Page 38 of Tears of Revenge

Lysander shuddered, wrapping his arms around her waist. With a hum vibrating from deep within his chest, he ran one hand up her spine while the other held her tight.

“Good.” His voice shook through the praise. “You don’t want to hurt me, remember? Focus on how you don’t want to cause me pain.”

She couldn’t pinpoint why, but she relaxed into his embrace. Letting the blood naturally fill her mouth, she stopped sucking

“Just like that.” Then they were moving, and Lysander lowered into an armchair with her in his lap. “You have venom that causes pain, and an antidote that makes it feel better to the person you’re draining.”

Her mind swarmed with questions, but she couldn’t pull away to ask them. For once, her throat didn’t hurt.

“It feels good, doesn’t it? Better than the donated blood, huh?” Lysander’s words were slurred, his hand slipping into her hair to hold her head in place.

She hummed her agreement, lips vibrating against his skin.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he groaned, words slurring more with each second. “You’re doing so well.”

With her thirst satisfied, and her throat soothed, she let herself fall into his embrace. As his blood dripped past her lips, dribbling down her chin, his fingers massaged the nape of her neck, his other arm around her waist. Being in his strong arms felt good but then again, that could just be the high from his blood.

“Avalon,” Varos softly whispered somewhere close to her ear. “Sweetheart, I think we should give Lysander a break.”

Her eyes fluttered open and even though she didn’t want to, she separated from Lysander’s neck. This time the mark left behind was far less gruesome, though blood still trickled down his neck and onto his shirt.

“Don’t worry. All you must do is lick the wound.”

She nodded, thankful for Varos’s guidance. She leaned down, licking up the small trickle of blood before sealing the puncture marks. When she sat back up, they were all but gone.

“Shame,” Lysander whispered with a lazy smile, his head lolling back against the armchair.

Worriedly, she looked up at Varos, Marcus standing next to him. “Did I…”

“No, you didn’t drain him too much.”

“He’s a big guy,” Marcus laughed. “He’s just high out of his mind, that’s all.”

“High?”

“The antidote he was referring to is like a drug for your victims. It makes them submit but at the same time, thins the blood so you can drink faster.”

She returned her attention to Lysander. He looked paler than usual, his eyes half shut as his hands rested on her thighs and gently caressed her with his thumbs.

“He needs to eat,” she stated, shuffling off his lap. “Blood donors always have to eat well before and after a donation.” She started towards the kitchen, Marcus on her heels. “And he needs fluids.”

“Does that make me a horrible friend? I’ve never offered him anything after using him as my meal.”

She—gently—bit her tongue to keep from scolding him, pulling a soda and water bottle from the fridge. “Would you please give these to him?”

“Anything for you.”

Marcus vanished and returned empty-handed, watching her as she made Lysander a few sandwiches. “He’s fine, you know?”

“He didn’t look fine.”

Marcus approached and cupped her face, directing her eyes away from the plate on the counter. “You don’t need to worry about him.”

“I… He lost a lot of blood,” she stammered, unable to say that he was like that because she’d fed on him.

“Not that much. As he said, you did well. You went slow and didn’t hurt him.”

“Still…” she turned back to the sandwiches, letting Marcus’s hand fall from her face.

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