Chapter Three – Hunger
1130 Words
Blood.
It was everywhere. In the rhythm of footsteps on the street below, in the thrum of life pulsing through a thousand bodies crowded into the veins of Manhattan. Selene could hear it, smell it, taste it.
But tonight, the hunger was worse.
Not because of the city. Not because of the humans.
Because of him.
Damian Blackthorn.
She paced the length of her penthouse apartment, silk robe whispering against bare skin, the city lights throwing fractured reflections across the glass walls. She had drunk earlier—two donors, carefully chosen, carefully veiled in glamour so they would never remember. Their blood should have quieted her, sated her. But it hadn’t.
The taste in her mouth was wrong. Too thin. Too bland.
What she craved burned hotter, richer. Wild and primal. The taste of wolf.
Her fingers curled against her thigh as she closed her eyes. She could still feel the heat of him from that office, the brush of his scent—cedar, smoke, iron. He had stood so close, his golden eyes flaring, his voice a growl wrapped in silk.
She had wanted to bite him. Not to kill. Not to end him.
To taste him. To take him inside her in the most dangerous, forbidden way.
Selene hissed and turned sharply away from the window. “This is madness,” she whispered to herself. “He’s the enemy.”
But her body didn’t listen. Her body remembered.
⸻
The phone on the nightstand buzzed. Selene snatched it up, her fangs already pricking against her lower lip.
High Court: Progress?
Her chest tightened. She typed quickly:
Damian suspects me. Gaining access will take time.
The reply came instantly.
Unacceptable. He is the lynchpin. Find his weakness. Use it. Feed, if you must. But bring him to his knees.
Selene’s stomach twisted—not with revulsion, but with the brutal irony of it. Feed, if you must. They had no idea what they were asking. Feeding on Damian Blackthorn wouldn’t bring him to his knees. It would bind them. It would damn them both.
Her reflection stared back at her from the glass wall—pale skin, dark hair, eyes that shimmered faint red even now. For the first time in a century, Selene wasn’t sure if she feared her masters more than herself.
She whispered his name into the empty room. “Damian…”
And her hunger sharpened.
⸻
Damian felt her in his dreams.
Golden eyes snapped open long before dawn, sweat slick across his chest. The sheets tangled around his hips, his body taut and aching with something he couldn’t name.
Except he could.
Selene.
He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees, chest heaving. For years, he had disciplined himself to mastery. The wolf inside him obeyed his command, never the other way around. Women came and went, none staying long, none shaking the foundations of his control.
But her…
The vampire had walked into his tower and left him restless, ravenous, unsettled. His wolf wanted her throat between his teeth. His body wanted her pressed beneath him. And somewhere deeper, darker, he wanted something worse—partnership.
He snarled aloud, disgusted at himself.
Across the room, Marcus stirred in the leather chair where he’d dozed off, a bottle of whiskey half-empty at his feet. His beta blinked awake, sharp as ever despite the haze.
“You dreamed of her again,” Marcus said flatly.
Damian didn’t deny it.
“You’re letting her in,” Marcus pressed. “She’s poison, Alpha. You know this.”
“Poison can be useful,” Damian muttered, rising and tugging on a shirt.
“Poison kills.”
Damian’s golden gaze cut to him, sharp as a blade. “Not if you master it first.”
⸻
Selene found herself drawn back to him the next night, despite every warning clawing at her mind.
It wasn’t coincidence. It wasn’t strategy. It was hunger.
She slipped past Blackthorn Tower’s outer defenses as easily as mist, her glamour bending human eyes away. But wolves were not so easily fooled. By the time she reached the private rooftop garden, she knew he was waiting.
Damian stood at the edge of the roof, suit jacket abandoned, white shirt open at the throat. The city blazed below him, but his attention was fixed on the shadows where she emerged.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low, rough.
“And yet…” She stepped closer, the night air curling around her. “Here I am.”
The wolf in him stirred visibly, golden flickers sparking in his eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“Am I?” Her smile was sharp. “Or are you?”
They circled each other, predator and predator, the night electric with tension. Selene could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, pulsing just beneath the skin of his throat. Her fangs ached. Her body burned.
“You’re hungry,” Damian said suddenly, reading her too easily.
Her breath caught.
“You think I can’t smell it?” His voice dropped, growl beneath the silk. “You’ve fed. But not enough. Not what you really want.”
Her nails dug crescents into her palm. “Careful, wolf.”
“Or what?” He stepped closer, until she could feel the heat rolling off him, until her body screamed to close the distance. “You’ll bite me?”
His throat was inches away, strong and bare. Selene’s fangs lengthened, hunger clawing through her control. She should walk away. She should kill him. She should do anything but this.
But her body leaned in before her mind could stop it.
And Damian didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t lift a hand to stop her.
He wanted it.
Selene’s lips brushed the heat of his throat, a whisper of contact that made her entire body shudder. She could hear the wolf inside him snarling, not in anger, but in anticipation.
Her fangs grazed his skin. Just enough to taste the pulse. Just enough to imagine the flood of heat and power that would come if she sank them deeper.
She trembled.
And then—jerked back with a ragged breath, eyes blazing crimson.
“No,” she hissed.
Damian’s eyes burned molten gold, his own control shredded thin. “You want to.”
Selene’s laugh was broken, bitter. “That’s the problem.”
For a moment, silence. Their hunger hung heavy between them, unsated, dangerous.
Finally, Selene whispered, “One bite, Damian… and I’ll never let go.”
His voice was low, rough silk. “Then maybe I should let you.”
The rooftop air vibrated, thick with hunger and threat and heat.
And both of them knew: sooner or later, one of them would break.
- Writer
