Page 5 of His Eternal Temptation

No one else should be responsible. Lane had come to Rowan. He was an enemy, but their conflict had been resolved when the Blackburns were banished from the city. The more Rowan considered, the more he realized it had been far too long for Lane’s arrival to be a renewed scheme on the Blackburns’ part, and Lane shouldn’t die for an old, resolved dispute even if he shouldn’t be in the city.

Of all Rowan’s enemies, Lane wasn’t evil, and Rowan’s hurt was mostly personal. Dying for that was wrong. Rowan had a code.

He shrugged off his suit jacket and bared his wrist, fangs dropping. “I’ll give him blood first, then suck out the curse.”

“Wait.” Hunter grabbed Rowan’s wrist. “It’ll be faster if we inject him.”

Rowan gave the doctor a startled look, the emotion slipping out unintentionally. Inject Lane with vampire blood?

“We don’t have minutes to waste.” Hunter rifled through one of the drawers, pulling out a syringe. “I did a study on different administration methods’ effects on healing time, and I wouldn’t bet on Lane having time to absorb the magic in your blood if he drinks it. Straight for the vein, and don’t argue. He’s looking blue.”

Rowan didn’t argue. Lane’s blue lips turned his stomach more than they should. He’d seen worse. Blood and gore and countless deaths. But Lane came to him for help. That felt vitally important.

Rowan ripped off the sleeve of his shirt and held out his arm. “Hurry.”

Hunter didn’t comment as he found Rowan’s vein with all the speed of a vampire phlebotomist.

Lane looked ghastly. Rowan didn’t usually see people die like this. Slow and sickly. Tonight notwithstanding, he didn’t lead an overly bloody existence. He executed enemies who killed and abused others, but he didn’t kill lightly, and was surrounded by immortals who never fell ill. He’d had witch friends die over his lifetime, but none like this: helpless and depending on him out of nowhere.

And none of those witches had been Lane, who was not a friend, not someone Rowan had thought of in a long time, but he was someone Rowan had considered—well, what he’d considered didn’t matter. Not now.

A memory surfaced despite Rowan’s attempt to avoid it. Lane in a mood-lit room, approaching with all the boldness of a twenty-five-year-old who considered himself hot shit. So full of vitality, and tempting in a way Rowan hadn’t expected. Forgotten longing filled him, unwelcome, the ache inside him increasing until it was unbearable.

Desperate.

Rowan shook off the memory. He didn’t have control over himself, which was unacceptable. And for what? Lane was an old, defeated adversary, nothing more. Saving him was the right thing to do, and Rowan always did the right thing as a matter of principle.

He’d also like more information. Lane had been too delirious for his warning to convey anything useful, if it were even true in the first place.

That was sobering. Just because Lane’s betrayal had been dealt with didn’t mean Rowan trusted him.

Hunter withdrew the syringe from Rowan’s arm. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get over how weird vampire magic is. None of this should work, scientifically speaking.” Lightning fast, he wiped Lane’s skin with an alcohol pad, found his vein, and pierced his skin with the same needle.

Watching his blood flow into Lane left Rowan oddly adrift, emotions swirling like a turbulent sea. With no time to question it, he grabbed Lane’s other wrist and bit, concentrating on the magic in Lane’s blood. He sucked, drawing the curse toward him. Lane’s blood tasted sour, tainted and wrong, but the curse posed no threat to Rowan.

Vampires weren’t undead as myths claimed. They possessed unending life, their immortality created by ancient witches in an effort to escape eternity in a damned afterlife. The gift of magic, bestowed upon humans when Eternals fell to Earth and sired half-human children, interrupted the natural human lifecycle of reincarnation, sending any mortal with magic to the Realm of the Damned upon their death. The only escape had been to never die, and so the first of Rowan’s species had slain a fallen Eternal—otherwise known as a demon—and stolen his eternal life.

It was all ancient history, and the shape of the afterlife had since changed. Vampire origins were largely irrelevant to Rowan’s day-to-day, but tonight he was extra thankful the hint of eternal magic in his veins meant no curse could permanently kill him. His immortal vampire magic could heal anything short of decapitation, a missing heart, and complete magical removal of his blood.

Rowan gripped Lane’s wrist tighter, drawing out cursed blood in large mouthfuls. Had they given Lane his blood in time? The small gift of immortal magic would heal Lane to a point. It wasn’t a cure-all when given to others.

He needed Lane to live. This death would affect him more than most; he was certain of it, even if he didn’t understand why. Or didn’t want to understand.

“His color is improving,” Hunter said, hope breaking through.

Already? Rowan didn’t feel any pain from the curse. He sensed nothing more than a prickle of magic. Clearly, it was no match for his healing ability.

The sour taste began to fade. Another few swallows, and Lane’s blood tasted clear.

Just as Rowan noted a spiced undertone to his blood, Lane gasped, and his eyes flew open. Rowan released his wrist and perfunctorily licked the wound closed, his attention locked on Lane’s gray-blue gaze.

Hunter pressed in close, blatant interest written all over his face. “That was faster than expected.”

Rowan was pleased to see Lane’s lips were pink rather than blue, his skin a healthy pale rather than tinged by death.

Lane clutched his chest, averting his eyes. He sucked in a deep breath as if testing his lungs. “You…you saved me.”

Rowan glowed with ridiculous pride. “It was a close call,” he said, voice level.