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My head jerked up. “You’ve been counting.”

“Haven’t you?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

He smiled, but I tasted the tangy, bitter sorrow. “We know he’s been injured, but we’re close. We’re almost there. He’ll be okay. We’ll make sure of it.”

I squeezed his hand.

“I know you would rather feed from Cas, and I wish he was here. For a multitude of reasons, Poppy. But he’s not, and you need to feed.” He lifted his other hand, clasping the side of my cheek. His skin was warm. “Not just for Cas. He will need you when we free him, of course, but more importantly, for yourself. So, let’s do this.” He dropped his hand from my cheek. “Okay?”

“Okay.” I could do this without making things awkward. I was a Queen. I straightened my spine. I was a god. My shoulders squared. I could do this without making it weird.

Or weirder than I’d already made it.

Kieran still held my hand as he reached for a dagger that lay in a pile of weapons. He picked up a slender steel one that he normally wore inside his boot.

“Feedings can get intense,” he reminded me, drawing my gaze to his. “Whatever you feel or don’t feel during this doesn’t matter. What does is that you know that this—all of it—is natural. There’s no shame here. No judgment. I know that. Cas knows that. You need to know that, Poppy.”

All of this was new to me. Everything was, but I did know I never had anything to be ashamed of when it came to Casteel or Kieran. Tightness eased in my lower back, and then in my chest where I hadn’t even realized tension had settled. Letting out a long, slow breath, I nodded.

“You’re safe here.”

And I knew that, too.

Kieran turned our hands over. My stomach gave a little flip as he placed the edge of the blade against the inside of his wrist. A part of me couldn’t believe what I was witnessing—that this was my life now. And another bit was still the person from six months ago, who never would’ve even considered the act of drinking blood and who probably would’ve vomited a little in her mouth at the thought of feeding.

But that other me from the past didn’t stop who I was today or from doing what I needed to do.

I wasn’t used to feeding. I wasn’t used to being a Queen or a god. I wasn’t even used to being able to freely make decisions for myself, let alone for other people. There was a lot I still had to get used to, and like with everything else, there hadn’t been a lot of time to come to terms with it.

I just had to do it.

Kieran didn’t move as he pressed the blade into his skin, blood welling as he made a short, quick cut along his wrist. I flinched. I couldn’t help it. I kind of wished I had fangs now. A bite had to be far less painful. Then again, since I had no idea what I was doing, a bite from me would probably be worse.

But that two-inch slice reminded me of what I’d seen on Casteel, and I wished I hadn’t thought of that either.

Still holding my hand, Kieran lifted his wrist. My heart had started pounding at some point. When, I wasn’t sure. The scent of his blood reached me, and there was no heavy, iron smell. No, Kieran’s blood smelled of the woods—earthy and rich, just like his imprint.

I didn’t know what to expect. My mouth to start watering? My stomach to growl? Neither of those things happened. What did was…ordinary. That was the only way I could describe it. Like a new instinct gently waking without alarm, quieting the concerns. Ancient knowledge took hold, guiding me. I lowered my head.

Tentatively, my lips and then the tip of my tongue met the warm blood, and it was a jolt—a rush almost as powerful as when I tasted Casteel. But Kieran’s blood tasted like his imprint—like breathing in earthy, woodsy air. The moment his blood reached the back of my throat, the unrelenting dryness eased, and my chest warmed, reminding me of the first swallow of whiskey. That warmth beat back the coldness there—the chill I feared had very little to do with needing to feed.

My eyes drifted shut. The thick warmth slid lower, hitting my belly as the urge to clamp down on his skin and really feed hit me hard. I jerked as a sharp swirl of tingles darted through my veins and then hit my skin. It was like…like sensation was returning to my skin when I hadn’t even realized it had vanished.

“You need to drink.” Kieran’s hand tightened on mine. “Not sip. And that’s what you’re doing. You’re sipping.”

He was right, which was annoying, but I gave in to that urge, closed my mouth around the wound and drank, pulling his blood into me. That was another jolt—a brighter one that was powerful in its own way. Different from Casteel’s but still rattling. And it came with the strangest array of colors that moved behind my eyelids—greens and blues that swirled and whirled. Tension in my arms and legs faded as I swallowed. His taste was earthy and raw. Wild. I drank deeper. His blood—