Beneath his fingers, through the burning crackle, Sullivan felt the delicate tremor of Aleiya’s frame.

  A barely-there shudder.

  She was so light, he feared she’d vanish with a misplaced breath.

  He waited for the predictable, awaiting gasps. Took a moment to feel the greedy eyes of voyeurs that demanded the spectacle.

  Then finally stole her breath with a deep, sensual kiss.

  It was carried as if by the gentle rhythm of a slow dance. His lips not only pressed but fused to hers. At first, it was respectfully chaste—meant only to appease their audience, but the gentle flick of his tongue between her lips caused a squeak of surprise to escape and linger between them.

  An accidental note of intimacy that tasted far too real.

  She did not pull away.

  Not because she accepted it, but because she didn’t know how to deny it. She had endured touches before—placed, posed, moved as demanded. She was even well acquainted with hollow, fleeting kisses to her forehead, caresses to her cheek, brushes through her hair.

  But this was wholly different.

  The way he captured her—guided her, lifted her—left her body overtaken by the stillness of a faun in tall grass. The need to run and hide gripped her tighter with every beat of her heart even as the snake’s coils brought her to its ravenous mouth.

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  But when his tongue flicked past her lips, her breath hitched as her mana sputtered then surged. Something in the weave of her magic trembled—stretched too taut, like a harp string drawn too far. And somewhere, something else heard it resonate.

  It flared behind her teeth like starfire, allowing a sliver of sound to escape.

  A small, startled thing, fragile as glass, slipped free to mingle with his hot breath. She yielded without thought, without permission. The need to fade vanished with the sound.

  It was the first time Sullivan had ever heard her voice. The sound of it—of her—was a shock to the system.

  It was nothing, just air, just a whimper. Yet his grip on her tightened like the coils of a python, as if he could catch it, keep it, demand it again. It would’ve made him moan if not for his immaculate self control, but still his teeth scraped against hers—unintentional, almost instinctual—and he knew then:

  This was a mistake.

  That tiny slip startled even Aleiya.

  She was normally so controlled, so perfectly quiet, that the sound of her own voice was alien. It scared her. It scared her more than Magnus, more than the crowd, and more than her own husband.

  Her thoughts went silent, her mind blank, as the unmistakable sound of teeth against teeth echoed in her mouth. She felt that blooming warmth in the pit of her stomach again, but this time it was churning as if it was alive.

  What was this feeling?

  It bloomed like heat in the pit of her stomach—weightless and heavy, sweet and sickening. Something dark, insidious, and wholly impure. It didn’t ask. It took. It unraveled her. And she was swept away by it. Her tongue pressed back against his, then slid past, tentative—curious—to feel the sharp gleam of his teeth.

  She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. But still she didn’t stop. Not even as something ancient stirred in her chest, whispering for more. And though she feared it—feared him—some deep, unnamable part of her didn’t want it to end.

  The softness of her lips. The heat of her mouth. That tongue—bold, invasive—daring to brush his aching fangs. It all left Sullivan spiraling. The scent of lilies and freshly fallen rain was soft and airy, yet it assailed him in the best way possible.

  It left his mouth watering, his heart racing, and his mana burn a dying ember. But if he hesitated any longer, he wasn’t sure exactly what he would do to her in front of all of these people. Ancient as he was in all his vampiric might, he was still, deep down, just a man.

  So he pulled away with rigid reluctance, leaving behind only the crumbling shell of his self-control.