A blush crept into her cheeks as she stared at him. Her eyes glittered and he could tell she was as angry as he. But there was something else there. He didn’t like it. Defiance.
“I’m not going anywhere other than”—she gestured toward the floor—“down below.”
Images assaulted him and he swore he could smell District Three. Pain had a scent all its own. It was sharp and left a bitter aftertaste.
“You have no idea what awaits us there.” Bitterness laced his words. “The most horrific things you’ve ever encountered cannot compare to Lilith’s domain.”
“A little refresher, Declan. I died. Sorry, but that was pretty awful.”
He shook his head. “That’s not the same thing and you know it.”
“What are you so afraid of?” she asked suddenly. “It’s not like we’ve never stared down the face of evil before. Hell, it’s the mainstay of our diet.”
He stepped away and closed his eyes. Did he have time to list them all?
Declan felt her hand upon his arm, winced as her fingers slowly caressed their way up to the shredded flesh underneath his left pectoral. Her touch burned through the fabric of his shirt.
“I know she did awful things to you.” Ana’s words were barely a whisper but he was in no mood for softness, for comfort.
He wrenched away from her touch. “You don’t know shit.”
“Seth told me”—she faltered and his frown deepened—“you were her property for months. He said she makes Lucifer’s work look like child’s play. I mean I . . . don’t know specifics but I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant.”
Declan stopped in his tracks. “Not pleasant?” He was incredulous. “That’s the fucking understatement of the year.” In that moment he wanted to shout, to cry out his anger and frustration. Yet he gritted his teeth and remained silent, tucked all emotion away.
“What did you promise Seth?” he asked instead. Pain lashed across his gut and he groaned, closed his eyes. Instantly crimson bled before his eyes. His fangs slid out and he hissed as his stomach muscles cramped.
She was there. Her body next to his, her hands upon his face. “Declan, you need to feed.”
“What did you promise Seth?” he spat out, unable to look at her for fear he’d eat her alive. His hands trembled. He tucked them into fists and hung on.
She stared at him intently. “It doesn’t matter. I did what I had to do and don’t look at me like that. It’s no different than what you did.”
He growled and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Every single thing you do matters to me. It always has, but now we’ve gone to the next level, you and I. There is no in between. No halfway for us. So yeah, if you’ve signed your soul over to the demon I need to know this shit.”
Declan broke away and took a step back. It was too much. The hunger, the fear, and the overwhelming need to protect. He looked at her, his heart in his eyes, “I don’t want you near her poison. Understand? I don’t . . .” He blew out a breath. “The things I did . . . we did . . .”
Declan snapped his mouth shut. His body was wound tight, every muscle corded into a band of pain.
Ana’s mouth trembled, just a bit, and she bit her lip. “It’s too late. What’s done can’t be taken back.” Her hand crept up to his cheek and something loosened inside. Like a balloon of pain and longing had burst. “For either one of us. I’m not interested in what you did, what you had to do to survive down there.”
She laid her head against his chest and slipped her arms around his body. Declan inhaled her scent and for a second let the balloon linger, slowly leaking from his body in a tight flow of pain.
He couldn’t fight it. He groaned, hugged her close. And let it go.
She nuzzled his flesh, her cheek gently rubbing against the damaged skin.
“I’m only interested in two things,” she whispered. “Getting those teenagers out of District Three, and you—that’s it. There is nothing else.”
He felt the rise and fall of her chest, heard the beat of her heart. “You need to feed,” she breathed against him. “I need to feed.” Her voice deepened.
Declan felt the scrape of her fangs against his skin and his hold tightened. The severity of his situation faded away. Seth. District Three. All of it.
He closed his eyes and everything was a wash of crimson—his thoughts, emotions, his wants and needs. Her blood had infected them all, had woven its way into his heart and soul until there was nothing else.
“Declan, look at me.”
His eyes flew open and the raw hunger that he saw in her face left him weak. His hand sank into the thick, silky tangle of hair at her nape as he gazed into her eyes.