Page 72 of The Fated Hunter Wolf

“Then take what you need.”

When I opened my eyes, his were dark with desire and intent. He was ready for me. He wanted me.

“Where?” I asked, and my voice had gone completely inhuman again.

Instead of answering with words, he exposed the long line of his throat. The gesture was pure submission—a wolf offering his most vulnerable spot to a predator. The trust implicit in it made my chest tight with an emotion I didn’t want to name.

“Not there,” I said quickly. “Too dangerous.”

“Then where?”

I studied his body, vampire instincts cataloguing options. The throat would be fastest, most efficient, but one wrong move could kill him. The wrist would be safer but less intimate. The chest—near his heart—would be…

Perfect.

“Here.” I placed my palm over one of the bleeding wounds, and he sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s already open. Already bleeding. I’ll just redirect the flow.”

His hand covered mine, pressing it more firmly against his chest. “Will it hurt?”

“I don’t know.” The honesty felt brutal. “I’ve never done this before.” I inhaled, keeping my dark heritage at bay as long as I could. “I need you to be sure,” I whispered. “Once I start, the connection will form whether we want it to or not.”

“I’m sure.” His pulse was racing under my palm, and I could smell the complex cocktail of fear and anticipation.

“Rhys—”

“I’m sure.” He growled in command, “Do it.”

The permission released something primal inside me. My vampire nature surged forward, no longer held back by conscious thought or moral reservations. My fangs descended fully, and I could feel my features shifting—more angular, designed for hunting.

For feeding.

He pulled off his shirt, and I leaned over him slowly, placing a knee on the sofa. I had to give him time to change his mind, to pull away, to remember all the reasons this was a terrible idea. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch when my fangs brushed against the skin of his chest, just beside the wound that had been calling to me. Right by his heart.

“Last chance,” I murmured against his skin.

“Take it,” he breathed. “Take what you need.”

So I did.

The first puncture was gentle and precise, designed to widen the existing wound rather than create new trauma. His body went rigid beneath me, an exhale escaping his lips, but he didn’t move.

The first drop of blood touched my tongue, and the world exploded into sensation.

I tasted everything he was. Pine forests and mountain storms and pack loyalty and fierce protective love that took my breath away. The hunger that had been clawing at me disappeared in an instant, replaced by euphoria so intense it was almost overwhelming.

His essence…

His memories, his emotions, the way his wolf recognized me as mate despite everything that had happened between us… The feeding created a connection deeper than anything I’d ever experienced—physical sustenance and emotional intimacy that terrified me with its intensity.

And he was feeling it too.

I could sense his shock as my life force mingled with his, the way his body responded to being fed from. He hovered on the edge of ecstasy. His hands tangled in my hair.

“Sable,” he gasped, my name torn from somewhere deep in his gut.

I tried to pull back, to break the connection before it went too far, but his grip tightened.

“Don’t stop,” he pleaded, throwing his head back against the cushions. “Please don’t stop.”