“Like what?” His voice has turned husky.
“Like I matter. Like what I want matters.”
His fingers are gentle as he strokes strands of hair off my cheek. “And what do you want, Gracen?”
I hesitate, but only for a moment, to trace his square jawline with my fingertip, letting it skate over his lips. “Choice.” I’ve never had one before. Even my two older children were named by Lord Danthrin, as he sat by the fire with his wife, sipping glasses of wine and discussing options, like they were naming the newest pet.
Atticus said he wouldn’t take anything I wasn’t willing to give. The promise was so simple and yet so profound, because the only thing these keepers have ever done is take from me.
His throat bobs with a hard swallow, before sliding his hand through my hair to grip my nape. “If you do not want me—”
“I do,” I blurt, my cheeks flushing. “Fates, you must be able to feel how much I want you.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up in a sexy smile. He leans in to trap my mouth in his once again, this time the kiss slower, more sensual than before.
And more intoxicating, as emotion seems to bleed into every stroke of his tongue.
The ache inside me grows more urgent.
I need him closer.
But his hands stay put—one tangled in my hair, the other against my hip, and his lips never leave mine, as if he can’t get enough of my mouth, or he doesn’t trust them elsewhere.
He hasn’t taken a vein, I remind myself. He’s had plenty of chances. He could have gone to someone else tonight, but he didn’t. Wouldn’t. With a shaky hand, I unfasten my cloak, letting it tumble off my shoulders. My buttons come next, just enough to loosen the collar of my dress for him.
“What are you doing?”
Slipping a hand around to the back of his head, my fingers toying with strands of his hair for just a moment, I break away and guide his mouth to my neck.
His voice is ragged in my ear. “You do not have to do this, Gracen.”
“I know I don’t.” But Atticus does, and the thought of his mouth on someone else makes my chest ache with jealousy and regret. “I have a choice, and I choose this.” I don’t want him going to anyone else for it.
A long, soft sigh sails from his lips, sending shivers down my spine. “I will not hurt you,” he promises.
I close my eyes in anticipation as his tongue traces the length of my neck from my collarbone to my ear and back again, before his lips replace it, his breath hot against my skin.
I feel the sharp prick against my throat, one I’ve felt countless times before, and I brace myself for the pain that comes with each draw. Only it doesn’t come. Atticus is so very gentle as he takes what he needs from me, slowly, his palm smoothing back and forth over my hip while his other hand cradles my head.
My blood flows freely.
Willing.
Maybe because, for once, I am willing, to give Atticus what he needs to survive, to remain strong. And if we were in his warm chamber, in his bed, I wouldn’t hesitate to give him everything he might want.
Eagerly.
My eyes crack open, my vision hazy with desire.
Through the blurriness, I see a cloaked form standing behind him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ROMERIA
Gracen looks so small and fragile, perched on the stone altar, as a hulking form leans over her.
Feeds off her.
Wait a minute. I know those short wisps of blond hair, those broad shoulders, that muscular frame.
Atticus is feeding off Gracen.
And any second he’s going to catch a scent of my Ybarisan blood, discover I’m standing behind him, and then what? I need to get out of here immediately.
I rush to thread my affinities together as Lucretia taught me.
Gracen’s eyelids crack open. She blinks to focus.
Panicked, I channel into the nymphaeum stone, and in the next instant, I’m back in Lucretia’s crypt.
“Holy shit.” I release a lungful of air. “Oh my God.”
Lucretia grins. “See? They are connected.”
“Oh, I saw.” Irritation settles over me. “You can’t just send me through wormholes like that.”
She frowns. “There are no worms in the stones.”
I shake my head. “I almost got caught by Zander’s brother!”
“But you did not.”
I couldn’t have been there for more than a few seconds. It all happened so fast. Too fast, I hope, for anything to register in Gracen’s mind. How Atticus didn’t sense me there, didn’t catch the sweet neroli oil scent of my blood, I can’t explain. Then again, he was preoccupied with his fucking fangs in Gracen’s neck. I grit my teeth.