Page 94 of Forged in Blood

“They’re so what, sweet girl?” His hand slips beneath my skirt and along the inside of my thigh.

“Pleasurable,” I whisper.

Xavier snorts a laugh, but he keeps his eyes on the map. “Not always, Cupcake.”

“They’re not?”

Malachi shakes his head, his fingers skimming over my panties at the apex of my thighs. “Our bite isn’t unpleasant. And it isn’t supposed to hurt because we don’t need people screaming while we bite them. But we only make itpleasurablefor people we like, baby.”

I run my fingers across the nape of his neck, and his eyes twinkle as he smiles at me.

“Is our little cupcake jealous?” Xavier asks.

“No,” I insist, even though it’s a lie. The thought of them doing to any other girl what they do to me makes my stomach roll and my heart ache a little. “I’d just rather you didn’t go around making random women feel…”

Xavier looks up, his dark eyes burning into mine now. “Feel what?”

“The way you make me feel,” I whisper. I’m being foolish. They’re vampires, and that’s what vampires do.

“Sweet girl,” Malachi says, peppering kisses over my throat before he tugs my panties aside and begins to tease me. “What we do with you is very different. And you know it is.” He slides a finger inside me, and my back bows. “Don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” I whimper, wrapping an arm around his neck and holding onto him. Then he sinks his teeth into my throat and reminds me exactly how good he can make me feel.

I settleinto the armchair and flick through my novel, but I can’t focus. My mind keeps going to the boys out at the Hunt and how exciting it all sounds. Despite them warning me how dangerous it is, I’m fascinated. And it’s not like those who are hunted are ever in any danger. They get bitten if they’re caught, but then they get a happy memory inserted instead of the bite and they’re fine. Not that I want anyone other than Axl, Xavier, or Malachi to bite me, but surely if I mentioned I was with them, whoever caught me would let me go.

I glance at the window. The sun has set, and the Hunt will begin soon.

Can you guys still hear me?I don’t get an answer. Looks like the witch magic is already in place. A few weeks ago, I would’ve sworn I’d be happy to have their voices out of my head, but it’s been less than an hour and I miss them.

I put my book down and go to the window, peering out into the fading light. And that’s when I feel it, like a punch to the solar plexus. They’re hurt. Or in danger.

Or both.

I have no idea where the sudden overwhelming dread is coming from, but the sensation is so acute that I can taste it, like a bitter residue in the back of my throat. I need to get to them and warn them.

Something is very, very wrong.

Chapter

Fifty

XAVIER

Axl’s dark laughter fades into the distance as he takes off in the opposite direction. I stretch my neck, enjoying each satisfying crack. The Hunt is my favorite night of the year. All that adrenaline and fear. The thrill of tracking prey before we devour it is a rush all its own. I’ve already earmarked three Onyx pledges who look particularly tasty, and I’d be more than happy to prevent them from becoming immortal members of House Chó_ma.

The pledges have a two-hour head start, and they’re allowed to bring weapons, maps, or anything they think might assist them in making it to the final checkpoint. The smartest ones know that the key is to mask their scent, and to do that most effectively they need to get creative. Skunk spray is particularly effective, as is anything with sulfur. Surprisingly, ash, particularly from pine trees, is one of the stronger substances for masking scent.

A few years ago, the Ruby Dragon pledges set fire to half a dozen trees in their attempt to cover their scent, and a water demon had to be summoned to put it out before it caused a forest fire. In hindsight, the whole situation was hilarious, but burning entire trees has been—understandably—forbidden ever since.

I make my way through the thick woods, dodging the sharp branches and scanning my surroundings for signs of movement before I make my way to the river where the low-hanging fruit usually go in the mistaken belief that water is enough to cover their smell. Spoiler alert—it’s not.

The acrid scent of sulfur reaches my nostrils, but it’s laced with something. Something strong and familiar that makes my fangs throb. Despite the horrendous smell, my mouth waters, and I know what’s causing my reaction.

Fucking Ophelia.

Willing my senses to be deceiving me, I taste the air and follow the scent, heading down the steep riverbank. I keep my ears tuned to the sounds of the night, trying to hear something more than the hammering of my own heart. With every step, I become more certain of one thing. My cupcake is in these woods.

Anger and fear rage inside my chest, each battling for dominance so much that I have no idea which one to focus on.

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