pretending,” he said quietly.
“Are you sure?” I moved closer until I was touching his arm, and the contact sent sparks racing up my spine. “Once I start, I might not be able to stop easily. And you… you might not want me to.”
“How do you know?”
“Because vampire feeding isn’t just taking blood. It’s sharing life force. Emotions. Memories. Everything that makes you who you are.” I studied his face, looking for any sign of hesitation. “You’ll feel what I feel. Want what I want. And I’ll feel the same from you.”
“And what do you want?” His voice had gone rough, deeper than usual. He grabbed my arm and gently pulled me down until I was kneeling in front of him on the couch.
The question was a trap, and we both knew it. Because the answer would change everything between us, would strip away the last pretense that this was about survival rather than something deeper.
“You,” I whispered. “I want you. All of you. In ways that terrify me.”
He reached out slowly and cupped my face in his palm. His thumb traced the sharp edge of my cheekbone, then brushed across my lower lip. When it encountered the tip of one fang, we both went very still.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“The fangs? No.”
“The hunger.”
I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch. “Yes.”
“Then take what you need.”
When I opened my eyes, his were dark with desire and intent. He was ready for me. He wanted me.
“Where?” I asked, and my voice had gone completely inhuman again.
Instead of answering with words, he exposed the long line of his throat. The gesture was pure submission—a wolf offering his most vulnerable spot to a predator. The trust implicit in it made my chest tight with an emotion I didn’t want to name.
“Not there,” I said quickly. “Too dangerous.”
“Then where?”
I studied his body, vampire instincts cataloguing options. The throat would be fastest, most efficient, but one wrong move could kill him. The wrist would be safer but less intimate. The chest—near his heart—would be…
Perfect.
“Here.” I placed my palm over one of the bleeding wounds, and he sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s already open. Already bleeding. I’ll just redirect the flow.”
His hand covered mine, pressing it more firmly against his chest. “Will it hurt?”
“I don’t know.” The honesty felt brutal. “I’ve never done this before.” I inhaled, keeping my dark heritage at bay as long as I could. “I need you to be sure,” I whispered. “Once I start, the connection will form whether we want it to or not.”
“I’m sure.” His pulse was racing under my palm, and I could smell the complex cocktail of fear and anticipation.
“Rhys—”
“I’m sure.” He growled in command, “Do it.”
The permission released something primal inside me. My vampire nature surged forward, no longer held back by conscious thought or moral reservations. My fangs descended fully, and I could feel my features shifting—more angular, designed for hunting.
For feeding.
He pulled off his shirt, and I leaned over him slowly, placing a knee on the sofa.
I had to give him time to change his mind, to pull away, to remember all the reasons this was a terrible idea.
He didn’t move, didn’t flinch when my fangs brushed against the skin of his chest, just beside the wound that had been calling to me. Right by his heart.
“Last chance,” I murmured against his skin.
“Take it,” he breathed. “Take what you need.”
So I did.
The first puncture was gentle and precise, designed to widen the existing wound rather than create new trauma. His body went rigid beneath me, an exhale escaping his lips, but he didn’t move.
The first drop of blood touched my tongue, and the world exploded into sensation.
I tasted everything he was. Pine forests and mountain storms and pack loyalty and fierce protective love that took my breath away. The hunger that had been clawing at me disappeared in an instant, replaced by euphoria so intense it was almost overwhelming.
His essence…
His memories, his emotions, the way his wolf recognized me as mate despite everything that had happened between us… The feeding created a connection deeper than anything I’d ever experienced—physical sustenance and emotional intimacy that terrified me with its intensity.
And he was feeling it too.
I could sense his shock as my life force mingled with his, the way his body responded to being fed from. He hovered on the edge of ecstasy. His hands tangled in my hair.
“Sable,” he gasped, my name torn from somewhere deep in his gut.
I tried to pull back, to break the connection before it went too far, but his grip tightened.
“Don’t stop,” he pleaded, throwing his head back against the cushions. “Please don’t stop.”
The desperation in his voice broke the last of my restraint. I fed deeper, taking a little more than I should have, and he gave it willingly.
The bond between us, damaged and desperate, seized on the exchange. It was knitting itself back together, not healing so much as evolving into something new. Something that required this kind of intimacy to survive.
“Fuck,” he moaned.
Neither of us wanted it to end.