23

BLOOD IN THE BATH

Ronan woke up to silence.

No heartbeat. No breathing. No ice-cold vampire behind him.

He shot upright. The bed was empty. The fur blanket he’d thrown her was folded. Neat. Like she’d never been there.

Panic hit him before logic did. His chest — the mark — was cold. Numb. Like a limb that fell asleep.

_Selene._

The bond was… quiet. Not gone. Muffled. Like she was underwater.

He tracked her by scent. Winter roses and old books, but fainter now. Wrong. It led him down the spiral tower, past portraits of dead Drayces, to a door he hadn’t noticed last night.

Black wood. Carved with bats. Unlocked.

Steam curled from under it.

He kicked it in.

The bathing chamber was massive. Roman. Black marble, gold fixtures, sunken tub big enough to drown a horse. And in the middle of it —

Selene.

She was under the water. Fully clothed. Red dress billowing around her like blood. Eyes closed. Not moving.

Her hair fanned out. Black ink in black water.

For one stupid second, he thought she looked peaceful.

Then he saw her skin.

Grey. Not pale. _Grey_. Like marble. Like a corpse. Blue veins standing out at her temples, her wrists. Lips the color of a bruise.

Ronan was in the water before he decided to move. Ice bit his skin through his pants. He hauled her up by her shoulders.

Dead weight.

“No you don’t,” he snarled. “You don’t get to die first.”

He dragged her to the edge of the tub. Slammed her onto the marble. Water cascaded off her. She didn’t cough. Didn’t gasp.

Her head lolled.

The mark on his chest was _screaming_ now. Cold fire. Like his own heart was stopping.

Because it was. The bond. If she died, he died.

“Selene!” He shook her. Hard. “Wake up, damn it!”

Nothing.

His wolf was going insane. _Not breathing not breathing not breathing MATE DYING._

Think. Think. She’s a vampire. Vampires don’t drown. They don’t _need_ air.

Unless…

Unless she was starving.

The realization hit him like a punch. Last night. She’d said she felt his hunger. For meat. For the hunt.

He felt hers too, but he’d ignored it. Pushed it down. It was a dull ache under his ribs. Easy to miss when you were used to your own rage.

How long had she gone without feeding?

The orphans. She’d been reading to them. Protecting them. She wouldn’t feed from kids.

And she sure as hell wouldn’t ask _him_.

Idiot. He was an i***t.

Ronan pressed two fingers to her neck. No pulse. Vampires didn’t have one unless they’d fed recently.

Her skin was cold. Colder than last night. Like deep winter. Like the grave.

He could feel it now, through the bond. A vast, empty ache. A hunger so old it had teeth. 200 years of rationing, of taking just enough to survive, never enough to thrive.

She was shutting down.

“You stubborn, stupid—” He cut himself off.

There was only one way to fix this.

He pulled his hunting knife from his boot. The silver one. It burned his palm. He didn’t care.

He pressed the tip to his wrist. Right over the vein.

His wolf went silent.

_Don’t. Predator. Enemy. Poison._

“Shut up,” Ronan told it. “She dies, we die. You want to be a corpse?”

The wolf whined. _Not her. Mine._

Exactly.

He sliced.

Blood welled. Hot. Red. Human-wolf blood, thick with power. It hit the marble with a hiss.

The scent exploded in the chamber. Copper. Iron. _Life_.

Selene didn’t move. But her nostrils flared. Just a little. Unconscious instinct.

Ronan shoved his bleeding wrist against her mouth. “Drink. That’s an order, leech.”

For 3 seconds, nothing.

Then her lips parted.

Not a lot. Just enough.

Her tongue — cold as ice — touched his skin.

The effect was instant. Like grabbing a live wire.

Her eyes flew open.

Blood red. Not iris, not pupil. Just _red_. Glow like a dying star. Fangs down, longer than he’d ever seen. Four of them. Lethal.

She latched onto his wrist.

And drank.

Ronan’s knees almost buckled. It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t pleasure. It was _both_. Like his soul was being siphoned out through his veins. Every nerve ending lit up.

He could feel her in his head. Not thoughts. _Feelings_.

Relief so sharp it was agony.

Hunger so deep it was a black hole.

And under it all — shame. Shame so thick he could taste it.

_I didn’t want you to see me like this. Weak. A monster. I’m sorry I’m sorry._

They weren’t his thoughts. They were hers. Bleeding into him through the bond, through the blood.

“You’re not—” His voice was gravel. “You’re not a monster.”

She froze.

Her red eyes locked on his. Still drinking. Still pressed to his wrist. But _listening_.

Ronan didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. He let her take. And take. And take.

The grey faded from her skin. First her cheeks. Pink. Then her lips. Red again. Not paint. _Alive_. Her hair dried in seconds, magic or heat, he didn’t know.

She was beautiful. Not storm-beautiful. _Sunrise_ beautiful. The kind that comes after the worst night of your life.

The kind that makes you believe in things again.

She ripped herself away.

Gasped. Like _she’d_ been drowning. Crawled backwards across the marble, smearing his blood. Wiping her mouth. Horrified.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Blood was on her chin. On her teeth. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I didn’t mean to—I couldn’t stop—”

Ronan looked at his wrist. Two puncture marks. Already healing. Werewolf healing. But the blood loss hit him anyway. The room tilted.

He sat down. Hard. On the wet marble.

“Did you get enough?” he asked. Like he was asking if she’d had enough tea.

Selene stared at him. Her red eyes were fading back to silver-grey. Her fangs retracted with an audible click.

“I could have killed you,” she said. Voice broken. “If the bond didn’t… if I hadn’t been able to stop…”

“But you did stop.”

“Only because of the bond!” She launched to her feet. Staggered. Caught herself on the tub. “If we weren’t tied, I would have drained you. I _want_ to. Every second, I want to. You smell like—like power and storms and _life_, and I’ve been dead for 200 years, Ronan!”

He said nothing. Because his wolf was _preening_. _She wants us. She chose us. Ours._

Shut up.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were starving?” he asked.

Selene laughed. It was an ugly sound. “Would you have offered? The big Alpha who swore to kill all vampires? Would you have rolled over and bared your throat for the monster?”

“Yes.”

That shut her up.

Ronan pushed to his feet. The room still swam, but he walked. Slow. Deliberate. Until he was in front of her.

He grabbed her chin. Not hard. Just… firm. Forced her to look at him. His thumb smeared the blood on her chin.

“I said no bloodshed between us,” he said. “This isn’t bloodshed. This is survival. Ours.” He let her go. “So next time you’re dying, you tell me. Or I’ll figure it out. And I’ll be pissed.”

Her silver eyes were huge. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because if you die, I die.”

“Liar.”

He flinched.

She saw it.

“The bond goes both ways,” she whispered. “I felt you last night. When you threw me the blanket. You weren’t mad. You were… worried. You _cared_.”

“No.”

“You sat up all night. Guarding me. From hunters. From yourself.” A blood tear slipped down her cheek. It was pink now. Diluted with his blood. “Why?”

Ronan couldn’t answer. Because he didn’t know. Because the truth was terrifying.

Because when he’d pulled her out of the water, his first thought hadn’t been _the bond_.

It had been _don’t leave me_.

He stepped back. Away from her. Away from the truth.

“Get dressed,” he said. Voice like gravel. “We need to figure out why the hunters want us dead. And why the treaty activated now.”

Selene didn’t move. She was staring at his wrist. At the two marks.

“Does it hurt?” she asked. Small voice.

“No.” It did. Like a brand. Like he’d been claimed.

She nodded. Wrapped her arms around herself. She was shivering. But not from cold. From adrenaline. From shame.

Ronan sighed. He walked to a cabinet. Pulled out a black towel. Thick. Expensive. Threw it at her.

“Dry off. You’re dripping on my boots.”

A lie. He wasn’t wearing boots. He was barefoot.

Her lips twitched. Almost a smile. Then it died.

“Ronan.”

“What.”

“Thank you. For… not letting me die.”

He grunted. “Don’t thank me. Thank the bond.”

“Liar,” she said again. But this time, it sounded fond.

---

*Later. The Library.*

They’d called a truce. An unspoken one. She stayed on one side of the massive library. He stayed on the other.

Between them: a table. On it: every book about the Blood Moon Treaty Selene owned.

Which was a lot. The castle was a library with a bedroom attached.

“Here,” Selene said. She didn’t look at him. She slid a book across the table. _Treaties of the Old War, Vol. 4_. “Page 400. The binding clause.”

Ronan picked it up. The pages were brittle. He read:

_When wolf and vampire bleed together under the Blood Moon, their souls shall be knotted. For 30 nights they must keep the peace. On the 31st dawn, if both live, the knot unravels. If one perishes, both perish. If they spill each other’s blood in malice, the war restarts, and the Hunters rise to cleanse the world._

He read it twice. “Hunters. With a capital H.”

“The Hunters of the Eclipse,” Selene said. “Not werewolf. Not vampire. Older. They were created to enforce the treaty. To kill anyone who breaks it.”

“Those were the shadows last night.”

She nodded. “They want us to fail. If we kill each other, the war restarts. They get to ‘cleanse the world.’ Which means killing every wolf and vampire alive.”

Ronan closed the book. “So we don’t kill each other. Easy.”

“It’s not.” She finally looked at him. Her eyes were silver again. Clear. Alive. _His_ blood was in her now. He could feel it. A warm hum under his ribs. “The bond doesn’t just share pain and hunger, Alpha. The longer it lasts, the more we… feel.”

“Feel what.”

“Everything.” She swallowed. “If you get angry, I get angry. If I’m scared, you’re scared. If one of us…” She blushed. Actually blushed. Pink on pale cheeks. “If one of us wants…”

She didn’t finish.

But Ronan felt it. A flicker of heat. Not his. _Hers_. Flash of him, pulling her out of the tub. Shirtless. Wet. His hands on her.

He stood up so fast his chair fell over. “We need rules.”

“Agreed.” She stood too. Not looking at him. “Rule one: We don’t touch if we don’t have to.”

“Rule two: We sleep in shifts. No more sharing a bed.”

“Rule three: You stop calling me leech.”

“Rule four: You stop calling me wolf.”

They stared at each other across the table.

The marks on their chests burned. In sync.

Rule five went unspoken: _Don’t fall in love._

Because they both felt it. The bond was already blurring the lines.

His rage was hers. Her loneliness was his.

And when she’d drunk from him, he hadn’t felt violated.

He’d felt… _chosen_.

“Rule five,” Selene whispered, like she’d read his mind.

He met her eyes. “Don’t say it.”

“Don’t fall—”

“Don’t.”

Because if she said it, it would be real. And if it was real, he’d have to fight it.

And he was already losing.

Outside, the sun was setting. Night 2 of 30.

The Hunters were still out there.

And the only thing more dangerous than them…

…was the way his wolf looked at her now.

Not _enemy_.

_Mate_.

*[End of Episode 3]*