Page 43 of On Broken Bonds

I shift my weight, studying her. The honest answer makes no sense. I should've stayed inside. I should've ignored Valtor's little game. I should've left Thorian's partner to solve her own problems.

Instead, the moment I saw she was in danger, I'd gone after her.

“I'm not sure,” I admit.

Her brow furrows. “That isn't reassuring.”

“No, but it's honest.”

She studies me, as though trying to determine whether I'm making fun of her.

I grin. “Suppose I've always had a soft spot for beautiful women.”

“Right.”

“You don't believe me.”

“Not particularly.”

Now, I do pout. “Cruel.”

“Realistic.”

“Those are usually the same thing.”

Her laugh slips out before she can stop it. I find myself smiling in response, which is a dangerous development.

The scent grows stronger. No, not stronger exactly. Nearer.

Without realizing it, I've taken a step toward her. Then another. She doesn't seem to notice. Or if she does, she doesn't retreat.

“Are all vampires this strange?” she asks.

“Absolutely not. Most of them lack my charm and heroic beauty.”

That earns another laugh. The sound settles unpleasantly deep in my chest. Then she reaches up to push a loose strand of hair behind her ear and suddenly hisses.

The noise instantly gets my attention.

“What happened?”

She lowers her hand. A tiny bead of blood glistens at the tip of one finger. And suddenly I know exactly what I've been smelling.

Oh. The realization hits with startling force. The scent that has been wrapping itself around my thoughts all this time isn't the flowers. It isn't the garden. It's her. And it’s… so different from any blood I’d smelled before.

“It's nothing,” Nyx says. “One of the thorns got me.”

Nothing.

Right.

My gaze remains fixed on that smear of crimson. The craving that follows is deeply inconvenient. I've spent years mastering my thirst. Years enjoying complete control over it. Yet standing here, watching the blood on her fingertip, I suddenly understand why young vampires make such spectacularly bad decisions.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

The concern in her voice is almost funny.

“No,” I say honestly.