Heir of the Dog Black Dog - Hailey Edwards Page 0,17
Transfers usually last two years.”
The longing in his gaze twisted something in my chest. “I had my reasons.”
“I’m guessing they involve me since you wanted to meet and talk this out.” I struggled to find polite phrasing. “Do you want to establish a feeding schedule or something?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Nothing like that.”
Aware of what I was offering, I swallowed hard. “Are you sure...?”
“I can’t turn you down again, Thierry.” He clenched his fists. “I’m not that strong.”
“Okay.” I wiped my damp palms down my jeans. “Then I’m not sure what’s happening here.”
“I regret how things ended.” He pushed to his feet. “I just wanted to make things right between us.”
The misery of his betrayal rushed back in a moment of agonizing clarity, but the memories were fuzzy around the edges, the details faded. The hurt was more remembered than felt these days. Guess I was healing after all.
“We’re good.” I stood beside him and took his hand. “Also? You’re not leaving until you’ve fed.” Flames leapt into my cheeks when his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. “We’re not having sex.” I rolled my eyes at him. “Take what you need to get through the day. We’ll meet up tonight before work and put our heads together, okay? We can figure a way out of this.”
Subtle warmth from his palm seeped into my skin, spiraling up my arm and through my chest.
His fingers tightened until his grip hurt. “Ready?”
As I ever would be. “Fire away.”
Heat pulsed beneath my skin. The slow draw of energy from my runes into his hand let me acclimate to the remembered sensation of feeding. But the more he sipped, the harder his pulls turned and the weaker my knees became.
A rumbling sound disoriented me. I grasped for his shoulders, but my hand slid down his arm.
With cold certainty, I understood the sound was a growl pouring through his parted lips.
The leash of his control snapped with a roar, and he drank me all the way down.
“I’m calling the conclave if you don’t get your ass out of here now.”
Mai?
“I’m not leaving until she comes to.”
Shaw.
“You almost killed her,” Mai screamed. “Touch her again, and I’ll shift and chew off your nuts.”
“She’s coming around.” Shaw’s voice came from next to my ear. “Thierry?”
I blinked a few times, settling on a hard squint at the overhead light. My limbs felt weightless. I was hollowed out and boneless. My temples throbbed. My tongue was thick and cottony. I ached all over.
He braced a hand on my shoulder. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah.” I rubbed my ears. “You’re loud.”
“Thank the seven mothers.” Mai knocked him aside. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.” I waved a hand over my head. “Am I floating? Do I look floaty to you?”
“Thierry?” Mai grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “Do you know where you are?”
Her nails punctured my fluorescent buoyancy, slamming me back into my tender body.
“Judging by the spring jabbing my lower back...” I winced as I repositioned myself, “...I’d say I’m on the couch.”
Her grip eased. “Can you sit up?” Ready or not, she gripped my hands and pulled me into an upright position.
Shaw hovered behind Mai, hands shoved into his pants pockets. It didn’t help. His tightly balled fists were outlined against the denim in his jeans. His color was high—embarrassed or just well fed?—and he set his mouth in a hard line when our gazes met. No. Not embarrassed. Ashamed. That was so much worse.
“I’m fine.” I hoped he read my sincerity. “I’m just tired. I’ve been running on fumes for days.”
His curt nod was all the answer I got before Mai stepped in front of me and cut our eye contact.
“Hello?” Her bright eyes flashed with anger. “I found you passed out and being pawed over.”
“It’s not what you think.” I massaged my temples, but the conga line between my ears persisted.
She set her fists on her hips. “It looked a hell of a lot like you let him feed on you.”
“Um.” I blanked on a good excuse. “Fine, it’s exactly what you think. Can we talk about this later?”
With a disgusted huff, Mai headed to the kitchen. She poured a glass of orange juice, brought it to me and held it under my nose. “Drink this.”
On the first sip, I reassessed. “This is not orange juice.” It tasted the way burnt rubber smelled.
“There’s orange juice in there.” She tapped the bottom of the glass. “It’s something Mom mixes up for when the kits tire themselves out