A Light in the Flame (Flesh and Fire #2)(22)

“No,” I lied.

Nyktos smirked as he lowered us into the chair that had moved itself closer to the fireplace. My head sort of fell back, resting in the crook of his arm. It took a moment for his features to piece themselves together. They were all hard, unforgiving lines. “I’m going to check your wounds.”

He didn’t exactly wait for me to answer, but I didn’t stop him either. Soaking up the warmth of his body and the nearby fire, I forced myself to concentrate. “There was a god out there.”

“There were a lot of gods out there, Sera.”

“I know, but this one…wasn’t an entombed god. I don’t think he was from the Shadowlands. Or at least I hope not,” I said, and his hand halted as he reached for the sash. “He was looking for me. He knew what I looked like. Said he…thought he’d have to go into the palace to find me. Orphine sort of burned him to nothing.”

“Did this god say anything else?”

“Yeah. He smelled my blood and said it smelled like life,” I told him, inhaling slowly as I struggled to ignore the pain. “And like blood and ash.”

The eather in Nyktos’s eyes went still.

“Does my blood smell like that?” I asked as I sniffed the air. All I smelled was iron—iron and fresh citrus. My blood and Nyktos’s. “That sounds gross.”

“No, your blood smells like a summer storm.”

My brows pinched. How could blood smell like that? Better yet, what did that even smell like?

Nyktos undid the sash of my robe. The front loosened. His breath was sharp as he parted the folds. “Fuck. The bite is deep.”

“I was hoping it was the lack of clothing you were cursing at,” I murmured.

A short, rough laugh left him. “You are…”

My eyes fluttered shut. “What?”

“Open your eyes, Sera.”

I obeyed, only because he’d asked so softly—almost like a plea. His head was bowed, only his profile to me as he carefully peeled the robe back from my shoulder, easing my left arm free of a sleeve and then my right. He cursed. “You were bit twice.”

I glanced at my shoulder, seeing the jagged tears there and the wet streaks of blood that drenched the chest of my slip.

“Your muscles are torn in both your shoulder and arm.” His skin thinned again. “You fought your way free.”

“Yeah, I think I might need to spend some time with a Healer.” I didn’t want to think about what he saw—about what that meant for the future, no matter how short it was. Muscles didn’t always heal right, and I needed those muscles. “I hope the coronation gown isn’t sleeveless.”

“You won’t scar. My blood will make sure that doesn’t happen.”

I couldn’t have heard him right. “What?”

“You’re in the Culling. You can’t afford to lose this much blood, nor can your body work to heal these wounds while you’re under the stress of the Culling.”

“The wounds aren’t that bad. I…I’m not going to die.”

“No, but you’re in pain, and I cannot allow that to continue. I won’t.”

Air snagged around a sudden knot of foreign emotion. I couldn’t believe that he was offering his blood. To me. I would survive waiting for a Healer. Stopping my pain wasn’t necessary. None of this was. “You should be out there with your people—”

“I’m where I’m needed,” he cut me off again. “Take my blood.”

My gaze darted between his wrist and his arm. “Why are you…?” I trailed off. I knew why he was offering. Maybe it was that he didn’t want to see me in pain. Nyktos was kind. But also, the embers were important. “I’ll be—”

I sucked in a sharp breath as he brought his wrist to his mouth. My heart might’ve stopped a little as his lips parted, and his fangs pierced his skin. Nyktos didn’t even flinch, but I did as blood welled from his vein, a bright red with shimmery blue undertones.

“Let me help you, Sera.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Please.”

A shudder went through me. Please. Hearing him saying please…it was a weakness.

“You’ll enjoy it,” he said. “I promise.”

I glanced at the shimmering blood beginning to run over his skin. Drinking blood didn’t disgust me. It just wasn’t something I’d really considered all that much. But I didn’t think I would enjoy it. Though the tiny drop of blood I had stolen from him hadn’t tasted like blood.

“Okay,” I whispered.

His eyes closed briefly. “Thank you.”

Those two words rattled me even more than him saying please as he lowered his wrist to my mouth. The scent of his blood reached me, overwhelming the smell of mine. His was…it was almost sweet but also smoky.

“Close your mouth over the bite,” he coaxed softly. “And drink.”

His eyes, now bright as the stars, never left mine as I closed my mouth over the wounds he’d created.

My entire body jerked.

The touch of his blood against my tongue was a much stronger shock to the senses than when I’d recklessly tasted just a drop and sealed my fate, breaking off the one thread Holland had pointed to. Immediately, my mouth tingled. His blood ran over my tongue and down my throat, thick and warm, and I didn’t know how death could taste like honey—both sweet and smoky. Lush. Seductive. I swallowed.