Page 61 of Darkbirch Academy

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s precisely the point.” His tone remains even, but there’s an edge to it now. “We’re wasting time, Esme. Mazrov won’t remain unconscious forever.”

I glance at his form on the altar, then back to Dayn. His eyes hold mine, challenging, waiting.

“Alright,” I concede. “But only what’s necessary for the ritual. No extra... sightseeing.”

“I’ll try to restrain my curiosity,” he says dryly.

He reaches for my shoulder, his touch unexpectedly gentle as he guides me closer. The heat of his bare skin near mine sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.

“Cold?” he asks, his breath warm against my hair.

“Hardly,” I mutter.

I don’t even see him move. In one fluid motion, Dayn pulls me against his chest, one hand tangling in my hair whilethe other wraps around my waist. His body burns against mine, all hard planes and searing heat. I gasp at the sudden proximity, my hands instinctively bracing against his bare chest. The runes beneath his skin pulse beneath my fingertips, sending vibrations up my arms.

“Wait—” I start to say, but the word dies in my throat as his lips brush against my neck. Not a kiss, but something more primal—testing, tasting. His breath is scorching against my skin, raising goosebumps despite the heat. My heart hammers frantically, and I know he can feel it, can hear the blood rushing through my veins.

I raise my foot and fumble for the dagger concealed in my boot, my movements clumsy with adrenaline. My fingers close around the hilt as his mouth travels up the curve of my neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I pull the blade free, my hand shaking slightly as I bring it to his wrist.

The cool metal touches his skin, and he pauses, his lips still pressed against my pulse point. I feel rather than see his smile against my neck.

“Clever girl,” he murmurs, the words vibrating against my skin.

With a quick motion, I slice the blade across his wrist. Dark blood wells immediately—not red but something deeper, almost black with flecks of gold swirling within it. The scent hits me—metallic but with undertones of smoke and something ancient, like petrichor after a lightning strike.

I stare at the blood, suddenly hesitant. My grandmother’s warning echoes in my mind, but now faced with the reality, doubt creeps in. What will this do to me? What connection will it forge that Dayn seemed so reluctant to share?

While I hesitate, Dayn doesn’t. His grip on my waist tightens,pulling me impossibly closer. His lips part against my neck, and I feel the sharp scrape of teeth—not human teeth, but something more feral, more dangerous. My breath catches in my throat as he hesitates for just a heartbeat, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt on my skin.

Then pain, bright and shocking, as his teeth pierce my flesh. I gasp, my back arching involuntarily. It’s nothing like I expected—the sharp sting quickly gives way to something else entirely, a flood of heat that spreads from the puncture through my entire body. It’s intimate in a way I wasn’t prepared for, invasive yet strangely pleasurable. His mouth works against my neck, the gentle suction sending waves of sensation down my spine.

My knees threaten to buckle, but his arm around my waist holds me upright, pressed against him like we’re caught in some macabre dance. The dagger in my hand suddenly feels heavy, almost forgotten. The cut on his wrist still bleeds freely, dark rivulets running down his arm. My grandmother’s warning pounds in my ears, competing with the thundering of my own pulse.

Drink his blood.

Through the haze of sensation, I manage to lift his wrist to my mouth. The scent is stronger now—ancient, powerful, intoxicating. I press my lips to the wound, hesitating at the last moment as doubt crashes through me. What if this is exactly what he wants? What if my grandmother was wrong?

But Dayn’s already drinking from me, his teeth deeper now, sending waves of heat through my body that make it hard to think. Each pull of his mouth against my neck draws a gasp from my lips, my body responding traitorously to his touch.It feels like a lot more than a few drops.

Before I can second-guess myself further, I close my eyes and press my mouth to his wrist.

The first taste explodes across my tongue—metallic yet sweet, burning like dark molasses and ginger but smoother, with undertones of something ancient and wild. It’s nothing like human blood, nothing like I expected. It scorches down my throat, igniting every nerve ending as it goes. I feel it spreading through me like liquid fire, racing through my veins until I’m burning from the inside out.

Images flash behind my closed eyes—a mountain range I’ve never seen, bathed in crimson sunset; a woman with copper hair and steely gray eyes; hunters approaching in a forest clearing; hands tracing runes onto parchment; flames engulfing a village; a battlefield strewn with bodies; a night sky filled with wings.

His memories. His past. Fragments and glimpses, too quick to grasp fully, but enough to feel the weight of centuries pressing down on me. Loneliness. Rage. Power. Loss.

His arm tightens around me as I drink, drawing me closer until there’s not a breath of space between us. My free hand grips his shoulder for support, nails digging into his flesh as the sensations threaten to overwhelm me. His skin burns beneath my touch, the runes pulsing faster, matching the frantic rhythm of my heart.

I feel his teeth withdraw from my neck, but his lips remain, tongue sweeping over the wound in a gesture that’s both practical and disturbingly intimate. The sensation sends a shudder through me, and I nearly lose my grip on his wrist.

“Enough,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice rougher than I’ve ever heard it.

But I can’t stop. The taste is addictive, the powerintoxicating. Each swallow sends another rush of heat through my body, another flash of memory behind my eyes. I want more. Need more.

His hand tangles in my hair, pulling sharply to break my connection to his wrist. “I said enough, Esme.”

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