"I told Lassiter. . . " She cleared her throat. "Lassiter asked me if I would feed you. "
"And you said. "
"Yes. "
All of a sudden, he pictured her in that pool, floating on her back, utterly naked, with the water's pervasive tongue licking at her warm flesh.
Everywhere.
Tohr threw out a palm and braced himself on a cupboard. Hard to know what was rocking him most: the sudden need to be at her throat, or his utter despair at the thought of it.
"I am still in love with my shellan," he heard himself say.
And that remained the problem: All the resolving in the world, all the turning-the-new-leaf-and-letting-go shit, hadn't changed his emotions in the slightest.
"I know," No'One replied. "And I am glad. "
"I should use a Chosen. " He took a step closer to her.
"I know. And I agree. Their blood is purer. "
He took another step forward. "You are from a good bloodline. "
"Was," she said starkly.
As the fragile expanse of her shoulders began to tremble ever so slightly - like she had sensed his hunger - the predator in him awoke. Abruptly, he found himself wanting to jump over the island she was standing at, just so he could. . .
Do what?
Well, that was obvious.
Even though his heart and his mind were nothing but an empty ice-skating rink, frozen over and flat as fuck, the rest of him was alive, his body throbbing with a purpose that threatened to mow down good intentions, proper decorum. . . and his grieving process.
As he took yet more steps to her, he had a horrifying thought that this was what Lassiter had meant by letting go: In this moment, he had left Wellsie behind. He was aware of nothing except the diminutive female in front of him who was fighting to stay in place as she was stalked by a Brother.
He stopped only when he was no more than a foot away from her. Looking down past her bent head, his eyes locked on the fragile pulse at her jugular vein.
She was breathing as hard as he was.
And as he inhaled, he caught a scent.
It was not fear.
Dearest Virgin Scribe, he was enormous.
As No'One stood in the lee of the great warrior who had come upon her, she felt the heat coming off his massive body sure as if she were in front of a raging fire. And yet. . . she was not burned. And she was not afraid. She was warmed in someplace so deep, so buried within her, that she did not immediately recognize it as part of her internal makeup.
All she knew for sure was that he was going to take her vein within moments and she was going to let him - not because the angel had requested it of her, and not because she had vowed to, and not to make up for something in the past.
She. . . wanted him to.
As a hiss boiled out of him, she knew Tohrment had opened his mouth to expose his fangs.
It was time. And she did not pull up her sleeve. She loosened the top of her robe, peeled it wide to her shoulders, and tilted her head to the side.
Giving him her throat.
Oh, how her heart beat.