Page 47 of Inked & Bloodbound

He huffs. “I ain’t working with no other vampires. You’re enough trouble as it is.”

“She’s not a vampire,” I confess. “She’s a nurse.”

Beau pulls back, his lip curling. “Who the hell is this poor girl? What the hell have you got her mixed up in?”

“Her name is Lily. She’s got a rare gift that will help us, but it’s risky. If any other vamps find out what she is, they’ll either kill her on the spot or hold her captive. Can you promise me you’ll keep her safe?”

His heavy eyelids carry a weight of resignation, but he gives me a curt nod. “Sure, but putting one girl in danger to save another doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

“She’ll be fine. I’m watching her like a fucking hawk.”

“So where is she now?”

He has me there.

“I need to get an invite to Nocturne,” I say, ignoring him. “There’s some stuff I need to do first to be ready, but I’ll make it happen. When it’s time, I’ll let you know. Just wait for my message.”

I stand up and reach into my pocket, peeling off a few notes from a stack then dropping them onto the table.

“Send me whatever I need to know about the girl,” Beau says, gathering the notes and signaling the waitress.

I relax a little. “Thanks, Beau. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s got more enemies than friends, and the only two people I can trust right now are in this diner.”

Beau nods grimly. “I’ll keep her safe.”

“See that you do.”

I leave him sitting there, staring out the window at the darkest part of night. The parking lot is mostly empty, except for my old Maserati and a few other cars scattered across the cracked asphalt. The desert air carries the promise of another scorching day, but right now, the pre-dawn cool feels peaceful.

I pop the trunk and dig into the small cooler I keep there, pulling out a blood bag. The plastic is cold against my palm, the contents thick and nourishing. Not fresh from the source, not warm, but good enough to keep the thirst at bay. Lately, I’m much more cautious—only feeding from sealed bags and known sources. Some I get from the Hollow, and some I liberate from a local hospital. Lazaro is no angel, but he’d never poison his own men.

I bring the pouch to my lips, and my fangs descend on instinct, puncturing the plastic and leaving two perfect tears. I suck and let the metallic nectar pool on my tongue. At the first taste, my pupils dilate, my heart speeds, and I’m gripped with the familiar urge to devour the entire thing in one—but I restrain myself, slowing my rhythm and lapping gently at the blood with my tongue. Steady and stifled. A reasonable pace. This restraint has become second nature, a discipline I’ve practiced for decades. But lately, around Lily, that control feels increasingly fragile.

I assume my time as a human in the seminary had something to do with my composure. Learning to control your urges takesdiscipline, and many newbloods unintentionally kill their first prey because of the frenzy. A primal instinct to drink and drink until there’s nothing left but pale flesh and fixed pupils.

But beyond self-control, I find it all too intimate now. Like sex. After centuries of drinking from anything with a pulse, I grew tired of the endless parade of faceless humans, each blurring into one. The next time I drink from someone living, it’ll be from someone who matters. Someone like Lily.

I swallow hard at the thought of it. Her soft, pale flesh between my lips, her life force flowing into me. The fantasy sends heat through my body, my fangs throbbing as desire courses through me.

But even as the fantasy consumes me, I force myself to pull back from it. If I drink from her, if I let myself taste her essence, I’m not sure I’d have the strength to stop. Not just from drinking—from everything. From wanting her, from needing her, from making her need me in return.

Feeding and exchanging blood and venom doesn’t just create addiction in humans. It creates obsession in vampires, too. A possessiveness that borders on madness. I’ve seen centuries-old vampires reduced to shells of themselves, consumed by their need for one particular human’s blood. They become slaves to their own desire, and their humans become prisoners to something that feels like love but isn’t.

I won’t do that to her. I won’t become that.

But Christ, the temptation is there. Growing stronger every time I’m near her, every time her scent fills my lungs.

I drain the pouch and toss it back into the cooler, but before I can grab another, I freeze. I can hear her. Faint, distant, and almost imperceptible, but it’s definitely her.

Cassini.

I close my eyes, searching in the darkness to find her.

Cassini.It comes again.

It’s louder this time. On instinct, I reach with my mind across the impossible distance, following the thread of connection between usand pulling her towards me. Her voice is hoarse and fragile, like she’s been crying.

I’m here.I project, hoping it reaches her.