He stopped that mental wheelspin in its tracks. At this point, he was so blood starved, he wasn’t going to make any sense. Feed first. Then … think.

Right. Back to the Please, God, not Selena.

The problem was … who else was coming here to service him? He hadn’t seen any Chosen in this household except for her and Layla, who was now out of commission. And if he didn’t take the vein about to be offered, his only other option was to head out to the club and work his way through a half dozen human women—which was about as appetizing a prospect as drinking engine sludge.

There was also the issue that he was so far down into an energy wormhole that he wasn’t sure whether even that would be enough. Another fun fact? He didn’t think he could stand up to pull a pair of jeans on. So how in the hell was he going to go to the Iron Mask and—

The soft knock was repeated.

Pushing his hand under the covers, he shoved his erection around so that it would lie as flat as possible—and the contact made him grit his teeth.

You’ve got to do this with her, he told himself. Once and never again.

“Selena…” Shit, the sound of her name leaving his lips made him feel like his hand was back on his cock.

Oh, wait, he hadn’t taken the damn thing off.

As she opened the door, he whipped his arm out from under—and glared at it to stay put.

Sweet Mary, Mother of God … to quote that Boston cop.

She looked as beautiful as always in that white robing with her hair up, but his starvation turned her into a transcendental vision—that went right to his hips. His pelvis immediately started curling, his cock begging for something, anything from her.

This was a bad idea, he thought.

And sure enough, Selena hesitated in the doorway, glancing around as if she recognized the charge in the air.

It was his last chance to send her away.

He didn’t take it.

“Close the door,” he said in a voice so deep it warped.

“You suffer.”

“Close it.”

Click.

There was only a single lamp on, that one by the chaise longue, and the butter-yellow light seemed to act as a sound buffer, everything inside the room amplified, everything outside silenced.

Then again, maybe it was the color of her eyes doing that.

As she approached, she pulled up her sleeve, exposing her pale wrist. And in response, his fangs didn’t descend so much as punch out from his upper jaw—and shit, he didn’t want what she was going to offer. He wanted at her throat … he wanted her naked and underneath his body, his canines in her neck as his cock—

Moaning, he kicked his head back and gripped the duvet in his fists.

“Worry not,” she said in a rush. “Here, take of me.”

In spite of all the air in the room, his lungs began to starve for oxygen, shallow breaths pumping in and out of his open mouth.

And then her hand brushed his arm, and he moaned again, trying to twist away. Gritting his teeth, he knew this was a very bad thing.

“Selena, I can’t … I can’t do this…”

“I don’t understand.”

“You should leave…” Fuck, he could barely get the words out. “Leave or I’m going to…”

“Feed,” she cut in sharply. “You need to feed—”

“Selena…”

“You must take my vein—”

“—you’d better go…”

They were talking over each other, getting nowhere, when she took charge of the situation. At first, he thought his brain was playing tricks on him—but no, that was the scent of fresh blood in the room. Hers.

She’d scored her wrist.

Big mistake.

With a roar, he went for her—and not her wrist. His hands unlatched from the wadded sheeting and he grabbed her, taking her by the shoulders and flipping her across his lap to lay her out flat on the mattress.

He mounted her a split second later, the duvet folding up between them, his hands pinning her wrists up on the pillows by her head.

One look in her shocked eyes stopped him dead. And yet he couldn’t get off her.

Screw panting; he was breathing like a freight train, his body hard all over, his muscles twitching. “Shit…” he moaned as he dropped his head.

Get off of her, he ordered his body. Get the fuck off of—

The undulation beneath him took a moment to register. And then he realized it was her. She was … moving against him, and not as in she wanted to get free. Her eyes, once alarmed, were now glazing over, her lips parting as she arched into him.

She wanted him. Fucking hell, her scent was flaring into his nose, her blood running fast and hot as his own.

“Selena,” he groaned. “I’m sorry…”

“For what,” she said roughly.

“This.”

He struck her throat, fangs sinking deep, blood rushing onto his tongue, down his throat. And as he nursed at her, his body pumped against the wadded duvet, desperately trying to find her core through the layers of sheeting, his cock throbbing, the friction making everything worse.

As he drank hard, a growl reverberated out of his chest, filling the air with the sound of a male animal getting what he needed—or at least, part of what he needed. And in a way, maybe it was good that he was so blood starved. Otherwise, the sexual urge would have taken precedence.

As long as all he did was feed? They could come back from that.

Anything further, and they were—

Mine, a voice deep inside of him announced.

Mine.

Selena had thought she was prepared for this. She’d thought she was ready to come up here to this room, to find Trez in this bed, to have him at her wrist. She’d assumed she was ready to do her duty and keep the secret of wanting him to herself.

Instead, she was blown away. By the power of him unleashed, by the strike at her neck … by the sexual desperation with which she needed him. And there was more. Crushed under his great weight, feeling his hips surge and retreat on top of her, knowing that he was drinking of her vein, she was at least momentarily unafraid of the statues in the cemetery up above. How could she fear them now? Not with her body like this, with her arms and legs, her very sex, loose and hot and desperate to receive him.

Opening her eyes, she looked up at the ceiling beyond his dark shoulders. “Take me,” she breathed into his growl. “Take me…”

In response, his fingers slid up to her palms and steepled in between, holding instead of trapping as he nuzzled at her vein, his cheek stubbly against her skin. She had an instinct to part her legs, and as soon as she did, the pressure of his pumping torso zeroed in on that aching heart of her, pushing, rubbing—but it was too indistinct. She wanted it focused.

She wanted them both naked as he did that.

There was no moving, however. Trez had her pinned and the frustration she felt amplified the hunger that had taken root, the denial of what she wanted ratcheting up the need. Pushing against his palms, she got nowhere, her strength nothing compared to his.

“More,” she moaned as she curled her spine upward, her breasts tightening painfully, her heart thumping under her ribs.

Each pull against her throat, every draw on her vein, all the suction he brought upon her, took her closer to some kind of precipice—and she’d never wanted to fall so badly before. Even though she didn’t know where the landing would take her, she couldn’t imagine that she could rise any higher without splintering apart.

She was wrong.

Except then he stopped.

With a curse, he seemed to have to force himself to retract—and even then, he didn’t go far from her neck. With his fangs out of her skin, his head hung there for the longest time. Until he started licking at the puncture wounds to close them.

This can’t be over, she thought frantically. This can’t be—

“I’m sorry,” he said in a guttural voice.

“Please … please,” she said hoarsely. “Don’t stop…”