5

5

Alexa’s POV

The dream is vivid—so vivid that I can still feel his hands on my body, his mouth at my neck, his fangs pressing into my skin, teasing but never sinking in.

“Please,” I whisper in the dream, arching into him. My body is on fire, my pulse hammering against his lips, begging to be pierced.

“You’re not ready,” his voice is dark silk, a slow torment against my skin.

But I am. God, I am.

I grab at his shirt, tugging, writhing under him, but he only chuckles, a cruel, knowing sound that makes my stomach clench. He wants me desperate.

“Please,” I beg again. “Bite me.”

His fangs scrape against my pulse point, and I swear I can feel the sharp edge of pleasure-pain. But just as he finally presses in—

I wake up.

My body jerks, my breath ragged, my sheets tangled around my legs. Shit. My hand flies to my neck, my skin burning, aching.

It’s not just a dream. This hunger, this need, is real.

I swallow, trying to catch my breath. My thighs are slick, my skin hypersensitive, my body begging for something I don’t fully understand. It’s his bite. I need his bite.

I groan, throwing the blankets off as I sit up. My head is spinning, my heart racing. What the hell is happening to me? Ever since that night in the library, when I felt that sharp pain in my neck for the first time, my body has felt… off. More alert. More sensitive. More addicted.

This isn’t normal.

I glance at my phone. Midnight.

I should ignore this. Sleep it off. Pretend I’m fine.

But I’m already slipping out of bed, throwing on the nearest jacket, grabbing my keys. I need answers. I need him.

I’ve never been to his house before, but I know where to find him. I don’t question how I know—I just do. Like my body is being drawn to him, like some invisible force is pulling me through the empty streets.

By the time I reach his front door, my skin is tingling, my pulse erratic. This is crazy. This is reckless. But I don’t care.

I pound on the door. Hard.

A long silence stretches.

Then, it creaks open.

Damon stands there, shirtless, his dark hair a little tousled like he just woke up—though I know better. His eyes land on me, and something flickers across his face. Surprise. Hunger. Something deeper.

“Alexa,” he says slowly, his voice rough. “What are you doing here?”

I step forward, into his space, into his scent—smoke and cedar and something darkly intoxicating.

“You did something to me,” I breathe, gripping the front of his doorframe. “Ever since you bit me, I—”

“You should leave.”

His voice is firm, but I see the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands flex at his sides. He’s fighting something.

I shake my head. “No. You changed me.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Bullshit.” I take another step forward, my chest nearly brushing his. “I’m not stupid, Damon. I know what you are. I know what you did to me.”

Silence.

Then—he exhales sharply. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

I tilt my head, exposing my neck. “Don’t I?”

His hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist, dragging me inside before I can process what’s happening.

The door slams shut.

And then he’s on me.

My back hits the wall, his body pressing into mine, a wall of heat and muscle and unspoken hunger.

“You think you want this?” His voice is rough, almost pained. “You have no idea what I could do to you.”

I shiver, but not from fear. I stare up at him, heart racing. “Then show me.”

His control snaps.

He grabs my throat, tilting my head back, and his mouth is on mine—hard, claiming, desperate. I gasp into him, my fingers clawing at his back as he kisses me like he’s trying to devour me whole.

I feel the shift in him, the tension, the war between holding back and losing control. His lips leave mine, trailing fire down my jaw, my throat, my collarbone.

And then—his breath at my pulse.

“Tell me to stop,” he growls.

I tighten my grip on him. “Bite me.”

A deep, guttural sound rumbles from his chest.

And then — pain. Sharp. Deep. Addictive.

His fangs sink into me, and my body arches violently, pleasure slamming into me like a drug, a high I can’t come down from.

I moan, loud, broken, wrecked, as my world shatters.

Damon’s POV

The moment my fangs pierced her skin, I knew I was doomed.

Her blood hit my tongue, and I lost every last shred of restraint I had left. It was unlike anything I had ever tasted—warm, rich, intoxicating, laced with something forbidden. The second it flooded my system, I knew I had made a mistake.

Alexa’s body arched against me, her moan tearing through the silence, raw and unfiltered. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t resisting. She wanted this.

And that was the problem.

I should have pulled away. I should have ended this before it began. But instead, I dug deeper, drinking from her like I had been starving for centuries. And in a way, I had.

Her fingers clawed at my back, her breath hitching, her body shuddering in my arms. I could feel everything—the rapid pulse of her heart, the slick heat between her thighs, the way she trembled as pleasure tore through her.

She was falling apart for me. Because of me.

I pressed her harder against the wall, my grip bruising, my control shredding with every swallow.

“Damon—” she gasped, her voice wrecked, pleading.

Fuck.

I forced myself to stop, my fangs withdrawing with a sharp, wet sound. My head spun, my body thrumming with power, but my focus stayed on her—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the dazed look in her eyes.

She was high on it. On me.

I had done this to her.

I had ruined her.

Her chest rose and fell unevenly, her breath warm against my skin as she clung to me, her nails biting into my shoulders. I could still taste her on my tongue, her essence lingering in my veins, making my cock throb painfully against my jeans.

I needed to step back. To put space between us before I did something worse.

But then she looked up at me.

Her lips were swollen, her pulse still racing wildly beneath her skin. She licked her lips slowly, deliberately, as if trying to savor the remnants of whatever the hell this was between us.

And then—she smiled.

A small, wicked little thing that made my blood heat all over again.

“Why do you taste so good?” she whispered.

I stiffened, my hands tightening around her waist. She shouldn’t be feeling like this—not yet.

“Because you’re changing,” I said, my voice lower than I intended. “Because your body is starting to crave me as much as I crave you.”

Her breath hitched. “What does that mean?”

I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to step back, but her hands fisted in my shirt, refusing to let me go.

“You know what it means.”

Her pupils dilat ed, her body pressing flush against mine again. “Then make me understand.”

Oh fuck. She was playing with fire. And I was about to burn us both to the ground.