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“Well now,” he murmurs, a smile spreading across his face that doesn’t reach those cold eyes, “things just got very interesting.”
He leans in even closer, his lips nearly brushing my ear as he whispers a single word that turns my blood to ice.
“Mage.”
CHAPTER 26
• King Kylian •
MY HUNGER CLAWS to the surface as the door slams behind me.
It’s not the slow ache I’ve learned to live with over the years, this is something feral, immediate and all-consuming. A pressure builds behind my eyes, sending lightning down my spine. A warning that if I don’t feed soon, something will break, and this time, it won’t be the walls or the bones of those who cross me.
This time, it might be my mate.
I don’t know how I’ve lasted this long. Not feeding was reckless, knowing how rabid I can become.
I descend into the cargo hold, the air thickening with each step downward, the scent of humans intensifying until it hangs like a fog. Sweat. Fear. Filth. Old blood. The cocktail that has sustained me for centuries, the smell that should make my mouth water and fangs ache with anticipation.
Instead, my body recoils. My stomach turns in on itself, a convulsion of rejection that nearly doubles me over. What the fuck is happening to me? I clutch the bars of the first cell to steady myself, then move to the next, needing to find someone to bleed since I can’t stomach bloodbags right now.
The next cell has a man inside who looks up, eyes widening as recognition dawns.
“Please, my king, I . . . I’ve given twice today. I don’t—”
I reach in, fist closing around his collar, hauling him close enough that his face presses against the bars, close enough to scent properly. His pulse hammers against my fingers, a rhythm that should call to me like a siren.
Rot. Not decay, but wrongness. His blood smells like something that’s already been leeched too many times. Like desperation soaked deeply into his flesh, tainting every cell until there’s nothing of value left. Like ash and emptiness.
I shove him back hard enough to send him crashing into the bars on the opposite side of the cage, his head snapping back with the impact.
The next cage. A woman. Her eyes are already wet with tears as I approach, body trembling so violently her teeth rattle. Her scent hits me, and my stomach turns again.
Sour. Sharp. Fear-laced and empty, like watered-down wine left too long in the sun. My fangs refuse to extend, my body rejecting her automatically.
“No,” I snarl, more to myself than to her.
I rip open a different cage door, metal screaming as it bends under my strength. Then another. I drag them closer, one by one, fury building as I scent them all. Young. Old. Male. Female. Their blood all smells the same. Off, diluted, wrong. Like ash in my mouth before I even taste it.
My hands shake as I hurl the last one back, his body hitting the floor with a dull thud. This has never happened. Not once since the curse began. Human blood is good blood, some sweeter, some richer, all eventually curdling and turning to rot because of my curse. But I can’t even force myself to feed off them like usual. It’s like my body is rejecting them and refusing to obey.
I let go of the man I’m clutching. “Get away from me,” I roar, sending him sprawling with a sob.
I stagger back, breath coming too fast, chest tight with panic. I haven’t felt this way since I was much younger. Hunger burns hotter and meaner. My body demands blood but refuses everything offered.
Because it already chose.
The realization hits like a fist to the gut. Her blood. Her magic. Her scent. It’s ruined me for anything else. Made me dependent on her in a way I’ve never been dependent on any living thing.
Eagan appears at my side, calm as ever, though his eyes flick briefly to the wreckage I’ve left behind, bent cell doors, cowering humans, one guard unconscious against the far wall. I don’t remember striking him. Hunger is making me sloppy. Dangerous.
“You need to feed,” he says evenly. “Shall I fetch a servant to bleed?”
“No, I can’t stand them,” I snap, fangs finally extending at the sheer frustration surging through me. They cut into my lower lip, drawing my own blood. Even that tastes wrong now.
“Well, you’ll have to figure out something. You need blood, my king.”
“Don’t you think I fucking know that?”
