Page 74 of Entombed By Blood
My ears twitch, picking up softest music the second I’m inside. It’s so quiet that it wasn’t audible from the hall, and I freeze, heart hammering. I wait in the doorway, fully expecting to be called out for invading their privacy and told to go away.
Nothing. Either the musician hasn’t noticed, or he doesn’t care.
At this point, any normal person would back out of the room and never say anything of it, but the music is so sweet and soft that my stupid curiosity won’t let me leave until I discover which of the brothers is playing. The twin room is empty, but the sound is coming from beyond the soldier-neat space. On the opposite side, a set of French windows have been left half-open. Beyond them, I can make out a balcony garden and a pair of legs. I slip through the room on silent feet, pausing when the hybrid beyond the glass finally comes into view.
Vane is sitting on the railing, strumming softly on a guitar. He hasn’t heard me, and I’m grateful for that as he keeps playing, staring down at the strings, lost in thought. He has a lot of skill, the kind that only comes from a great deal of practice, and I settle against the doorpost to listen as he whisper-sings a song I’ve never heard before.
It’s not spying. Not really. The door was open, after all. Yet there’s something unbearably intimate about watching someone who doesn’t know you’re there pour their soul into their music. Vane’s body is turned half-away from me, so I can admire him without fear of being seen as he crowds the guitar, his fingers nimbly plucking out the different chords.
I linger for so long that the sky behind him starts to darken. A silent prisoner to his music. I’ve only just summoned the willpower to tear myself away when a howl from the woods splits the peaceful melody in two. Vane lets out a sigh, carefully propping the instrument against the railing before raising his face to the sky and answering with a howl of his own. Before I can think to move, he glances back at me, shoots me a wink that makes my heart skip a beat, and vaults over the edge, dropping to the ground below.
He knew I was here the whole time.My heart is beating a thousand times faster than normal. My mind seems to have captured that single wink for the sole purpose of replaying it over and over again.
Somehow, it feelswrongto be in their room now that I know he’s aware of my snooping. I suppose I should really be grateful Vane didn’t berate me for invading his privacy. All of my justifications from earlier seem to fall flat, and guilt and shame chase me out of their space without another glance.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Evelyn
It takesan embarrassing amount of courage to descend the stairs after that, but my thirst has reappeared and it won’t wait for me to stop dithering.
I half expect to find the whole pack gathered and waiting to confront me, but Frost is the only one there, reclining on the sofa with a tablet in his hand. He looks so relaxed—so much like the old him—that for a second, I’m transported back in time. My heart skips a beat, and my mind reaches for his thrall bond without thinking.
All of that stops when he looks over the top of his tablet and meets my eyes.
He drops the device in his haste to stand. The gesture is meant to be courteous, but I flinch at the suddenness of it. I try to cover the motion, but I’m not fast enough and his jaw tightens in response.
It’s more embarrassing to slip up in front of someone who knew who I was before. Frost remembers a bold, fearless version of myself that I’m not certain I can ever be again. This new me isn’t the same, and I don’t think I ever will be.
You don’t go through what I have and come out perfect on the other side.
“The pack went for a run and Draven isn’t up yet,” he grunts. “If you’re thirsty, you can drink from me.”
My throat is suddenly drier than the desert, and my eyes seem to zoom in on his exposed neck. He leans his head to one side, as if to tempt me further, and damn him, it’s working.
“It’s freely given,” he mutters. “No expectations.”
I’m shaking, my hands literally trembling by my sides, as I try to remind myself why this is a bad idea.
Yet a rebellious part of me wants to believe what he’s told me. A shard of my fractured heart still bleeds for this man. It always has. Maybe it always will.
That’s what makes him so dangerous.
He drops his neck back to its natural angle, hands turning to fists by his sides.
“From the wrist,” I whisper, before I’m aware of it. “And no other touching.”
Normally, sex is easy between immortals. The novelty wears off after a few decades and experience quickly rids us of any hang-ups or illusions about it. Most of the time, it’s a simple, pleasurable exchange that accompanies a feed.
It won’t be that way with him. There are too many messy emotions lingering between us for that.
Frost nods so fast I barely catch it, falling back onto the sofa. “I won’t move. I promise.”
I move to him like I’m in a trance, my steps hesitant at first, but the closer I get, the more the thirst drives me. Nature says this man is my thrall, and his blood is pledged to me.
I kneel between his legs and take his wrist in both hands. The warmth of him makes me flinch again, but he’s shaking almost as much as I am. It’s such an unexpected reaction from such a confident man that it steadies me.
Neither of us know where this will lead, but for now, I’m in control. If this goes wrong, I can pull away.
