Page 92 of Eternal Devotion

“Oh, Ensley. Are you going to let him feed on someone else? Do you not understand the level of intimacy and pleasure involved in such an act? The bliss of fulfilling our nourishment is its own kind of ecstasy. It would be like him taking pleasure in another lover.”

I pivoted and stormed toward Ensley, aiming to remove the phone from his hand and hang up, but he ducked away, gaze intent on mine, a crease in his brow. “Is it true?”

“No,” I shouted.

“I wouldn’t lie,” said Cristofer. “Something you should know about our dearest Mordecai…”

“Shut up, Cristofer.”

“He loathes who he is and what he was forced to become. He carries a four-hundred-year-old grudge against his uncle and would sooner see the man die than rescue him. The only problem is that Iulian’s death would make Mordecai our elder and king, which is the last thing on earth that he wants. He’s spent centuries denying his natural urges and hates how pleasurable it is to feed. It sickens him to admit he enjoys it.”

“I don’t. Stop talking.” I ducked the other way, but Ensley moved too quickly.

“He has always refused to feed off a lover because it would mean accepting the pleasure, basking in it. He knows it would only elevate the sensations, and he fears a day might come when he accepts our curse and lives like the rest of us.”

I dove over the table and knocked bodily into Ensley as he scampered backward a second too late. We collided with the kitchen counter, and a struggle ensued.

He yelped and held the phone aloft, laughing and shouting, “Thanks for the info, Cris, my man. I’m afraid we’re about to be—”

I got the phone and hit disconnect before throwing it as hard as I could across the room where it skittered and crashed into the wall. With luck, it was broken.

Ensley didn’t go after it. He leaned against the counter and howled until tears ran down his cheeks. He laughed so hard, he couldn’t catch his breath and eventually folded in half, clutching his stomach.

Indignant, I crossed my arms. “It should be noted that I despise that man and everything he stands for. Pull yourself together. You look ridiculous.”

It took time, but Ensley sobered, wiping a few remaining tears. A smile remained as he took me in. “Is it true?”

I wanted to deflect, but what was the point?

“Which part? You know what? Never mind. Yes. It’s all true. The only fact I can’t personally confirm has been verified many times by others. I’ll take their word for it. Now…” I glanced around his flat, my insides festering from denial. “If you’ll excuse me. I’m edgy, and if I don’t satisfy this blasted craving soon, we’ll need to part ways.”

I expected a protest, a bloom of jealousy to color his pleas that I remain, but as I reached the door and touched the knob, all he said was, “Do you want to borrow a shirt?”

Part of me was disappointed that he would so readily let me go, and I had to wonder how deeply my feelings for this human ran. Everything Cristofer said was true. The craving was real. It taunted me, screaming in my ear. Was it possible that my refusal to feed since my arrival was because of Ensley? Because it was an intimate exchange, and I didn’t want to feel intimacy with anyone else?

I glanced down at my ruined shirt, registering the charred hole that remained from my excursion to the eyot the previous night. Our abrupt and propulsive escape from the mansion meant I’d left the few articles of clothing I owned behind. My entire mission had been disrupted, and I didn’t know how to get back on track.

A wave of exhaustion hit, and I slumped against the door, pressing my forehead to its cool wooden surface.

Why was I so scrambled lately? Why had a handful of weeks weakened me so? Why couldn’t I turn Ensley off and walk away?

“Yes. A new shirt would be much appreciated.”

While Ensley retreated to the loft, I took a moment to compose myself and evaluate where I’d gone wrong. He returned before I sorted it out.

“Here.” He handed me a soft, smoky-blue knitted turtleneck. “I never wear it. My mother bought it for me last Christmas, but the color doesn’t suit me. It would go nicely with your blond hair and…” He shrugged.

“Thank you.” I ran the fabric through my fingers but didn’t move to put it on.

A heavy weight hung in the air between us, and I sensed his disquiet.

“Ensley, I—”

“What am I to you?”

I glanced from the shirt, noting his creased brow and the firm line of his lips. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Humor me. Put a label on it. I want to know where I stand.”