Page 10 of Consume Me (Immortal Vices and Virtues: All Hallows’ Eve #4)

Kendall

T he moment he sets me on my feet, I sprint for the door.

Yanking it open, I manage one step over the threshold—and freeze.

Not because my kidnapper has caught me. But because there’s nowhere to go.

No path. No lawn. No earth at all. Just endless, gaping black. Like the edge of the world stops here.

My stomach lurches, and I grip the doorframe to stop my momentum. If my feet had gone two more steps, I would have tumbled into the ether.

I back away, slamming the door shut with shaking hands.

Then I whirl on my captor, the infuriating fae male before me. “Where the hell did you bring me?” I demand.

He’s standing in the middle of a massive stone foyer, calm as ever and way too hot for his own good in that suit. It’s a little strange on him, like he’s not someone who normally dresses up. But damn, he fills it out just fine .

“It’s called Sanctum,” he says, and I force myself to stop checking him out. “You’re safe here.”

I cross my arms. “You mean I’m trapped here.”

He lifts a brow. “You want to go back to your world with a cursed dagger still clinging to your soul?”

I scowl, refusing to talk about that. Especially with him. Did he really destroy one of them between his massive canines like the thing was made of plastic?

“Let me go.”

“I will. After we break its hold on you.”

I open my mouth to argue. But I can’t. The fact that we’re dealing with a singular blade now instead of two is enough to steal what’s left of my temper. My voice is quieter when I say, “You destroyed one of them like it was nothing.”

“The rune did,” he replies.

“How?” I ask, breath catching.

“That magic is part of the vow I took for vengeance.”

“Vengeance for what?” I ask.

But his gaze drops—to my shoulder. Then lower. And the interest—no, desire—that flares to life in his dark gaze startles me. I look down and note the torn strap of my gown. The remaining fabric has slipped, revealing too much skin. My collarbone. My chest. The curve of my breast. Nearly my nipple.

When I look up again, his eyes meet mine and darken, and my entire body lights up like a fuse.

His voice is low and rough now, raking over the exposed parts of me. “Why don’t you get cleaned up. Then we’ll talk.”

I open my mouth to tell him absolutely not; we can talk now. But I catch the edge of a mirror hanging near the door and wince at the sight of my reflection. Makeup smudged. Hair fallen and tangled. Gown torn. I look like I’ve been dragged across a battlefield—and in a way, I have.

“Lead the way,” I mutter.

He turns and heads down the hallway. I follow, grudgingly, taking in the house as I go.

It’s… impressive.

Vaulted ceilings. Smooth black stone beneath my feet.

Walls inlaid with veins of glowing silver.

Magic hums through everything—quiet, pulsing, alive.

It’s not like the mansion where the party was held.

Despite its vastness, this place feels cozier.

More lived in. Remote as hell, though, considering its closest neighbor is a freaking galaxy of stars.

We turn down another short hall, and a wall of glass reveals a dense, mist-drenched forest outside. The trees look ancient, their massive trunks and twisted limbs pressed close to the glass like they’re watching. Listening.

Confusion needles through me. “Wait. All I saw out the front door was outer space. Now it’s a forest?”

He glances at me. “The view can be whatever I want.”

My steps slow then stop. “Excuse me?”

“I designed Sanctum to be a safe haven. A secret place the rest of the realms cannot breach. It exists completely unto itself.”

Hold up. He designed Sanctum?

Gods, the amount of power it would take to create and maintain a place like this… I can’t even imagine. St unned, I stare out at the trees. The gloom. The eerie stillness.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “That choice makes sense for you.”

His eyes narrow a fraction. He snaps his fingers. The forest melts away—replaced by a frozen wasteland. Jagged glaciers. Wind-blasted snow. An endless expanse of ice under a pale, washed-out sky.

I blink. “What’s this?”

His mouth quirks, just barely. “It matches the icy blue of your eyes when you look at me like that.”

I stare at him, refusing to feel flattered that he’d noticed the color of my eyes. “Like what?”

“Angry beyond reason. It’s devastatingly beautiful. Like an endless, frozen tundra.”

My heart flutters at his words.

It was an insult wrapped in a compliment, and here I am, melting. Who wants to be compared to a frozen tundra, anyway?

“How can I be anything but angry?” I shoot back, clinging to my outrage for balance. “You’ve kidnapped me, locked me in a realm I can’t escape, and I don’t even know your freaking name.”

He steps closer.

Leans in, close enough that his mouth nearly brushes mine.

Close enough that I can smell him. Delicious pine and damp earth. Musky. Masculine. Sexy as fuck.

Ugh.

“I am Noctan.” The name slips between us like a secret. Dark. Dangerous. Unshakeable. “I am the last living sentinel of the fae realm. Guardian of the Veil and blood-sworn to destroy the Whispering Daggers. I am the Amarok. The Destruction.”

Before I can ask what any of that means, he turns and walks away, leaving me blinking like an idiot.

I don’t stop him. The part about destroying the daggers was easy enough to understand.

Whispering Daggers, apparently. Whoever named them left out the Evil part.

Without it, a whisper sounds so innocuous. So innocent. So misleading.

At the end of the hall, a door stands ajar.

I push it all the way open to find a dimly lit bedroom. It’s as stupidly gorgeous as the rest of the house—walls carved with ancient patterns, a fire flickering in the hearth, soft light glowing from lanterns set on carved wooden nightstands.

Across the space, through another door, the bathroom is made of smooth stone with shelves of soft towels and bottles that contain various soaps and shampoos, all of which smell like earth and pine. Like him.

I strip off what’s left of my dress, wincing at the ruined fabric. Then at the bruises. The tiara and necklace were lost during my chaotic fight against being kidnapped. Natalia’s going to be pissed I ruined her gift. But the sight of the steaming shower has me setting aside that worry.

The hot water hits my skin, and I groan at how good it feels. And even though I shouldn’t, I help myself to his soaps and shampoos. The scent of it has me picturing what it would be like to have him standing here with me. Naked and wet, hands lazily rubbing soap into my skin?—

Fuck .

This mate thing is no joke.

Sure, he’s hot. Sure, I’m attracted. But I’ve never been this distracted by the thought of a naked male before.

It can only be due to him being my mate.

Even now, I can feel some buried part of me yearning to go out there and claim him.

To bond myself to him and never let him go.

But the vision of a white-starred wolf ripping me apart keeps me rooted in the water.

It’s bad enough I’m in his house. I might as well bare my throat to him and hand over my life on a silver platter.

But if I leave now, I won’t find out what sort of vow he made to destroy the daggers.

And if I let him snuff out that second one, will I survive it?

The buzzing in my head tells me not to risk it.

I scrub until the makeup and dirt are gone. Until my hair and skin are clean. Until I feel like me again.

The water never goes cold, and I decide right here and now, Noctan’s magic is, well, magical. The man clearly values the important things in life.

When I’m done, I towel off and run a comb through my tangled, wet hair. A short pile of clothes is waiting on the bed when I emerge—an oversized shirt that smells like him and a pair of tiny shorts that are clearly made for a woman’s body.

I don’t let myself think about the combination of those things here in his sanctuary.

Instead, I dress quickly and prowl the room for some sort of weapon. The nightstand drawer is empty. As is the bookshelf. Well, except for the fact that his book collection is impressive as hell. Poetry, folklore, crime novels, The Art of War. I snort at that. No one actually reads that one… right?

Hmm. A warrior wolf might.

The Amarok. Whatever that is.

I double back to the bathroom and pick up the comb. Working fast, I break off a few teeth and slide them into the waistline of my shorts. Better than nothing. Or that’s what I tell myself.

Not that it’ll do a single thing against Noctan’s wolf if he decides to come for me. Except maybe offer him a toothpick to clean my entrails out of his mouth when he’s done with me.

When I return to the main room, he’s sitting on a low couch in front of the fire.

His jacket lies discarded on a nearby chair, and his white dress shirt is untucked, the first couple of buttons undone to reveal a broad chest and just enough of a glimpse of hard, muscled lines. My mouth goes dry, and I look away.

A bottle of whiskey and two glasses sit on the table in front of him.

I dart a glance back to his gorgeous face.

His eyes flick up to meet mine, and something molten passes through them.

The way he studies me, his thorough perusal not missing a single detail, has me off-balance.

No, more than that. It has me ready to do just about anything he asks.

Sing, dance, get on my knees. Ugh. I’ve been attracted to other males before, but never like this.

Like one word from him would have me stripping down to my bare skin and offering myself to him like a feast.

I sit at the far end of the couch, back straight. “Is that for me?” I nod at the whiskey.

“If you want it. I can find some wine or?—”

“I prefer whiskey.”

He cocks his head. “I thought you might.”

A strange familiarity spears through me. Like we’ve done this before. Shared a nightcap. A lifetime. An intimacy unlike anything I’ve ever dreamed possible. And love. So much fucking love.

It leaves me breathless.

Not like the other visions, which are mostly death, and mostly thanks to the daggers using me like some kind of vessel to store their murder, mental reels. This feels pure. Beyond magic. Some vision borne from my very soul. Carried from one lifetime to the next.

I don’t say anything as he leans over and pours for us both. When he hands me my glass, his fingers brush mine.

The buzzing in my head, a constant hum that reminds me I’m connected to the darkness, winks out then returns the second I pull away.

I don’t let myself think about any of it as I tip my glass up and drink. It burns on the way down, and I welcome the distraction. When the glass is empty, I hold it out.

“Refill?”

He lifts the bottle and pours me another.

I drink that too, willing the alcohol to calm my racing thoughts. It’s never enough to get me drunk, thanks to supernatural metabolism. But anything to take the edge off right now.

Noctan’s eyes on me are a touch all their own, but I ignore it. I ignore every impossible thing flaring to life inside me as I look at him and say, “Tell me what you know. About the daggers. About destroying them.”

He doesn’t speak right away.

When he does, his voice is low. A warning. “The Whispering Daggers are a threat older than time itself. I’ve been hunting them for four centuries.”

My chest tightens. Four centuries ? I bite back the urge to ask how freaking old this beautiful male actually is. Instead, I ask, “Why?”

He lifts his own glass but doesn’t drink, merely staring into its liquid depths. “Because they used their last bearer to kill my entire cadre and I swore a blood oath to avenge them. I cannot stop until the oath is fulfilled.”

I blink. “Cadre?”

“There were five of us. Makim, Liara, Frek, Skol, and myself. Together, we served as sentinels.” I can hear the distance in his voice. As if he’s reliving another lifetime.

“What’s a sentinel?” I ask.

“We are chosen warriors of the fae realm. Shifters whose fae blood is gifted by the gods themselves with power and strength beyond our normal fae brethren. Since the time our beasts matured, we’ve been tasked with guarding the fae people, protecting them.

We serve no leaders but ourselves and the gods and the land.

No mission or agenda but the one to defend against any threat to our people and our freedom.

My cadre… They were my pack. No one else. ”

His family. They were his family.

“You lost all of them to the daggers?” I ask, my own familiar grief wedging itself in between my ribs. The whispering and hissing in my head are nothing compared to the pain of that loss. For him to lose his entire family in one day... It’s awful.

He swirls the liquid in his glass. “I’m the last.”

“Noctan.” I lay my hand over his arm. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He flinches at my touch, the air between his teeth whistling. As if in pain. I pull back, and he merely grunts then rolls up his sleeve to reveal a rune symbol burned into his skin.

It glows faintly. Seared into his flesh and smelling faintly of smoke, like it’s still hot from the poker.

“What is that thing?” I ask, trying not to recoil as I think about how much it must hurt.

“A locator rune. It’s spelled to guide me to the daggers.” He looks up at me. “This is how I found you.”

I stare at it. At him.

And I realize— I never would have escaped him .

Not really. He was always going to find me.

I could have run to the ends of the earth to escape this fate, and he would have met me there.

For better or worse, death at his hand or not, I am meant to be here with him.

But on the other side of that thought, I’m also aware of the silence inside me when I touched him.

How the daggers went utterly mute when he held me for that dance. And again, just now…

I reach for him, tentative this time. “Can I…” I swallow hard, aware I’m asking for something dangerous and maybe even completely stupid. “Can I touch you?”

His eyes lock on mine, and there’s no hesitation at all when he answers, “Anywhere you want.”