Miguel’s P.OV
A cloud of dread settled on my shoulders, fingers fluttering to my lips. “Sweet—” I muttered under my breath as my stomach flipped in horror because Flynn’s blood should be far from being sweet.
It was supposed to be the most repulsive taste ever and since I should find it disgusting, it would be easier to end his life but that taste was different from anything I have ever had.
It was soothing. Heavenly. Electric and worse, I craved more.
More of his blood.
More of him.
Things weren't supposed to go this way! This was madness.
At the same time, a wave of terror coursed through me when a tale that I’d once heard flashed through my mind. When blood becomes sweet and becomes something one couldn't get enough of, it means that the person has found their blood-host.
