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“Then, come undone,” I breathed.

His teeth sank into me. Entering me with a dizzying intimacy that stole my breath. I gasped, fingers clutching into his shoulders, my body slamming against his. Heat flared through me. I could feel him drawing me into him—the living thread of my blood. There was pain, yes, but only a little. Mostly it felt good. Very, very good. Like a blissful fire spreading all through my veins.

Nyxaris groaned against my skin, the sound unguarded and raw.

“I need you,” I gasped. “Please.”

He shuddered. His mouth broke away, a growl slipping free. His hands tightened at my waist, lifting me. Then I was being laid down with infinite gentleness, my wet clothes pulled aside.

“I can’t be slow. This is … a bad idea.” He had to force the words out. I could see the frustration in his eyes.

“I don’t want slow this time,” I whispered. “Please.” I pulled him down on top of me, moaning as our bodies met. His skin was warm and bare, and the pressure of him on me felt so good. He trailed his tongue over the bite marks on my throat. I could feel the softness of stubble, ever so faintly, as I raised my hand to his cheek.

And then his fangs sunk deep as his cock slid between my thighs and he was filling me, draining me, lighting me on fire from head to toe, his fingers bruising my waist as he thrust and drank, thrust and drank.

It was creation and destruction. It was as natural as the rhythm of the waves. I cried out as he drove his hard length inside me, all thoughts of anything beyond him flying away. There were no walls, no barriers to keep us apart. My body melted beneath his touch. I came like a wave crashing on the beach. He wanted me. He needed me. And me? I loved him.

In this world and in any other, in this life or the next—I was quite simply his.

Chapter 11

MEDRA

Somehow, spring had crept over Bloodwing without me even noticing. Green shoots pushed through every crack in the stone paths. Ivy climbed the outer walls, new leaves curling. The air was different—warmer, softer, scented with earth and the moisture of growing things. It wasn’t an unwelcome change … compared to the odors of smoke and blood.

Veilmar was slowly healing. The rebuilding efforts continued at a steady pace, scaffolding rising up over the city where buildings had fallen. People seemed to have settled back into their normal lives, walking the streets again without constantly looking over their shoulders. There’d been a memorial in the city, held at the largest temple three days ago. Many students had attended. Candles were lit, and the names of all those who had been lost were read aloud by priestesses of the Bloodmaiden. I hadn’t gone, but Florence had told me about it. I couldn’t go. Not without Blake.

Classes had resumed. Some of them had new instructors. Lysander Orphos, of all people, was now teaching Professor Allenvale’s Botanical Alchemy classes. I knew Florence had mixed feelings about that: Allenvale had been her favorite instructor.

I walked by the greenhouse that morning to drop off a book Florence had forgotten in our room. I’d paused outside, unable to resist peeking in for a moment. Lysander stood behind the table at the head of the enclosed glass room, his long silver hair up in a practical bun. He’d been holding up a plant of some kind—Florence probably knew the name of it. I watched as he spoke to the class with calm, quiet confidence.

And that was when I’d realized it: We’d lost Allenvale, but her class would go on. Bloodwing would not close. Blightborns would be safe there—perhaps eventually, safer than they ever had been before. Lysander standing there was a small rebellion in itself. It was an act of defiance. The students were listening to him, and there was hope in the air. Fragile but real.

And yet, except for that brief moment, I didn’t feel hopeful for myself. I felt afraid. Panic was tight in my chest, and the feeling grew worse every day. Blake should have reached out. I should have felt something, shouldn’t I? If Vorago had him—if Blake was truly bound and controlled—then this absence meant even less sense. Vorago was brutal, merciless. If he’d struck the city once, why wouldn’t he strike it again? Surely he wouldn’t just be content to hide away and starve.

Unless they were both already dead. Maybe Blake had forced Vorago back into human form and then …

What if Blake was already gone? What if he’d been dead for days, and I couldn’t sense it or feel him because … there was nothing to sense? Nothing to feel? How long could I go on this way? Without Blake, I wasn’t just lonely, I felt like I was missing half of myself. I couldn’t bear the thought of him suffering and alone without me there to help him. It hurt so much I stumbled. And then realized I was walking to the wrong destination. Rodriguez’s old office door loomed ahead.

“Shit,” I cursed softly under my breath. I whirled around and headed back toward the main wing of the castle. I’d been summoned by our new headmaster. If Rodriguez had asked to see me, then that meant there was a problem. Probably with high-bloods. Probably with Elaria.

On the upside, Kage’s grandmother, Elaria Avari, was not dead, but a more pessimistic person might see that as a downside. What a delightful thorn in Rodriguez’s side she already was. She—or one of her many secretaries or servants—had been knocking on the headmaster’s door daily, demanding that oversight of the school be returned. Elaria’s daughter, Natsumi, had been a member of the Bloodwing board of directors. But Natsumi, Kage’s mother, hadn’t made it. Now Kage’s grandmother wasn’t wasting any time grieving. No, she was too busy demanding revenge.

Many people hadn’t realized there had been two dragons over Veilmar that night. Once Rodriguez had figured it out, he’d made sure to keep it under wraps. He’d spread rumors (though, could they be called rumors when they were mostly the truth?) that Viktor Drakharrow had been the red dragon and that it was his fault Veilmar was now in rubble. Which was, well, mostly true.

So now Elaria wanted Viktor Drakharrow found and destroyed. Of course, eliminating Viktor would make her the most powerful highblood in the realm—we’d just be replacing one tyrant with another. Though, I’d admit Elaria didn’t seem quite as bad. The bigger problem was that we had no idea in hell where Viktor was anyhow; otherwise, I was sure Rodriguez would have been only too happy to appease Kage’s grandmother on that one.

As for establishing a new board composed entirely of highbloods for the sake of Sangratha’s supposed stability? Well, she wasn’t about to get her way there.

I reached the doors, thoughts of Elaria temporarily pushing aside the panic that was a constant buzz beneath my skin. Though, Blake’s absence was a continual ache in my heart. I walked into the vestibule leading to the main office. Behind the desk where Silvio Santos had once sat during Regan’s brief regime, there was now a petite dwarven girl. It took me a minute to recognize her. “Dani!”

The girl’s eyes widened. Then she sprang to her feet, nearly knocking her chair over in excitement. “Medra! Professor—I mean, Headmaster Rodriguez told me you were coming in. I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been wanting to thank you for—” she said and colored “—for everything.”

I stared at her, then smiled. “You look really good.”

Dani’s cheeks were pink and healthy. Her eyes were bright. The pallor she’d had a few weeks ago was gone. And she was back in First Year colors, gray and royal blue. “Yes, I’m improved, aren’t I?” She smiled, showing adorable dimples.

“So you’re … not a thrall anymore?” I said cautiously.