She twitched from her spot on the dirt floor as he took slow steps toward her. Inch by inch, Ronan lowered himself until he sat beside her. Chelle trembled like a delicate leaf in an autumn wind. Any mishandling and she’d crumple into dust.
For weeks she’d been kept in a state of sensory deprivation and starvation. Her transition had been a force of magic, not one of biology, if Ronan’s assumptions were correct. And it had been violent. She’d endured the change without guidance. Without sustenance. Chelle had become as wild as any animal that roamed the forest.
Hell, as starved as she was, there was a good chance she’d drink him dry.
But she was his sister. His twin. They’d endured so much together already. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let her suffer for another moment. Ronan gathered her up in his arms and rested her limp head against his shoulder. The sounds of her soft sobs speared his heart and he brought his wrist to her mouth. “Drink.”
She struck out with ferocity, burying her fangs in Ronan’s skin. Like a starved animal, she tore the flesh in her haste to feed. Blood welled hot and sticky, running down his arm in rivulets as she took pull after greedy pull. She grunted, moaned, her nails latching on to his arm as she bit him again and again, taking her fill of his blood.
His head lolled to one side and Ronan’s thoughts grew fuzzy. As Chelle fed, so did the cold and darkness retreat from his center, leaving behind a pleasant glow of warmth that radiated throughout his body. His world tilted on its axis and Ronan fell to the dirt floor, Chelle still cradled in his arms. She continued to feed, without even registering the shift. She needed everything he could give her. It was worth the weakness, the light-headed disorientation.
“You’re killing him! Stop!”
Panic laced Naya’s tone and a few choice words came to Ronan’s mind, though he couldn’t lend them a voice. He’d told her to stay upstairs, damn it. To not come back until she heard that he was all right.
Chelle was pulled from his body and shoved to the far side of the cell. She didn’t move. The only sound in the quiet space was that of her racing breath. Naya crouched by Ronan’s side and brought her arm to his mouth. “Drink, you silly, stubborn vampire.” He put his lips to her fragrant skin, but he couldn’t muster the energy necessary to bite her. She smelled so good. “Damn it, Ronan.” Her infuriated tone coaxed a lazy smile to his lips. The citrine glow of her dagger pierced the inky darkness as she laid the blade to her forearm. A ribbon of blood welled from the wound and she brought it back to his mouth. “Drink. Or I’ll force it down your throat.”
Gods, how he loved a forceful female.
Blood trickled over his lips, sweet and warm. He lapped at the wound with slow, languid passes of his tongue. Soon his strength was replenished enough for him to seal his mouth over the cut, and then his fangs pierced her flesh. Naya let out a slow, soft sigh that stirred his lusts as much as his thirst. Naya was brave, stubborn, strong, fierce, protective, and loyal. And he loved her so much that it hurt.
Ronan no longer felt the uncontrollable urge to drain her. Instead, he took what he needed to replenish his strength and closed the wound, lapping gently at her skin as he closed the punctures and the cut she’d made with her dagger. Through the darkness, he spotted Chelle a couple of feet away. She watched them with wary eyes that were no longer wild silver but her natural clear green.
“When you got free, I hoped you’d come back.” She still sounded weak, but Chelle was no longer manic. “Gods, Ronan. I had no idea. I knew the legends, but I didn’t really believe.”
“Chelle.” Fuck. There were still too many missing pieces. “I don’t remember any of it.”
“I do,” Chelle replied in a shuddering whisper. “I remember everything.”
* * *
Luz had almost kept Naya from going back down the ladder. And had her bossy cousin succeeded, Ronan would have let his sister drain him. Gods, what had he been thinking? His own gallant foolishness had nearly gotten him killed. It was one of the reasons Naya loved him, but it also made her want to pull out her hair in frustration.
He spoke in hushed tones with his sister like they were two kids alone in their bedroom after lights-out. Naya listened as Ronan lounged against her chest and she stroked his hair, combing the silky strands through her fingertips.
“He’d shot you with some kind of dart. It was still sticking out of your neck when his monster threw you in this cage with me. I offered you my vein, but you refused, you stubborn ass.” Well, that certainly sounded like the Ronan Naya knew. “He”—Chelle’s voice hitched—“threw you in the chest first. To see what the magic would do to you. But you were already turned and when he opened the lid you were too crazed, too … strong for him to control.”