Page 42 of Blood Match

Lucien’s smile widens, revealing the tips of his fangs. “Of course, Darick. Far be it from me to overstay my welcome.” He turns to go but pauses at the door. “Oh, and do take care of yourself. It would be such a shame if anything were to…weaken your position within the clan.”

With that parting shot, he’s gone, leaving me fighting down rage. I’ve really been struggling to control my temper lately.

I turn to Marcus as soon as Lucien’s gone, my jaw clenched. “He’s testing me.”

Marcus nods, his expression grim. “Hoping to get a rise out of you. He’s probing for weaknesses.”

“Do you think he knows?” The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication. “About the Bloodbane? That I have it?”

Marcus’s eyes narrow. “We should assume he does. Lucien has eyes and ears everywhere. It’s safer to prepare as if he knows everything.”

I slump back in my chair, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. “We need to put some plans in place.”

“I agree,” Marcus says, his voice firm. “We need to shore up our defenses, keep our vulnerabilities hidden. I’ll see to it personally.”

With a nod, he leaves, and I’m alone again with my thoughts. They immediately drift to her – the witch. Her scent, her taste, the way her pulse quickened when I was near. I don’t even know her name, and yet I’m consumed by thoughts of her.

And now there’s a new concern. If Lucien suspects anything, she could be in danger, too.

Why should I care?

Because any attack on a witch could lead to trouble for us. That’s all it is. But even as I think the words, I know that I’m lying to myself. There’s more to this.

The stored blood is useless now, and I know deep down that only one thing will satisfy this craving.

Her blood.

I need to see her again.

14

Chapter 14

Rowan

Istand in the sacred grove, soft light filtering through the ancient trees. Their gnarled branches reach toward the star-filled sky like grasping fingers, creating intricate shadows on the forest floor. Soft moss cushions my bare feet as I shift uneasily.

What the hell are you doing here again?

Didn’t I learn my lesson the first time? Meeting a vampire in secret is beyond reckless. If my family knew… I shudder at the thought. And yet here I am, drawn back to this place, hoping that—

Hoping what?

The grove pulses with an otherworldly energy that sets my nerves on edge. Or maybe that’s just my own anxiety. Pushing the feeling away, I focus on my surroundings. Each detail seems to etch itself into my mind.

A cool breeze whispers through the leaves, carrying the sweet scent of jasmine. The delicate white flowers almost glow, dotting the undergrowth like fallen stars. Their perfume mingles with the aroma of damp soil and fragrant herbs. Crickets chirp a soft melody. A night bird twitters.

Everything feels heightened, more vivid somehow. The rough bark beneath my fingers as I brush by a massive oak. The silky petals of a moonflower brushing my ankle. Even the air itself seems to shimmer. Magic hums through the earth, through the trees, through me. I can almost taste it on my tongue.

I close my eyes, trying to center myself. To remember why this is such a colossally bad idea. But before I can talk myself out of it, I feel it.

Him.

His presence washes over me like a physical force, dark and intoxicating. One moment, I’m alone; the next, he’s there – a solid wall of strength pressed against my back. His cool breath stirs the tiny hairs on my nape. A shudder runs through me.

“Oh, my God,” I whisper. He doesn’t respond, but every nerve ending comes alive, hyper-aware of his proximity. Heat floods my body, washing over my skin and seeping into my pores to the core of me. I hate myself for reacting this way. He’s a vampire, for fuck’s sake. I should be terrified, disgusted. Instead, a shiver of excitement makes me tingle, followed quickly by a wave of anger – at him, at myself, at this whole impossible situation.

“Dammit, why?” I want to turn and face him, to push him away. But I’m frozen in place, caught between fight or flight. His scent envelopes me – crisp and clean like winter air, with an underlying muskiness that makes my head spin. One of his hands slides up to rest at the base of my throat. Not squeezing, just… there. A reminder of how easily he could end me.

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