Page 71 of The Fated Hunter Wolf

Our bodies were rejecting the separation we’d tried to create. Denying what we were.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never… I mean, I’ve always suppressed this side of my nature. I don’t know what happens if I feed. I don’t know what it might do to the bond. To us.”

“But you think it might help.”

The honesty in his voice broke something open inside my chest. “Yes. Maybe. The hunger isn’t just for blood—it’s for connection. For the kind of intimacy feeding creates between vampire and…” I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

“And prey,” he finished for me.

“You’re not prey.” The words came out fierce, protective. “You’re…”

“What?”

I met his eyes, letting him see the silver fire burning there. “You’re mine.”

His breathing went shallow, controlled, like he was fighting not to show how much the blood loss was affecting him. But his eyes…

His eyes were locked on my mouth. On my fangs. And there was no fear there anymore.

There was a hunger that matched my own.

“You want this,” I whispered, shocked by the realization.

“I want you to stop hurting.” His voice lacked any pretense. “I want us both to stop falling apart. If this helps…”

“It’s not just about helping.” I moved closer, drawn by forces I no longer had the strength to resist. “Feeding creates a bond. Aconnection deeper than what we already have. Once I taste your blood, once that connection forms, there’s no going back.”

“Going back to what?”

“To pretending we’re not what we are to each other.”

That was what we’d been doing, wasn’t it? Pretending the mate bond was just magical dependency and that the pull between us was an inconvenience rather than an inevitability.

We were pretending we didn’t want this as much as we needed it.

“I’m tired of pretending,” he said quietly.

“Are you sure?” I moved closer until I was touching his arm, and the contact sent sparks racing up my spine. “Once I start, I might not be able to stop easily. And you… you might not want me to.”

“How do you know?”

“Because vampire feeding isn’t just taking blood. It’s sharing life force. Emotions. Memories. Everything that makes you who you are.” I studied his face, looking for any sign of hesitation. “You’ll feel what I feel. Want what I want. And I’ll feel the same from you.”

“And what do you want?” His voice had gone rough, deeper than usual. He grabbed my arm and gently pulled me down until I was kneeling in front of him on the couch.

The question was a trap, and we both knew it. Because the answer would change everything between us, would strip away the last pretense that this was about survival rather than something deeper.

“You,” I whispered. “I want you. All of you. In ways that terrify me.”

He reached out slowly and cupped my face in his palm. His thumb traced the sharp edge of my cheekbone, then brushed across my lower lip. When it encountered the tip of one fang, we both went very still.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“The fangs? No.”

“The hunger.”

I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch. “Yes.”