75

EZRA

“Ezra,” she whimpers weakly. “Stop. You are…”

The words pierce through the haze—barely. Like light filtering through heavy fog. My mouth is still on her skin. Her taste is still on my tongue. Her blood still coats the roof of my mouth.

But her voice…

I blink. My throat works around a swallow as I pull away, her blood trickling down the side of my lips, warm and thick and utterly damning.

Her skin is pale.

Too pale.

Her eyes flutter halfway open. “Ezra…” she breathes again, raising one trembling hand to my chin. Her fingers barely graze it—light, soft, shaking. “I… I lo…”

Her voice breaks.

Then she slumps.

Her body goes limp against my chest.

And then the fog clears.

Like someone yanks me violently from a fever dream and shoves me into the brutal, suffocating reality of what I’ve done.

I hear it.

—or rather, what I don’t hear.

Her pulse is faint now. Barely there. Like it’s being pulled away from me thread by thread, strand by strand.

My hands tremble as I press them to her waist, to her cheek, trying to lift her, shake her, wake her—but she doesn’t stir.

Panic doesn’t come in a shout.

It comes like a stone dropped in deep water.

It sinks.

Heavy. Cold. Absolute.

“No, no, no, no, no—” I mutter, gathering her closer, cradling her against my chest as I feel for her pulse again, this time with desperation pressing against every inch of my skin. My fingers search her neck, her wrist, her heart. The beats I find are sluggish. Fragile. Like a candle struggling to stay lit in a windstorm.

She trusted me.

She trusted me.

And I bled her too far.

I drank like a fucking animal. Like the worst kind of monster. I didn’t stop. I didn’t stop.

“Thea,” I whisper her name like a prayer, my lips trembling against her temple. “Thea, come on. Please. Open your eyes. Look at me.”

My brain is blank, lacking ideas.

Nothing.

My body is hot and buzzing from her blood, from thr bond that's maybe now too deep to deny.

But she’s still. Her lips slightly parted. Her breath—thin.

I press my forehead to hers, eyes squeezed shut, chest aching. “Don’t do this to me,” I whisper. “Please, don’t.”

I should’ve said no.

I should’ve never let her climb into my lap. Never kissed her. Never touched her throat.

Never tasted her.

God, I thought I could handle it. I thought I’d take one sip and stop. Be in control.

But hunger is a liar.

And I’m the fool who listened.

Her blood sings through my system now, brighter and louder than anything I’ve ever known. It’s like my body has rewired itself to crave only her. No Sanguara will ever be enough again. Nothing will.

And I’ve ruined it.

I’ve ruined her.

She stirs—barely.

A whimper escapes her throat. So faint, I almost miss it.

My hand cups the back of her head instantly, protectively. “I’ve got you,” I whisper, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Thea. I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t thinking—I couldn’t stop—”

Another sound from her, barely a breath.

I know what I have to do now.

I carry her in my arms, still trembling, blood still drying on my lips and with energy renewed, I step through the rift, teleporting straight to Dr. Lance Dynwell’s private office.

Because yes—there is a treatment. Blood transfusion. For this exact kind of failure.

For monsters who forget how to love gently— I'm the worst kind. 

We've managed to hold the Dynwell human family on leash for centuries, forcing them to do our bidding like it's second in nature to them.

“Dynwell.” I growl as soon as I step my foot into the polished office which I've been to more times than needed.

“Dynwell.”

“Mr Harrington?.” His voice breaks through the air. “Is that you?” His voice asks from the attached bathroom, shoved inside waist down with only his head and part of his potbellied stomach out in the open.

I say nothing as I adjust Thea on my arm and march towards the toilet, yanking him by the collar.

“Come make yourself useful.” I say.

His green panicked eyes rake Thea's body. “Wh—”

“Blood transfusion. Now.” I say, voice clenched so tight that I can taste copper that's not hers.

“If anything happens to her. The Dynwell family goes into extinction.”

“I…” he gulps audibly.

“I'll call for an emergency right away.