Page 85 of Golden Star

It’s likely why I’ve always loved my meat rare—bloody—even though fae are natural vegetarians. Because I need blood to survive. Not straight blood like vampires require, but enough to satisfy whatever vampire magic runs inside me.

At the thought of blood, a sudden, fierce hunger sears through me, sharp and all-consuming. It’s different from the quiet, gnawing hunger I’ve felt in the past. This is primal—a need that coils in my chest and twists down to my core, demanding to be satisfied.

My eyes drop to Zoey’s bandaged arm, her blood already seeping through the torn cloth. Its spicy,chocolatey scent fills my senses, and my mouth waters, desperate for a taste.

It’s quickly replaced by bile creeping up my throat, and I back away, putting space between us, horrified at myself. The thought of taking from Zoey, of drinking from her to sate this need—it’s monstrous.

I tear my gaze away from her, squeezing my eyes shut and focusing on the icy air biting at my cheeks, trying to cool down my appetite.

The hunger doesn’t wane. It’s a steady thrum in my veins, making my vision pulse with it and my bones ache.

My tears are freezing on my cheeks when a breeze sweeps past, and with it, a scent that makes me freeze.

Metallic and rich, tinged with the coldness of death.

The dark angel’s blood.

My eyes fly open, and I look over at his body, his wings sprawled across him like remnants of a storm. The wound on his back is seeping blood, the bright red pooling in the snow around him, tempting me in a way I never would have believed possible even a day ago.

His body is dead, but his blood is fresh. It calls to me, singing with a promise of strength and satisfaction, despite the revulsion at myself surging beneath the craving.

It’s this or nothing,a pragmatic, cold voice whispers at the edge of my mind.

Zoey won’t make it without help. Neither will I.

And here this man is—a man who violated me in the worst way in my life—lying there like freshly caught prey.

He’smyprey.

I push myself to my feet, my legs trembling and my heart thundering with a mix of fear and anticipation as I stumble toward his body. As I get closer, the scent grows stronger. It drowns out everything else—the freezing wind, the burn in my muscles, even the steady thud of my heart.

All I can think about is how close I am to regaining the strength I need. The strength Zoey needs me to have.

Finally, I reach him and kneel beside him. The wound is deep, his blood staining the snow. I take a deep breath, and the hunger claws again, urgent and insistent.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I dip my fingers into the wound, bringing them to my lips.

An electric current snaps through me, my vision sharpening in seconds. But I’m only able to enjoy it for a moment. Because a pang of sharp pain cuts through my gums—sudden and fierce, like an injection at the site of a wound.

I wince, my hand flying to my mouth as the unmistakable points offangspush through.

Hunger twists at my stomach, stronger than before.

I needmore.And I’m going to have it.

I roll him over, although his wings break as I do, and study him for a few moments.

He’s just as beautiful in death as in life. Sharp features, and inky black eyes that are darker than a moonless night. It’s haunting, and mesmerizing, and horrifying all at once.

But I’m not here to admire the beauty of whatever species he is.

I’m here to satiate the hunger roaring inside me like a hurricane.

My gaze shifts to his neck. To the same spot where his fangs broke my skin— where he drank from me to taste my blood and my fear.

He’s going to pay for what he did to me. Not only that, but he’s going to strengthen me in the process.

And so, with a growl that sounds more animal than human, I lean down and bite, my new fangs piercing his cold, tender skin.

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