The Sound Of Ruin
His scent flooded me—iron, smoke, and the faint promise of eternity.
His hand cradled the back of my head, claws gentle against my scalp. “Drink, little ruin. Heal yourself on me. Give me what I’ve wanted since the moment you first bared your teeth.”
The last of my resistance shattered. My lips parted, but I had no fangs to pierce him. He made the choice for me, dragging a claw across his own throat, opening a line of red that welled hot and dark. He pressed me to it, and I sealed my mouth over the wound. The world ignited. Hot, dark power rushed across my tongue, sliding down my throat, flooding my veins with strength and fire.
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