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He wasn’t speaking about the natural order of things. He was talking about…

An image rose of being pressed onto my chest as a large body held me down, moving behind me, inside me. My skin flamed even hotter, stoking the gnawing, aching hunger.

“You definitely remember that,” he said, his voice as thick as my blood. “That’s good.” Hair fell against his cheeks as his chin dipped. He wiggled his fingers. “I know what you need, Sera. Me. My blood. You need to feed.”

I eyed his hand as the agonizing hunger expanded.

“I am yours.”

Mine.

My lips parted, and my heart thundered. There was some sense—a knowledge the other voices had shared with me… “The Primal of Life has not fed from a Primal of Death before,” I said, fingers curling into fur—a blanket. “We…we are meant to be two halves of a cycle but separate.”

His exhale was rough. “But we are different, Sera. Those beliefs don’t apply to us.” He leaned toward me, hand still raised. His scent increased until I could taste it on my tongue. Citrusy. Fresh. “I am yours. All of me. My body. My blood. My soul.” His voice roughened. “My heart.”

Mine.

My gaze dropped to his hand. There was something on his palm. A golden, shimmery swirl. The sight of it caused my heart to skip. Slowly, I lifted my hand and placed it in his. The contact was jarring, and a rush of energy and memories came on too fast for me to make sense of it, but I saw the top of my hand. I saw the bright, golden swirl that matched the hand beneath mine.

“That’s it.” He lowered his voice. “Come to me.”

I watched his fingers close around mine. I lifted my gaze. He tilted his head back, exposing his throat.

My hand tightened around his. I saw his eyes close. Then I shot toward him, climbing onto his lap. He didn’t react, just held himself still, vulnerable despite how much bigger he was. I clasped his shoulders as my lips peeled back. The throbbing in my jaw increased.

“Feed,” he ordered.

Guided by instinct, my head snapped toward his neck. I struck, sinking my fangs into the vein in his throat.

The first drop of his blood against my tongue was an awakening.

My back arched, the shock of his taste and the strength of his essence flooding me. It was all I could think about as he cursed. It was everything. Mouth tingling, I drew hungrily, pulling the smoky yet sweet flavor into me. His blood hit the back of my throat, sparking a riot of intense sensations. His blood tasted good. He felt good against me, his coolness against my heat. But he…

His body was rigid against mine. “Release…release your fangs.”

The order filtered through the hunger. I…I was hurting him. I didn’t want that. We were the cycle. I was the beginning. He was the end. But we were more than that. He was mine. I pulled my fangs from his flesh but kept my mouth latched there. He jerked, his chest rising sharply as I took him into me. A deep moan teased my ears. He liked this now. Enjoyed it. I drank deeper, his blood coursing down my throat, soothing the burn there until it hit my hollow chest, easing the gnawing ache. But it wasn’t his blood. It was the eather in him, pooling at the center of my chest, restoring my strength.

He was a Primal of Death, but his blood…his blood was life.

The Primal shifted beneath me. His arm folded over my hips, and his hand landed on my lower back. I tensed.

“Keep drinking,” he instructed, his palm flattening against my skin. “You haven’t taken enough.”

I purred my gratitude. His hips jerked at the sound, and I felt the thick hardness pressing against me. A shiver danced through me, tight and hot. The uncomfortable heat eased, replaced by a languid warmth that spread as his hand swept up the length of my back to disappear under my hair before gliding back down. His fingers brushed the curve of my rear, making that warmth grow into a fire that didn’t hurt but enflamed.

I fed at his throat, his blood filling me as he ran his hand up and down my spine. Slowly—or maybe quickly—each sweep of his hand stroked a different kind of urgency into being.

I wanted more.

Needed more of him.

I leaned forward, pressing against him. The contact of his chilled skin against mine turned the blood I drank into liquid want. My nipples hardened as I writhed restlessly against him, and they dragged against the smooth, cool surface of his chest. A heady ache settled in my breasts. His blood. His body…gods. I tingled, becoming acutely sensitive.

My fingers splayed across his shoulders as I tilted my hips forward, finding what I sought, what I needed. He moaned as I rubbed against the hard length of his cock. There was a barrier between us, Thin, soft linen. I growled my frustration.

His arm tightened around my lower back. “Fucking Fates,” he groaned as I ground down.

The sound and feel of him against me was like falling into a whirlwind of sensations. Muscles low in my belly tightened as tiny darts of pleasure spread through me. I whimpered, wanting more, needing more.