She didn't need to sleep.
That much was obvious by now.
Me? I'd barely survived the last few nights without begging for mercy. Meanwhile, Seraphine drifted around the villa like some ancient, elegant force—always composed, always watching. Like fire wrapped in lace.
And I was losing my mind.
I stood shirtless in her kitchen, nursing a sore hip and pretending the mug in my hand had actual coffee. It didn't. Just hot water and regret.
My body still ached in all the best ways.
My cock? Still twitching at the memory of her riding me into the goddamn upholstery last night.
Twice.
She hadn't even broken a sweat.
I, on the other hand, hadlimpedto the bathroom like someone recovering from a minor war. Now the ghost of her mouth on my skin was making it very hard to concentrate on anything except how badly I wanted to go upstairs and get wrecked again.
But even horniness had its limits.
And mine had hit the point where I had to ask.
Because for all her curves and chaos and the way she said my name like it was something holy—there was still the fact that she was very much not human.
She appeared behind me without a sound. As usual.
I didn't even flinch anymore.
"You're brooding," she said, voice silk-wrapped smoke.
"I'm thinking."
"Same thing." Her arms slid around my waist, her chest pressing into my back like sheknewexactly how to scramble my thoughts. Which she did.
I let her stay there for a second, her breath warm against my neck, her fingers dragging lazy circles along my stomach.
But eventually I asked.
"You haven't fed."
She stilled. Just enough for me to notice.
I turned around in her arms.
"You haven't fed," I repeated. "Not since I got here. Not that I've seen, anyway. Don't you need to?"
She looked up at me—red eyes calm, unreadable, framed by a halo of curls that didn't have the decency to ever be messy no matter how many times I'd buried my hands in them.
"I feed," she said simply.
"Yeah, when? Because unless I'm missing something, I haven't seen you sink your teeth into anything. Not even a glass bottle. And no offense, but if I'm going to keep letting you climb me like your personal jungle gym, I'd really love to know you're not starving."
That earned a small smile.
"You're worried about me?"
"I'm worried about the sexy immortal woman who makes my dick ache and doesn't seem to eat food like a normal person, yeah."
She laughed—quiet and dangerous—and stepped closer, tracing a finger along the waistband of my joggers like she hadn't already peeled them off the night before.
"I don't need to feed often," she said. "Not like the younger ones. My body knows how to stretch the hunger. To savor."
"And you're not... tempted?" I asked. "With me? With Tiff?"
Her expression sobered. "Never with your sister," she said. "She's off-limits. Completely."
"And me?"
Her smile returned—sharper now. A flash of fang beneath the gloss of her lips.
"You?" she murmured, pressing her body flush to mine. "You're a different story."
She kissed me then—soft and slow, nothing like last night's madness. This was more dangerous. More intentional.
When she pulled back, her voice was velvet in my ear.
"I won't take what isn't offered, Cassian. And you—" her hand slid lower, over the curve of me, already thick and twitching under her touch, "you offer so easily."
My breath stuttered.
"Fuck," I muttered.
She kissed my throat, my jaw, my mouth again. Every brush of her lips setting fire to my half-formed thoughts.
"If I needed more," she said, "I'd ask."
Her nails grazed my lower back. I shivered.
"What does it feel like? y'know to be fed from."
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He asked me what it felt like to be fed from.
But what he didn't realize was — I wanted to know what he tasted like.
Cassian stood there, mouth parted, chest rising slow, ocean eyes fixed on me like he already knew he was in trouble.
My kind of trouble.
"Show me," he said.
Just that.
And gods help him, he meant it.
I stepped in. Close enough to feel the heat rising off his skin. Close enough that when I tilted my chin, I could hear his pulse hammering just below the surface — fast, strong, ripe.
My hand found the back of his neck. Fingers threading into his hair. He let out a shaky breath and tilted his head without me asking.
Willing.
So willing.
"You don't flinch," I murmured.
His answer was a low, "Should I?"
I smiled — slow and sharp. My eyes locked on the place where his pulse fluttered. That sacred spot.
"Most people do."
He didn't move. Didn't breathe and neither did I.
Not until I kissed his throat — just once, lips barely brushing over the skin there. Testing. Teasing. Letting him feel the shape of what was coming.
He gasped a sound made for silk sheets and dark rooms. And then — I sank my fangs into him. Not rough. Not monstrous. Just... deep. Precise.
He jerked. His hips pressed against me, involuntary, like his whole body couldn't decide whether this was pain or pleasure or both. My arms slid around his waist, holding him as the first rush of heat flooded my mouth.
And oh, Gods.
He tasted like adrenaline. Like whiskey and guilt. Like a boy who'd run too long, too far, and was finally letting someone catch him. His blood hit me like fire under the skin. Sharp. Male. Alive.
I drank. Slowly. Rhythmically. Not enough to hurt him — not yet. Just enough to make him feel it.
Cassian moaned. Low. Guttural. His hands gripped my back like I was dragging him under, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to drown or beg for more. His breath stuttered against my shoulder. "Fuck."
"Still want to know what it feels like?" I whispered, voice muffled against his neck.
He barely managed a nod.
So I showed him.
I fed.
With intention.
With intimacy.
With heat rolling through me, knotting in my stomach, curling between my thighs as the bond built. He tasted like need. Like someone who had never been touched the way they deserved — and was realizing it for the first time.
He trembled in my arms. And I felt it — not just in his body, but in him. The surrender. The giving. The quiet, aching want. And beneath it all...
Trust.
He trusted me. That undid me more than anything.
I licked the wound closed gently, slowly pulling back. My lips brushed the pulse that still fluttered under his skin. He was sweating. Breathless. Half-hard against me.
I kissed his jaw. Then his mouth.
He kissed me back like he was already addicted.
"Now you know," I whispered.
He didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
His eyes said everything.
So did the way he pulled me toward the bed without a word and I—I wasn't thinking anymore.
Just burning.
His blood roared through me like lightning in my veins. Everything was heat. Want. Need. I couldn't remember the last time I'd fed like that—like I felt it. Not just the hunger, but him.
And gods, he tasted like sin dressed in devotion.
Cassian pulled me toward the bed, but I was already moving—dragging him down with me, crushing our mouths together before he could say a word. There was no grace to it now. No patience. Just this awful, beautiful urgency like we were trying to crawl inside each other.
He groaned against my lips, deep and low, and shoved my robe off my shoulders completely. It hit the floor in a whisper of silk. I was already bare beneath it. He'd already seen me—but not like this.
Not wrecked.
Not blood-drunk.
Not starving for him.
Cassian cursed when I pulled him onto the bed.
And then he smiled.
Like he'd been waiting for this.
Like he knew exactly what he was about to do to me.
I straddled his hips. Bent down. Bit his bottom lip just enough to make him gasp. His hands roamed up my thighs, palms rough, fingers splayed, grabbing like he needed to anchor himself or he'd get lost in me.
Too late.
We were already drowning.
His cock was hard beneath me, straining against his jeans, and I ground down once—slow, deliberate, punishing.
His head snapped back. "Fuck—"
"I'm not done tasting you," I whispered, kissing a trail down his throat, over the fading bite. "So don't come too fast, darling."
"Not promising anything," he gasped, hips bucking.
I smiled. Dark. Feral.
And then I unbuttoned him. One snap at a time. Slow enough to make him shake. Fast enough to feel his body begging.
When I finally freed him, I wrapped one hand around him—thick, warm, claiming—and licked a stripe up the vein along his cock just to feel the way his body convulsed beneath me.
"Gods, Seraphine," he breathed, already breathless.
Then I sank down onto him in one slow, sinful motion.
We both froze.
Me, because the stretch was maddening. My body aching from the inside out, so wet he slid in like he was made for me. And him—because I could feel the tension ripple through his spine, his hands clenching hard at my waist. He looked up at me like he didn't know whether to worship or surrender.
So I made the choice for him.
I moved.
Riding him slow at first. Deep. Luxurious. Like I was savoring every second of how he filled me. How he fit. My head fell back, moaning openly when his hands moved to my hips and started guiding my rhythm.
But it wasn't enough.
Not even close.
I sped up. Harder. Hungrier. Hips rolling fast, slamming into him with every punishing thrust. The slap of skin-on-skin filled the room. The bed rocked beneath us. The firelight painted us gold and shadow, and gods, I felt alive in a way I hadn't in centuries.
Why did I stop feeding again? Why hadn't I fed from him sooner?
His hands gripped me tighter. His mouth found my breast—sucked, bit. My nails dragged down his chest. I didn't care if I left marks. I wanted to- I wanted to ruin him.
"Seraphine," he choked, "I'm—fuck—I'm gonna—"
"Then cum," I growled, biting his shoulder as I slammed down again, hard enough to make him cry out.
And he did. With a groan so deep it rattled my bones.
I felt him pulse inside me, hot and endless, and it tipped me over the edge. My own climax crashed through me like fire ripping through dry leaves. Back arched. Legs shaking. A scream torn from my throat as everything else fell away but the feel of him—in me, under me, around me.
I collapsed against his chest, panting, fingers still tangled in his hair. He stroked a hand down my back. Said nothing. Didn't have to. I kissed his throat one more time, right over the fading bite and whispered,
"You tasted like trouble."
His reply was a crooked grin against my hair.
And the worst part?.....I wanted another taste.