Chapter 16

I moved quickly to position myself above the door, my body pressed flat against the ceiling where the wall met the doorframe, my fingers and toes finding purchase in the textured surface with the effortless adhesion that came from supernatural strength and balance. It was an old vampire trick, one I'd learned in my early decades when hiding from sunlight and angry villagers had been necessary survival skills, and I'd always found something darkly amusing about how humans never thought to look up.

I heard Lysander's key slide into the lock, heard the metallic click of the mechanism turning, and then the door swung open. He stepped inside and immediately shuddered, his sweat-dampened clothes making the sudden blast of air conditioning feel even colder against his skin. I watched from my perch as confusion crossed his face, his green eyes narrowing as he looked around the apartment, clearly wondering how the AC had turned itself on. He must be exhausted, I thought, watching the way his shoulders sagged. He'd been riding that bicycle under the brutal sun for who knew how long.

He moved deeper into the apartment, his attention focused on the bedroom doorway as if searching for an intruder, and I dropped silently from my position above the door. My feet hit the floor without making a sound, and I reached out to close and lock the door behind him, the deadbolt sliding home with a soft click that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet apartment. Lysander froze at the sound, his entire body going rigid, and then he started to turn around.

I moved before he could complete the motion, covering the distance between us in less than a heartbeat, and my hand came up to cover his mouth before any scream could escape. But I'd miscalculated his reaction—he didn't just freeze in terror as I'd expected, but instead jerked backward in startled panic, his foot catching on the edge of the area rug that separated the entryway from the living space. The sudden movement threw me off balance, my own feet tangling with his, and we both went down in an ungraceful heap.

I landed on top of him, my body pressing him into the worn cushions of his couch where we'd somehow ended up in the fall, and my hand was still clamped over his mouth to muffle any sounds he might make. His heart was pounding so hard I could feel it through the layers of clothing between us, a frantic drumbeat that sent his blood rushing through his veins with intoxicating speed. The scent of him surrounded me completely now, that sweet, addictive perfume that had haunted my thoughts since last night, and I could feel my control beginning to slip as every predatory instinct I possessed roared to life.

His face had gone bright red, the flush spreading from his cheeks down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt, and I could feel the heat of his skin even through my palm. I was pressed against his chest, could feel every rapid breath he took, could sense the way his pulse jumped and raced beneath skin that was far too warm and far too tempting. My nose found its way to the curve of his neck without conscious thought, and I inhaled deeply, drawing his scent into my lungs and feeling it spread through my body like fire through dry timber.

I couldn't help myself—I let my nose trail along the column of his throat, feeling the way he trembled beneath me, hearing the way his breathing hitched and caught. My tongue darted out to taste his skin, just a brief touch that sent electricity racing through my nerve endings, and I felt my fangs extend fully, the sharp points pressing against my lower lip with an ache that was almost painful in its intensity. One of my fangs grazed his neck accidentally, just the barest scratch that didn't break skin but left a faint red line in its wake, and the man beneath me shuddered violently.

"Please," he whispered against my palm, his voice breaking on the single word, and the sound of it cut through the haze of hunger that had been consuming me. There was such genuine fear in that plea, such desperate vulnerability, that it shocked me back to something resembling rational thought. I wasn't just some mindless predator acting on instinct—I was Vivienne Thornfield, and I'd spent a century learning to be better than my base nature.

I pulled back slightly, lifting my head from his neck though I didn't remove myself from on top of him. My hand remained over his mouth, but I gentled my grip, making it less of a restraint and more of a request for silence. His green eyes were wide and glassy with unshed tears, his pupils dilated with terror, and I could see my own reflection in them—pale skin, sharp features, and eyes that were probably showing far too much crimson around the edges from the hunger I was struggling to contain.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said quietly, willing him to believe me even though I wasn't entirely certain I believed it myself. "I just need you to stay quiet so we can talk. Can you do that for me?"