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Her gaze drops from my eyes down to my mouth. Her pupils dilate until the brown is swallowed whole, her chest rising and falling against my ribs in short, shallow hitches.

"Lachlan," she whispers.

It’s not a joke. It’s not a witty comeback about my kilt or my temper. It’s small, breathless, and aching with a hunger that mirrors the rot eating through my own control.

My jaw aches from the clench of my teeth. My canines are throbbing, pushing hard against my gums, desperate to pierce the soft skin of her throat right beneath the jawline. Just one bite. One taste of her blood, and the frayed ends of the braid would seal. She would be mine. Bound to the marrow, bound to the clan, untouchable by every leech crawling through the bayous.

Claim her, the bear roars, rattling my ribs. Mark her. She’s ours.

She’s mortal, I scream back at the beast.

I force my hands to loosen.

Slowly, agonizingly, I lower her until her socks touch the floorboards.

She wobbles, her hands sliding down my chest, lingering for half a second over my ribs before she catches herself on the edge of the ladder.

"Thank you," she whispers, her voice unsteady, her eyes searching my face like she’s trying to read a map in the dark.

"Don't climb the damn ladder again," I grind out.

I turn on my heel and walk out of the library before I do something neither of us can survive unscathed.

Twenty-Four

VIVIENNE

The last week’s flown by, a blur of research and Lachlan pushing me to learn how to use my stupid fucking magic. Which, by the way, I still don’t understand.

Nothing’s been as awful and dramatic as the morning with the creepy-ass grimoire, but… my head still hurts, and we’re out of time.

The ritual at House Sanguine is tonight.

"Tastes like dog shit and tequila," I mutter, swallowing a drop of Jekyll’s tincture.

I stare at my reflection in the ornate vanity mirror of my bathroom. Almost instantly, the ache that has been sitting at the base of my neck vanishes. It's like someone cracked a window in a suffocating room and let a breeze blow straight through my veins.

I set the bottle down and take a deep breath, letting the cool sensation settle before turning to evaluate the rest of my reflection.

The House truly outdid itself. The gown I’m wearing is midnight-blue velvet, so dark it looks almost black, right until the light hits it. It features a plunging sweetheart neckline that leaves my collarbones bare, and a sweeping skirt that parts in a dangerously high slit up my left thigh.

I’ve never worn anything like it, and if tonight goes badly, I never will again.

It also leaves my wrists completely exposed.

I hold my arm up, turning my wrist in the amber light. The living Celtic knot branded beneath my skin pulses faintly. The midnight-cyan and crimson-gold smoke weaves together in an intricate loop, stopping just short of connecting on the underside of my wrist, leaving those two frayed ends dangling like a ticking clock.

One year to marry, at least one year of protection.

I strap the daggers to my thighs, adjusting the leather harnesses until they sit securely under the slit of the velvet skirt. I feel completely absurd, like a kid in a Halloween costume, but for the first time in my life, I don't feel defenseless.

I slip on a pair of strappy black heels, grab my evening clutch, and walk out of my bedroom.

The foyer is cast in dim, moody light, the chandelier dialed down to a warm glow, and the wooden owl blinks down at me from where it roosts in the branches.

And then I see him.

All the breath leaves my lungs in a rush.