CHAPTER 7 : Drink or Die  

 Ella’s POV  

“I’m still me… for now.”

His voice is so small it cracks something wide open inside my chest . I press my forehead harder against his, afraid if I move even an inch the monster will steal him again .

“Don’t you dare leave me,” I whisper , tears slipping off my chin and landing on his cheek .

“I’m trying,” he rasps, chains clinking every time he breathes . “God, Ella, I’m trying so hard .”

“I know you are .” I swallow the sob clawing up my throat. “I see you . I never stopped seeing you .”

He laughs, wet and broken . “You should stop. You should run .”

“Never.”

His whole body jerks suddenly, like someone yanked an invisible string . The silver around his wrists sizzles louder and his eyes bleed crimson so fast it steals my breath .

“Ella,” he growls, voice dropping two octaves, “back away.”

“No.”

“Now!” he roars, yanking so hard the chain bolts groan in the wall .

I scramble backward until my spine hits the opposite wall . “Talk to me . Stay with me.”

“I can’t,” he snarls through clenched fangs . “It’s… it’s burning … everything’s burning…”

His head thrashes side to side, veins black under his skin, spreading like spilled ink . The golden cuffs on our wrists flicker between bright and dead like a dying lightbulb .

“What do you need?” I ask, voice shaking. “Tell me what you need.”

He stills. Eyes lock on my throat. “You know what I need.”

I do. I felt it the second the hunger hit him . My pulse is drumming so loud it’s all I can hear .

“Animal blood didn’t work , did it?” I say softly.

He shakes his head once, ashamed.

I crawl forward on my knees. “Then take mine.”

“No.” The word rips out of him like it hurts.

“Adrian, look at me.”

He forces his gaze up. The crimson is swallowing the silver again.

“You’re shaking,” I say. “You’re dying all over again. I’m not watching that happen.”

“I’ll kill you,” he whispers.

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that !”

“I know you ,” I say, scooting closer until my knees bump his chained ones . “I know the boy who carried me over a fence when I was too scared to jump . I know the man who took bullets for me . That man is still in there .”

He whimpers, actual whimper, head dropping. “I’m so hungry it hurts to breathe .”

“Then breathe me,” I say, and I mean it with every terrified beat of my heart .

I lift my wrist to his lips . The golden cuff pulses like it approves.

He stares at it like it’s poison. “Ella…”

“I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Too late.”

I press my wrist against his mouth . He jerks his head away so hard the chains rattle .

“Don’t make me do this,” he begs .

“You’re not making me do anything ,” I say, cupping his jaw with my free hand . “I’m choosing. Same way you keep choosing me every time you fight him.”

His whole body trembles . Fangs graze my skin, not biting, just resting there, sharp and cold .

“I’m scared,” he admits against my pulse .

“Me too.”

“If I take too much...”

“You won’t.”

“If I hurt you....”

“You won’t.”

He makes this broken sound and then his lips close over my wrist, gentle , reverent, like he’s praying .

The bite comes slow. Two pinpricks that bloom into fire.

I gasp but don’t pull away.

He groans against my skin, eyes fluttering shut, and drinks.

It’s nothing like the horror stories. It’s warm and electric and terrifyingly intimate. Every pull feels like he’s tugging on the thread that connects us straight through the mate marks . Golden light floods the room, soft and pulsing with my heartbeat .

I thread my fingers through his hair , stroking, whispering over and over, “I’m still here . I’m still yours . Come back to me.”

He drinks just enough. I feel it the second the shaking stops , the second the black veins start retreating from his neck .

He pulls away with a ragged cry, fangs sliding free, lips red with my blood .

“I’m sorry,” he chokes, turning his face away . “I’m so sorry .”

“Don’t be.” I press my bleeding wrist to my chest , then lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth, tasting copper and him . “You didn’t kill me . You chose me.”

He stares at me like I’m a miracle he doesn’t deserve . “How can you even look at me right now ?”

“Because you’re still you ,” I say, voice cracking. “And I’m still me . And we’re still here .”

He leans his forehead against mine, breathing hard . “I hate that I needed that.”

“I hate that you had to do it alone,” I whisper. “Next time you won’t.”

“There can’t be a next time .”

“There will be as many next times as it takes .”

He makes this sound like a sob and a laugh at the same time . “You’re insane .”

“Probably.”

We stay like that, foreheads touching , blood on both our lips, golden light wrapping around us like a blanket .

Then the mate marks flare again , brighter than ever , and fresh gold blood seeps from the lines on both our wrists at the exact same second .

We jerk apart, staring.

“What the hell?” I breathe.

The air gets heavy. Too heavy.

A voice that is not ours echoes inside our skulls at the exact same moment, smooth and ancient and cruel.

“Come home, children. Daddy is waiting.”

Adrian’s eyes bleed fully crimson.

The chains groan.