And then suddenly, his wings collapsed and he was falling, falling, falling…
Oliver woke with a violent jolt, his body sheened with sweat, his throat parched.
The next moment there was a light. Oh dear gods, were the humans coming for him?
Would they finally stake him too, and put him out of his misery?
He cowered back, letting out a guttural sound out of dry lips. The next thing he heard were soothing words, telling him it was okay, that he was safe.
That she was here.
Finally, he registered that it was Clare. He fell back on the pillows, his whole body wracked with pain.
“Oliver, are you okay?”
She was leaning over him, the soft lamp light illuminating the concern in her eyes. The scent of her was heavenly, like balm to his tortured flesh.
He lay limply, watching her out of blurred vision. There was so much pain in his body, but in a way, it was better than the anguish of his mind.
“You were shouting in your sleep.”
“Just—a bad dream.”
“Very bad, by the sounds you were making.”
Sitting down next to him, she placed a cool palm on his forehead. “You’re burning up,” she said, brows furrowed. Oh gods, if she only knew how ironic those words were. Suddenly something welled inside him, like a tide was trying to break the dam wall he’d built around himself for so long. The need tojust let go, to give in, to confess his dreadful past to her nearly overpowered him.
But that was where danger lay, wasn’t it? Soft and seductive, in the pulse of her blood, the softness of her touch caressing his skin. Opening up would feed his addiction, bring it back to life.
He had to get out of here.
Ripping back the covers, he struggled to get off the bed. Muttered some nonsense about going home. She put out a small firm hand and gently pushed him back onto the pillows.
“You are not going anywhere in your current state.”
He collapsed, exhausted already from that one effort, his body slaked with sweat from his nightmare and the painful throb of his wounds. His breathing was fast and shallow, which he knew from experience meant an impending panic attack. Desperately, he tried to stop his body from shaking, but to no avail.
Her face swirled in front of his eyes. He was powerless, the self-hatred bearing down on him like a dark cloud, suffocating him.
It took a moment to realize she had lain down alongside him on the mattress. Her arms gathered him to her breast and she held him while his body shook.
Was this real, or was he dreaming yet again?
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s all okay. You’re safe now.”
He groaned, his teeth chattering inside his skull. Her scent overpowered his senses, lulling him against his will into submission, acquiescence.
“What would help?” she whispered.
Blood.
Herblood, but sweet gods, how could he even contemplate such a thing, let alone speak it out loud?
And yet… did he… maybe say that word out loud? Because suddenly she sat up and rolled up her sleeve, baring the softwhite flesh of her inner arm to him. Oliver gulped down saliva in a desperate bid to resist. But in the light from the lamp, the delectable little map of blue veins stood out under the soft skin of her inner wrist, snapping every one of his defenses like flimsy twigs.
He felt his fangs descending through his gums.
“No!” he said harshly, turning his head away.
