Page 61 of Entombed By Blood
“Bastard thinks he knows everything,” Draven says, glowering at the door like he’s wishing for something else to shoot.
“We’ll figure out how he knew when we’re safe,” Frost insists. “Until then, stay quiet so Finn can monitor the comms.”
I grunt my agreement and settle back into my seat, glancing down to check on the princess in my arms as I do. She hasn’t even stirred. Evie has no idea that we just took out a small army to get her free.
Chapter Twenty
Evelyn
The first cluethat something is different is when I wake without the fogginess caused by the silver. The second is when I stretch out my limbs and don’t hit the walls of my coffin.
My head hurts, but my thirst is burning the back of my throat so badly that I barely notice. It’s made worse by the scents that linger in the room with me. Six distinct male scents. Each one as tantalising as the next.
A soft glowing light is coming from a lamp by the bed, and the curtains are drawn, leaving me clueless about how much time has passed and where I am.
“Easy.” I recognise the voice coming from the corner of the room, and I search the space until I catch sight of the beautiful man perched on the edge of the dresser.
“You!” I gasp, staring at the familiar lycan as shock momentarily interrupts the thirst. “You were at the boutique.” He’d drowned his delicious scent in alcohol then, but there’s no mistaking him.
He pushes away from the side of the room and edges closer with a tiny sarcastic bow. “Finley, at your service. You can call me Finn, though, everyone does. I’m the pack omega.”
I blink at him as he takes another step forward, then another. Now that he’s closer, I can feel the bond between us, pulsing with nerves and concern. “You’re…”
“Your new favourite thrall.” His smile is effortless and disarming as he holds out his wrist in offering.
My vision narrows until all I can see is his pulse. The seductive, steady fluttering holds my attention captive as the last of my self-control fades away.
“Thirsty? I’ve got an all-you-can-drink lycan buffet right here.”
His verbal permission is like a dinner bell to my thirst. My body launches across the remaining distance between us, and in the haze of bloodlust, I ignore his offered wrist in favour of climbing him like a tree.
He’s not bulky like my other thralls, but he’s far taller than all of them. His arms band around my waist to hold me up as I run my fangs along his jugular, searching for the perfect place. When I finally bite down, he moans, taking a step back as his head falls to one side to give me better access.
“Shit, that feels incredible,” he murmurs. “Take what you need.”
I lap at his neck in answer, gulping down mouthfuls of his unique flavour. His blood is potent, but still less powerful than my other thralls. I can tell that he’s younger than all of them by a decent margin. But there’s a sweetness to his taste that’s addictive enough that I don’t care. Drinking from him feels like coming home; like snuggling into a warm blanket of comfort and safety.
I drink until I’m full, but don’t glut myself. I still have that much control, at least. It will take some time until my body remembers how to treat my thirst as an inconvenience and not a life-threatening situation, but I don’t think I’m at risk of true bloodlust. That’s a blessing. I’ve seen the thirst overtake other vampires’ minds, and I’d rather die than suffer that fate.
My tongue snakes out, licking away the last drops and healing the puncture wounds I made with lazy strokes that make Finn shiver beneath me.
Now that my thirst is sated, my headache disappears. A headache which was caused by…
“You drugged me!” I accuse.
My hands release their iron grip on his clothes and I drop out of his arms, landing on my feet. I take a half step back and look down at my body.
The dress from before is gone. I’m wearing a long, loose shirt that smells of Silas and a pair of soft shorts that are pulled tight around my waist with a drawstring.
“Actually, I think you’ll find Gideon did,” Finn admits, wary now.
My frown only deepens as I think back through the events that led to that point. “Where is he?” I whisper, looking up to find my own torn expression reflected perfectly in the circular frames of his glasses.
“Gideon?”
“No,” I shake my head. “Where ishe?”
Frost.The man whose name I can’t bring myself to say. The man who betrayed me and ripped out my heart and somehow still lives to tell the tale.
