I walk past him, but feel his presence not far behind. My bare feet pad over the cold, polished marble floor. The chandelier hangs above me, like a floating crown to mark this ancient and grand house.
Anticipation makes my palms slick. My fingers close around the knob. I take one deep breath, readying myself for whoever might be behind the door. My other hand wraps around a stake.
The door doesn’t even creak when I pull it open.
Black veins sprout from around glowing, tired, yet wild red eyes. He leans with one hand on the doorframe, the other pushing absentmindedly against the door. His mouth hangs open slightly, as if in a daze. Extended fangs gleam in the light.
“Ian.” The word escapes me in a whisper that won’t return to my chest.
“Liv,” he breathes, rough and wild. “I’m so damn thirsty.”