Page 31 of Blood Bound

Nodding slowly, she rises, and I lead her to a secluded booth, my hand resting lightly on the small of her back. The privacy curtain whispers shut behind us, muffling the club’s pulsing rhythm. She settles onto the plush velvet couch, her eyes never leaving mine.

“I’m Lydia,” she breathes, tilting her head to expose the smooth curve of her neck.

I don’t offer my name in return. Instead, I dip my head in, inhaling her scent. It’s intoxicating, but there’s something off about it. Something artificial.

My fangs extend, and I feel the familiar rush of anticipation. But as I sink them into her flesh, I’m immediately struck by how different it feels from Rowan. Lydia’s blood is rich, yes, but it lacks the spark, the raw power that coursed through Rowan’s veins.

I drink deeply, trying to chase that elusive high I experienced with Rowan. But it’s not there. Lydia’s blood is like a watered-down version of what I truly crave. It satisfies the hunger but leaves me feeling hollow.

As I pull away, licking the last drops from my lips, I can’t help but compare the experiences. With Rowan, every sip was electric, charged with an energy that seemed to flow between us. This…this is just feeding. Mechanical. Unsatisfying.

Lydia leans back, her eyes glazed with pleasure. “That was…intense,” she exhales.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The hunger is sated, but the craving remains. I realize now, with startling clarity, that no other witch’s blood will ever compare to Rowan’s.

I’m so fucked.

Lydia raises a hand and traces her fingertip over the telltale fang marks I’ve left in her throat. “This may be a problem, however. I can’t be seen by my kind with the mark of a vampire on my skin. Would you…?” She tilts her head slightly.

Understanding dawns. “Of course,” I murmur. Lowering my head once more, I brush my lips over the puncture wounds. A flick of my tongue has the tiny holes sealing shut. The witch gives a pronounced shudder, her eyes fluttering shut, one hand trailing up over my shoulder. It annoys me in a way I can’t define.

I raise my head, my tongue still tingling from the taste of Lydia’s blood, when something snares my attention. Through the cracked curtains, something across the room draws my eye. I sweep the curtain open further with one arm to get a better look. My entire body goes rigid, every sense suddenly strung taut as a bowstring. I know what I’m about to see before I’ve even laid eyes on her.

Rowan.

She’s here, standing near the center of the dance floor, her flame-red hair a beacon in the strobing light. And she’s not alone. Her sister, Kara, is by her side, both of them wide-eyed as they take in the scene before them.

My shock quickly turns to anger.

What the fuck?

What the hell is she thinking, coming to a place like this? Doesn’t she realize how dangerous it is for a witch to walk into a vampire den?

The irony of my thoughts doesn’t escape me, since I’m feeding on a witch myself right now. I watch as Rowan’s gaze sweeps the room, her eyes glittering with fear and determination. She’s trying to look confident, but I can see the slight hesitation in her movements, the way she keeps glancing at Kara for reassurance. They’re both dressed to blend in, but to my eyes, they might as well be wearing neon signs proclaiming “WITCH.”

Kara moves in close to Rowan, whispering something in her ear. Rowan nods, her jaw set in that stubborn line I’ve come to know all too well. They start to make their way deeper into the lounge, oblivious to the danger they’re in.

I feel a surge of protectiveness combined with frustration.

Damn it, Rowan. Why can’t you just stay put and let me handle things?

But even as I think it, I know the answer. She’s not the type to sit back and wait. She’s here for answers, probably about her sister. The woman is nothing if not single-minded.

My mind races, trying to figure out how to get them out of here without causing a scene. But before I can move, I see several vampires taking notice of the newcomers. Their eyes gleam with interest, and I know I have to act fast. I’m about to step away from Lydia when that flame-colored head turns in my direction, and the world shrinks to a pair of emerald eyes.

She’s spotted me.

Fuck.

Rowan’s gaze locks onto mine, her expression morphing from curiosity to shock in an instant. Her lips part slightly, and I can almost hear the sharp intake of breath even from across the room. The color drains from her face. I’m not used to seeing her without her large tortoiseshell glasses, and I’m struck by the delicate beauty of her features.

Her shock quickly gives way to anger, eyes narrowing as they flick between me and Lydia. Her jaw clenches, and I can see the tension ripple through her body. Her hands ball into fists, and for a moment, I think she might march over here and unleash her fury.

But then something else flashes across her face; an emotion I can’t quite place. Is it…jealousy? The thought sends an unexpected thrill through me. Her eyes linger on Lydia, taking in her proximity to me, the slight dishevelment of her appearance. Rowan’s nostrils flare slightly, and I wonder if she can sense what just happened between us.

I’m not certain, though. Maybe I’m seeing what I want to see. Maybe it’s just my own conflicted feelings clouding my judgment.

Rowan takes an abrupt step back as if physically recoiling from the sight of us. Her sister notices the sudden movement and looks up, following Rowan’s line of sight. When she spots me, her eyes widen in recognition. Her hand immediately goes to Rowan’s arm, gripping it tightly.

---