Blood surged into Damien’s mouth from the fresh punctures in Amelia’s neck—warm, potent, and divine.
He drank deep, each pull laced with desperation, his instincts clawing forward with a hunger so primal it drowned reason. The feral part of him—the part that knew pain, survival, need—had no room for gentleness. Not when death had been hovering so close, its breath already cold on his spine.
Her blood was life. A rich, silken stream of heat flowing over his tongue, cinnamon-sweet and threaded with a subtle fire that clung to every nerve ending as it slid down his throat. His cracked lips sealed tighter around the wound, unwilling to lose a single drop of her.
God. She tasted like starlight—like mercy, like honey.
Maybe it was the severity of his wounds, the toll of hours of agony withou
