Charlotte’s eyes found Dorian’s in the darkness again, tears slipping down her cheeks.
Dorian was frantic, his heart fighting through the sluggish haze of the poison, the hellfire consuming him, but he couldn’t break free of death’s grip. He couldn’t save her.
Duchanes unbound her from the chair and hauled her to her feet, his arm a vise around her arms and chest. Fisting her hair, he yanked her head sideways, exposing her neck.
Free from the binds, Charlotte tried to shake him off, but the vampire was too strong. Too determined. Too insane.
“Mmm, I do love a good struggle,” Duchanes said, fangs emerging behind his lips. “Makes the blood that much sweeter.”
With a wicked gleam in his eye, he descended, his mouth clamping down on her delicate neck as she screamed and writhed and begged.
The sight, the sounds, the scent of her fear… All of it shrank to a single point of light, a lit match tossed into a kettle of gasoline, igniting a fury so clean, so pure, it burned away Dorian’s pain in an instant.
In that moment, Dorian had no muscles to destroy, no organs to shut down, no blood to battle the terrible poison.
There was only the beautiful, triumphant fury gathering inside him, focusing all of his reserves into a single, deadly mission.
“I will end you!” The words tore through Dorian’s burning chest, scorching his throat, pushing him to his feet. In a blur that should’ve been impossible in his condition, he collided with Duchanes and wrenched him from Charlotte’s body, slamming him into the wall.
In his peripheral vision, he saw the demon bolting toward him, but Charlotte was faster. She dove for her purse on the dresser, and in that moment, Dorian knew exactly what she was thinking.
Still channeling his deadly fury, Dorian pummeled Duchanes with his fists, battering his face and chest, bloodying him beyond recognition. Duchanes blurred out of his grip, then shot forward again, catching Dorian around his mid-section. But Dorian was ready for it. He took the hit, spinning with the momentum and launching Duchanes right into the fucking window.
It shattered on impact, and Duchanes fell to the street in a shower of blood and glass.
Dorian turned around just in time to see Charlotte drop the demon with a perfect shot, the taser blasting him with fifty-thousand volts of utter badassery.
“That’s my girl.” Dorian’s lips quirked into a proud grin.
And then, the last of his rage receding, the pain returned with a vengeance, crashing over him like a tsunami, knocking him flat on his back.
Charlotte dropped her weapon and ran to Dorian’s side, falling to her knees and taking his head into her lap.
She pulled the gag from her mouth, and her long hair fell onto his face, tickling his skin. He blinked up at her and reached for a perfect, silky lock, inhaling the orange-and-vanilla scent he loved so much.
Dorian’s life force was fading. The demon was no longer a threat, but the damage from the hellfire was extensive, and Duchanes’ poison still pulsed through his bloodstream, consuming a bit more of him with every faint heartbeat.
He didn’t have much time.
If this is where I meet my end, he thought, losing himself in her touch, her sweet scent, I shall spend my eternal damnation in utter gratitude…
“Charlotte,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I—”
“Shh. Don’t talk. Drink.” She pressed her wounded wrist to his mouth.
Dorian clamped his lips shut.
“Jesus Christ,” she snapped. “Don’t fight me on this, Bone Crusher. You will lose.”
Dorian tried to bat her away, but she grabbed his arm and slammed it to the ground, her grip impossibly strong in the face of his weakness.
“You’re going to die, you dickhead!” she shouted. “And you still owe me a Midnight Marauder rematch! So fucking drink!”
Still, he resisted, even as the first drops reached his tongue, the taste bringing him back to that sinful, erotic moment in the Ravenswood basement when he’d first sampled her blood. The scent filled his nostrils, chasing away the last of the smoke.
The urge to suck was nearly overwhelming.
Above him, Charlotte’s eyes softened in the moonlight, glassy with emotion.
“I trust you, Dorian Redthorne,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “I know you won’t hurt me. Please drink. Do it for me. Please.”
Shifting her wrist, she pressed down harder, the blood seeping through his lips, warm and decadent on his tongue, instantly soothing.
Instantly sweet.
Instantly addicting.
The last of his resistance shattered, and Dorian opened his mouth, fangs burning through his gums. He latched onto her wrist with a quick, hard bite.
Charlotte gasped, but she held firm, stroking his hair with her free hand, quietly urging him back to life.
Dorian closed his eyes.
Her blood filled his mouth completely.
And then, he swallowed.
He drank.
And he sucked.
Charlotte’s blood slid down his throat in a warm, wet rush, a pleasant buzz spreading from his stomach to his limbs. Cell by cell, his body knit itself back together, healing the burned tissue and damaged organs, chasing off the poison.
It was a magic elixir, and it brought him back from the precipice of death.
It made him whole again.
It sharpened his instincts, chased the cobwebs from his mind, strengthened his muscles, remade his bones and skin and teeth. He felt the light return to his soul, the full, undimmed power awakening inside him after a long, dark sleep.
The familiar sight of his bedroom faded away as the craving took over, blotting out his rational mind. He was dimly aware of Charlotte’s soft whimpers, the tremble in her arm, the faint tug as she tried to pull back, but none of that mattered.
He couldn’t stop now.
He didn’t want to stop.
He was alive, his heartbeat strong and steady, his cock rising to full attention as every exquisite drop tempted him into a deeper state of euphoria.
“Dorian,” she whispered, faint and fading fast. “That’s enough. I think you’re…”
She tried to pull away again, but she didn’t have the strength. Her muscles finally relaxed, her heartbeat slowing, the numb acceptance settling over her.
Let her go, a voice warned in his head. Release her, or you’ll kill her...
Dorian squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to drown out the voice, to focus on the craving, the hunger, the deep haze of desire buzzing through his nervous system…
“Dorian,” Charlotte whispered again.
city streets run red with blood…
“Dorian, please.”
crimson city devil strikes again…
“I can’t fight you,” she said. “I’m not… strong enough.”
no closure on unsolved murders…
“Dorian, stop!”
Dorian opened his eyes.
The reality of his situation slammed into his chest, bringing everything into sharp, undiluted focus.
He yanked her wrist from his mouth and shot to his feet.
Charlotte collapsed.
“No. No! Charlotte!” He dropped to his knees and gathered her in his arms. He’d taken too much blood; her lips were nearly blue, her skin pale and clammy, her pulse thready.
He needed to heal her. Fast.
Fucking hell, he was ready to carve open his chest and give her every last drop of blood he’d taken from her, but he couldn’t. Dorian knew death when he saw it, and she was hovering right on the doorstep. If her heart stopped while his blood was in her system, it wouldn’t heal her.