Page 119 of Tainted Souls
Unexpectedly, he nods. “Good enough. For now.”
He extends the vial toward me.
My fingers reach out, trembling with desperate need, but just when they’re about to close around the glass, he pulls it back.
“Not so fast,” he says, eyes fixed on me. “It’s time you learned some restraint.”
My throat constricts painfully as I watch the blood swirl within its glass prison. “Please.”
“Open your mouth.”
I hesitate, pride warring with necessity.
But the hollow ache in my chest, both from hunger and his earlier attack, ends up making the decision for me.
I obey his order, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Ace tilts the vial to my lips, allowing just enough for a small sip.
The blood touches my tongue, sending a jolt of energy through my weakened body. Before I can take more, he pulls it away. A sound more beast than human tears from my throat, the taste gone too quickly, and my body moves before thought catches up. I reach for the vial, fingers trembling, clawing at his hand—at anything that might bring it back to my lips.
Ace’s reaction is swift.
His fingers tangle in my hair, gripping hard at the crown of my head, a sharp reminder of who is in control. The vial dangles just out of reach, gleaming darkly in the light between us. The scent of blood hangs heavy, close enough to taste, and I hate how my body trembles for it. Hate how I’m on my knees between his, head tilted back by his grip, begging for the one thing I used to deplore others for lusting after. Every shred of my dignity feels stripped away, replaced by need so raw it burns. Ace studies me, calm as ever, as if this is a lesson rather than a punishment. And maybe it is, because the worst part isn’t the hunger.
It’s how, for a moment, I don’t want him to let go.
“Feel it,” he says. “Understand what it’s giving you.”
I freeze, chest heaving, shame and craving warring inside me.
The tiny amount of blood has awakened rather than satisfied my hunger, making me acutely aware of every sensation—the cold stone beneath me, the stale air in my lungs, the phantom pain where his hand had pierced my chest.
“I understand,” I say, the words scraping against my dry throat.
“No, you don’t.” His grip loosens ever so slightly, not releasing me but offering a momentary reprieve. “But you will.”
He tilts the vial again, allowing me another sip of ruby liquid, just enough to coat my tongue. As the blood slides down, my nerves alight with pleasure so intense it borders on pain. I close my eyes, savoring it, forcing myself to remain still instead of lunging forward for more.
“Better,” he says, a note of approval in his tone. “Control isn’t about denial, Seraph. It’s about acceptance. Mastery.” He grants me another sip, slightly larger this time.
The effect is immediate—strength seeping back into my limbs, the wound in my chest tingling as healing accelerates.
Each drop is precious, a gift I’m learning to appreciate rather than resent.
He pulls the vial away again, leaving it half-full. He recorks and slips it into his pocket. Three sips. That’s all he’s giving me.
My body screams for more, but I force myself to remain still, to not lunge for the hip where it’s tucked like my feral instinct demands.
“Why bother teaching me anything?” I ask.
“Because you have potential.” His eyes flick to my scar, strikingly visible through the torn cloth. “Whether that becomes a strength or a weakness depends entirely on you.”
I stare at him, trying to reconcile the monster who nearly tore out my heart with this calculated mentor figure standing before me.
He doesn’t wait for my response, just lifts the chair and walks out.
The door remains open behind him—an invitation, not escape.
Gathering my strength, I make my way to the door, half-expecting someone to slam it shut as I approach, but no onedoes. At the top of the stairs, Saul waits, his posture rigid with barely contained anxiety.
