“Thirteen. We did your shoulder again last week.”

“Forgot.” When Paradise glanced up at the Brother, he shrugged. “I lose count. Shit happens.”

Taking a deep breath, Paradise put her busted hand forward. “Is this going to hurt? What you need to do with it, that is.”

Dr. Manello smiled again and took what she put out so lightly she could barely feel his touch. “Pleased to meet you, Paradise. Don’t worry, I’m going to take really good care of you.”

And what do you know, he did.

After Rhage left to go back to teach, Dr. Manello took an X-ray, showed her that nothing was broken, numbed the area up, and popped the middle knuckle back into place.

“You won’t have to wear this splint for long,” he said as he encased her finger in a padded metal sheath that he taped up with strips of sticky white cloth. “You guys heal so well—it still amazes me.”

When he stepped back, she looked his work over. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re out of commission for the rest of tonight. You and Peyton can hang out in the gurney section.”

There was a knock on a door over to the left.

“Come on in,” he said as he went over to a red bin and snapped off his bright blue surgical gloves. “I know you’ve met Ehlena, our nurse.” The man frowned at the female’s tight expression. “Is he still refusing?”

The nurse shut the panel behind her before answering. “He sent the Chosen away.”

Dr. Manello muttered a curse. “I’m not releasing him if he doesn’t feed.”

“Is this Craeg?” Paradise asked. “Is it—”

The man smiled and talked over her. “So we’re done here. Why don’t you head back to the gym? You guys must almost be done for the night.”

“I’ll feed him,” she said roughly. “If he needs it, I’ll feed him.”

What. The hell. Was. She. Doing.

As the daughter of a Founding Family, she wasn’t supposed to give anyone her vein. Ever. That was solely for her intended mate. And if she herself ever needed to feed, it had to be in the company of a male relative of hers and several witnesses.

If she did this for him, it was akin to her losing her virginity before her mating night.

“That’s okay,” Dr. Manello said. “We’ll take care of it.”

Paradise was escorted out into the corridor, and as the door shut behind her, she could hear the two of them talking in hushed voices.

Go back to the gym, she told herself. Go on, now. Just head back to class and …

Looking around, she found that she was alone in the corridor, nobody coming or going, no sounds of footfalls or voices.

She really should rejoin the others.

Except as soon as she had the thought, her feet turned her to the left and took her away from where the hand-to-hand was being taught. Going down to the next door, she pressed her ear to the closed panels and listened.

Breathing in deep, she caught the shadow of Craeg’s scent.

He was in there.

Right, she really needed to go back to the—

Her hand pushed the door open a crack and she peered in—and there he was, lying on white sheets on an enormous hospital bed that he nevertheless managed to dwarf. His eyes were closed and his breathing shallow. His skin was … not much different from those bleached sheets—except for the incredible bruises on his face, his throat, his … everywhere. And then there was the patch-work of bandages that covered the worst of the blade strikes.

Stepping inside the room, she forced the door to close faster than it wanted, and waited for him to look over.

“What?” he said without opening his eyes.

She went across to the bed—and wondered idly if she was ever going to be around the male without her heart pounding.

“Why aren’t you feeding?” she demanded.

“Why are you bothering me?”

“You turned down a Chosen?”

“Why aren’t you in class?”

“I got hurt. I’m not allowed.”

That brought his head around and his lids up. “Are you okay?”

“I’d show you, but it would mean I’m flipping you off.”

“You kicked me in the balls, remember? You think I’m worried about your finger?”

“And it wouldn’t be the first time, either. I think I flipped you and Peyton off in the corridor.”

“After the nut shot, my memory is fuzzy.”

She wanted to sit on the edge of the bed, but she was scared of what she was proposing. “You can take my vein, you really can.”

Craeg stared at her for a moment. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Please.”

“Were you born to a family of saviors? Is it in your blood or something? Because I have never met a pain in the ass like you before, and this Mother Teresa stuff can’t be learned behavior. The world is too nasty a place for it.”

“They aren’t going to let you go home.”

“They can’t keep me here.”

She laughed. “It’s the Brotherhood. I’m very certain that nobody is getting out of this place without their permission.”

He grunted and fell silent.

“Come on, it’ll make you feel better.” She put up her left wrist. “And it’ll help me feel less guilty about the … um, yeah.”

“I turned down a Chosen, you know.”

Paradise rolled her eyes. “You have the strangest way of being a prick when you feel threatened. Did you come from a family of pricks or did the nasty world just teach you to protect yourself like that?”

“The nasty world killed all of my family. Two of them in front of me. So yeah, you could say it’s learned behavior.”

Paradise dropped her arm and looked down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“And besides, aren’t you afraid that I’ll do something I shouldn’t?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You saw what happened when you pushed me in the gym. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Paradise felt her body start to warm—and it was then that she owned up, at least to herself, that she had come in here to offer her vein because she wanted more of that … whatever it was … with him. That connection. That … electrical charge.

That sexual burn.

And if there was one sure way of getting it? It was offering a starving male her vein: She might be a virgin, but she wasn’t that naive.

“Do you like playing with fire, girl?” he growled. “Because if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to burn you to the ground.”

She knew without opening her lips that her voice was lost. So in reply, she simply, and mutely, offered her wrist.

When he didn’t take it, she upped the ante by bringing it to her mouth and scoring her flesh with her own fangs.

That did the trick.

As the scent of her blood hit the air, his eyes rolled back in his head and his body surged under the thin blankets that covered him, his hips rolling, his legs sawing.

“Take my wrist,” she said in a low voice. “It will help you.”

His hand shot out and grabbed a rough hold of her forearm, jerking her vein to him. But before he struck, he looked up at her with wild eyes. “You’re going to need to yell for help.”

“Why?” she breathed.

“Right now. Do it.”

Except he didn’t wait for her to respond. He yanked her toward him—then with a ferocious growl, he struck at her skin even though she had already opened up access for him. As he began sucking with great pulls, she felt an erotic charge all over her body. Opening her mouth so she could breathe, she braced her hand on the bed and held herself up, balancing on the precipice of falling over on top of him. Her mind gone, she was nothing but instinct, and her body knew exactly what it wanted—naked skin on naked skin, the malest part of him in her core, pumping … coming.

Screw her virginity.

Literally.

And he was thinking the same thing. As he fed, his eyes roamed over her face, her throat, her breasts—and something was going on under the sheets, his hips moving, his torso arching, his expression one of pain as if he hurt from the wanting.

No, she was not calling for help.

It was, of course, totally insane, but that didn’t seem to matter—and dimly, in the very back of her mind, she had a thought that this was why feeding was so closely monitored for females of her class: There was going to be absolutely no crying for help. She didn’t want any because she had no interest in stopping anything that was going to happen next—this hot, wild moment was not about her being from a Founding Family. It wasn’t about the mansion she lived in with her father or the money in all those bank accounts. It had nothing to do with social position or posturing.