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Honestly, that might have been worse. I’d rather spar with her and feel her fire than have her feel sorry for me.

She pitied me. And I absolutely did not want her pity.

I didn’t want anybody’s pity.

So what if my king and cousin betrayed me? Big deal. It wasn’t the first time I discovered my family was made up of disloyal charlatans. I went through the same thing with my father, and I survived. I would survive this too.

“Okay,” was all she said. “Call it whatever you want. Grieving, processing, coming to terms. Whatever.” Then she shocked me more than ever and wrapped her arms around my neck, pressed her body against mine, and hugged me.

It was impossible not to melt my sad sack of a body into her soft embrace. I normally didn’t like the heat, but the warmth radiating off my mate’s body was like sitting in front of a hearth in the dead of winter—homey and inviting. It was safe, and I never wanted to leave.

Tell her about the Mate’s Ache.

She held me for a lot longer than I thought she would, and I just continued to relax into her, closing my eyes and allowing my mangled brain to begin healing. Even though we weren’t mate-bonded yet, just her touch, just her closeness and kindness, had all kinds of healing powers.

“We’ll get Howar,” she whispered, her cheek against my chest. “We’ll get him and Lerris, and make them pay. I promise.”

I didn’t say anything, but I held her tight, fighting the thick lump of emotion that snagged at the back of my throat.

“Are you sure you don’t need to feed?” she asked, breaking our embrace and stepping away from me a little. “You look like shit.”

That prompted a surprising chuckle from the depths of my chest. “Thanks.”

“Is that sarcasm from the great and stoic Lord Drak von Fancypants?”

I snorted and chuckled again. “I suppose it is. And it’s Lord Drak Alpera Gregorio St. Pictor Ferrin.”

Her eyes bugged out. “Dear god, even your name is pretentious.”

I chuckled even more, but that caused me pain and I must have winced.

Growling, she held her wrist up to me, adopting the cutest little stern expressionand stance. “By order of Your Queen, I demand you feed. I will not take no for an answer. Otherwise, I will have you beheaded.”

Rolling my eyes, I smirked.

“I’m not kidding. I’ll call Maxar right now and have him conjure one of those fancy flame-swords. Or …” she glanced over at her family sword laying on the table. “I’ll just use the big one Lerris tried to behead me with. The Mongolian Sacrifice or whatever.” She waggled her hand in front of me.

“Moloch’s Sacrifice.”

She grinned like a cheeky little thing. She said it wrong on purpose. Her gaze narrowed in determination, and she wiggled her hand again. “Come on, Lord Fangs Alpera St. Pretentious Gregory Ferrin Bloodula, or whatever the fuck your name is. You know you want this delicious, delicious hemoglobin.”

Gently, I wrapped my fingers around her wrist. “It’s Lord Drak Alpera Gregorio St. Pictor Ferrin.” Then I dropped my fangs and carefully made a single, barely noticeable puncture in her wrist with one of them.

“That’s what I said.”

A small drop of crimson appeared on her naturally tanned skin, pooling. My nostrils flared as the scent wafted up, and my belly stirred with hunger and need.

“Go on,” she encouraged. “Don’t waste it.”

Shifting my gaze to hers once more, and keeping it there, I dropped my mouth to her inner wrist and began to feed.

“That’s a good Fangsy,” she teased, smiling at me. Her eyes were still red rimmed, and dry, salty tear tracks marred her otherwise perfect skin down her cheeks.

As soon as the blood fell across my tongue and slid down my throat, I could feel my brain begin to mend itself. My headache receded to nothing more than a dull ache, and the ringing in my ears disappeared, and the dull, perpetual throb of the Mate’s Ache receded to almost nothing. Not to mention, she tasted delicious.

Her eyelids slid down to half-mast as she watched me, her fatigue creeping up on her with the sudden blood loss. I wouldn’t take much more. By morning, I would be fine again. I just needed sleep to heal. Feeding off her would expeditethings, as well as bring us closer.

She wasn’t ready to mate-bond with me, but we seemed to be finding a common ground—even though hers might be rooted in pity for me, which I didn’t like.