Chapter 13 · Feral Antidote

His blood hit my tongue like a lit match.

Hot. Thick. It tasted like copper and pine smoke and something older that I knew in my bones and hated knowing.

"Swallow," Vane said.

I tried to turn my head. The chain on my wrist yanked tight against the bedpost, and his big hand clamped my jaw and held it still.

"Swallow, Seraphina."

I swallowed.

Fire went down my throat and landed in my stomach. My whole body arched off the furs. The black veins on my forearm, the ones that had crawled up toward my neck like ink in water, started to burn.

"Stop," I choked. "It hurts."

"Good. That's the silver leaving."

His wrist was still pressed to my mouth. The cut was deep, and blood ran down my chin and soaked into the collar of my torn shirt. His other hand slid under my head, rough and shaking, and he held me like I might break.

Which was insane. This was the man who had cut me loose in front of the whole pack.

I hated that his palm felt like home.

The fireplace roared behind him.