Page 75 of Entombed By Blood

My lips lower to his skin. For a second, all I can smell is him. Frost’s unique scent rushes over me, and my fangs descend automatically, slicing into his vein cleanly.

I groan at the first taste.

When he was mortal, his blood was delicious. Now that he’s more, it’s addictive. Rich and deep and complex—much like Frost himself.

He moans as my venom hits his system, his free hand tightening on the arm of the chair until his knuckles turn white. If his nose is anywhere near as sensitive as mine, he can scent my arousal as much as I can scent his. My panties are damp just from the act of drinking from him.

But he keeps his word. He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t take advantage.

When I draw back after several long pulls and press a single lick to the wounds to seal them, he shudders.

“Thank you,” I whisper, pulling away and wiping my mouth on my arm.

“Any time.” His voice is scratchy.

A glance at his face has me looking away just as fast. His eyes hold too much hope, and I can’t face that right now.

I stand from my kneeling position and head to the window, wondering if I’ll catch sight of the pack on their run.

After a few seconds, he clears his throat. “You’re up early.”

Small talk, how novel. The corners of my mouth quirk up at the strangeness of it.

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“Bad dreams?”

I shake my head. “Too much on my mind.”

“Want to talk about it?”

I nibble at my lip as I consider his offer.

“Who betrayed us?” I ask the burning question that’s been nagging at my mind since I was shut in a coffin. “No matter how I look at it, I can’t figure it out. I planned things perfectly. It must have been one of your people.”

Frost doesn’t answer straight away, lost in thought. “Cain never said. All of my men who were with me died. I woke up after turning, surrounded by their bodies, so I always assumed we were spotted.”

“That’s not possible.”

Every second we spent together was carefully planned. Most of the time, we met outside of the manor, and when we didn’t, I spent hours poring over our plans to make certain we were safe.

“You’re not infallible, Eve.”

“Was there no one in your resistance who wanted to turn? No one who could be bought?”

“None of us would have betrayed Frost.” Draven’s voice slices through the moment, and I whirl, surprised to find him sitting on the counter, flicking a knife in the air just to catch it again.

He’s wearing a shirt, but it’s unbuttoned, exposing the long, pale lines of his chest and the pink, fading claw marks marring his lower stomach.

Who clawed him, and why? The scars must be recent, because they weren’t there earlier. I frown at him, but his expression gives nothing away.

When he sees us both staring at him, he grins that empty smile. “Do go on. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“How would you know?” I ask, cocking my head to one side.

Frost coughs. “Draven was one of my men, but he wasn’t caught. He thought I’d died, then convinced the others to break me out when they realised what had happened.”

“Only to end up a guest of Cain and Callista myself,” Draven finishes. His expression is bland, and the words sound unaffected, but beneath my skin, the thrall bond between us turns icy. “Let’s spare her the tragic details. The point is, no one in the resistance sold him out. We were too small a group back then for Cain rewarding the traitor to go unnoticed.”