Page 111 of Night's Reckoning
Tenzin watched silently, unable to speak.
He had destroyed her, and he didn’t even realize what he’d done.
She felt shattered. It was not unlike the moment her blood mate, Stephen, had died. She and Stephen had exchanged blood, but he had never taken it from her vein. Tenzin hadn’t let anyone drink from her vein in thousands of years.
You don’t know him anymore.
He made no move to cover himself. Why would he? He was a perfect specimen of masculine beauty. His body was lean and perfectly formed. His legs were long and his body well proportioned. He had an innate grace and athleticism he had honed over fifteen years of careful study and practice.
He hated her.
Ben caught his reflection in the mirror and stared. He was seeing his eyes for the first time. Seeing the reflection of the creature she had made him. She hadn’t forced her blood into his body to make him immortal, but she had taken him to her father, demanded his blood, and issued the direst of threats to make it happen.
She could have taken him to the human healers. He would have lived. He might have walked with enough human science. He could have had a full mortal life.
She hadn’t done that.
Ben bit into another bag of blood and drank as Tenzin floated to the ground and retrieved the robe she’d been wearing. She’d worn deep plum, but he wouldn’t have noticed. She wrapped the robe around herself and waited silently.
He tossed the empty bag to the side and swallowed, wiping all traces of it from his lips. “My eyes?”
“Will stay mostly as they are now.”
“Did your eyes change?”
“I assume so.”
“You assume a lot,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
Ben reached for the silk sheet and gingerly wrapped it around his waist. “We’re in Penglai?”
“Yes.”
“Am I in your father’s quarters or in yours?”
“Mine.”
“I’d like to move to Zhang’s tonight.” He walked to the bathroom and paused at the door. “Please leave.”
28
Ben held his breath under the bathwater until he realized he didn’t have to breathe. He’d been subconsciously waiting for the burning in his lungs, but it never came. He sat up and wiped the water from his face.
The pressure from his own hands hurt.
His body—everything about this strange shell—felt wrong.
His throat burned. It was like the worst case of strep throat ever, but without the swelling or the ice cream. His skin ached. Even his hair hurt when it moved. He wondered if he could swallow ice or if his body would reject it.
He didn’t feel the need to pee.
He was hungry again.
He was horny again.
Ridiculously, excessively horny. He’d come five minutes ago and was still hard as a rock.
