Page 72 of The Order of the Bitter Hunt

Because I’mstarving. There’s no other reason.

He is the first fresh meal I’ve had in a month, and it was only a drop. He may taste especially hot and spiced, but it has nothing to do with him. It’s my thirst. It’s his demonic nature. That’s all.

I expect him to gloat, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he tilts his head to the side, and his hand moves to the back of my head. “Come a little closer, princes. I won’t bite, but you can.”

His fingers press into my skull. He’s not quite guiding me, but he’s offering himself up to me, drawing me into his neck.

My eyes flicker closed, and I inhale slowly, letting the scent of his musk and spice hit my nose.

My voice trembles, and my fists clench. “If… if you’re sure.”

“I am. C’mon.” He pulls me in, the other hand pressing to the small of my back.

My resolve snaps.

But I don’t bend to his will. Instead, I create one of my own.

His eyes widen, and his chest heaves as I situate myself on his lap, straddling him. My fingers move to his neck, crimson manicured nails grazing against his pulse point.

“Are you sure you want this?” My fangs throb and descend, visible as I speak. “Like, I need you to betrulysure.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Yes, I want it. How many times do I have to tell you?”

I narrow my eyes. “This is not the time to argue.”

I lean in. My lips brush against his jaw, and he tilts his head to the side.

I move closer—closer than ever, enough for his scent to intoxicate me. Softly, I press a kiss against his sharp jawline. The moment is too sweet for us, but I relish the building anticipation. He inhales a sharp breath when my lips touch his skin, as if he’s waiting for the bite to come. It doesn’t. Not yet.

Beneath me, he tenses—and then relaxes. I move to the pulse point at his neck, kissing there. I can feel every beat of his racing heart.

“Can I drink from here?” I ask, brushing my lips against his neck.

His breath catches. “Yes.”

“You aren’t afraid I’ll hurt you?”

“No. I trust you.”

It’s more than I thought we would ever have. I trust him, too.

That’s important, but what I feel now is more. It’s a mouthwatering, intoxicating need. The monster in me is begging for a taste. I know the perfect spot and how to take just enough. He’s safe in my hands.

My sharp teeth pierce his skin with ease.

He lets out a gasp, and a moan follows. I’m weak and wet between my thighs even as I draw in his life force, harnessing my strength.

My venom rushes to his bloodstream, where I know it will numb the pain and elicit bliss. For some, it feels like joy. We’re connected now, and I know what it feels like for him. Joy can’t contain the enormity of the emotions flowing from him.

For him, the bite brings desire. There’s a pulsing between my legs. It’s a different need, and only vaguely connected to my urgency to taste him.

He hardens underneath me as I straddle him. My movements are mindless, guided by lust. Grinding. Rocking. It satiates the pulsing desire between my thighs—and it satiates him, too. His hips rise to meet my moves.

He encourages me, his hands moving to my waist, fingers pressing hard into my hips. Not fingers, I realize—claws, sharp and poking. It’s not enough to hurt or break my firm flesh, but I can feel the sting.

And I want more. I want it harder.