Page 74 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“Since yesterday,” Mordric said. “Take this.”

He held a cup of water to my lips. I drank greedily, a bead of water dripping down my chin. I met his gaze. “I remember what happened,” I said. “But I’m afraid I don’t understand it.”

He grimaced. “The truth is that I—I lost control. It was your blood, I think. It put me into some kind of trance. I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

“How am I still alive?” I whispered.

“Enhart.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Enhart offered his blood to save you.”

“So that’s what I tasted.” I touched my fingers absentmindedly to my lips as the memory flooded back to me. My skin warmed as I ran my tongue along the hard edges of my teeth.

“Indeed,” said Mordric. “Remember how I told you that vampire blood can accelerate healing in humans? Our blood—mine and Enhart’s—is especially potent as we come from one of the oldest bloodlines in Valen.”

“Oh,” I said, absently putting a hand to my throat. My fingers found no wound. Not even the mottled flesh of a scar. “It feels like a dream.” Or a nightmare.

“To be honest, I barely remember it myself,” admitted Mordric. “I was too busy trying to rip the heads off the guards who pulled me off of you.”

My eyes widened. “Did you?”

He shook his head. “Fortunately not. Although it wasn’t for lack of trying. Thankfully, they were able to, er, subdue me until I calmed down.”

They? Good gods, how many people had seen me in that state? I dropped his gaze. “I heard crashing when I was, er … I mean, it must have taken quite a few men to overpower you,” I stammered.

He nodded. The canopy of the bed fluttered as he perched on the edge of the mattress an uncomfortable distance away. “Do you really feel fine?”

I weighed his words for a moment. “I think so. Physically, at least.”

“Then allow me to beg your forgiveness knowing that I owe you far more than an explanation. I will make it up to you. I promise.”

I met his gaze. Concern was etched into features so sharp it was as if they had been carved from ice. I hated to be the cause of it. Brushing off my embarrassment, I cupped his jaw in my hand, absentmindedly dragging my thumb against his skin.

“I forgive you,” I said.

I leaned in to kiss him, my eyes widening as he pulled away before I could reach him. “What’s wrong?” I asked, my cheeks burning. “I said I forgive you, but a little convincing wouldn’t hurt.”

“I should warn you, Finn,” he said stiffly, “you might be feeling some side effects from the adrenaline.”

“What?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Enhart gave you his blood.”

“I know,” I grumbled, pulling the sheets up to my chest as I sank back into the bed. I wasn’t likely to forget it.

“It was a shock to your body. You might feel like you have energy, but you need rest.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I said.

“I’m not finished,” he warned. “There are consequences to drinking a vampire’s blood. You’ll be hyper-sensitive to light, to touch …” He trailed off.

My eyes widened as I recalled what he had said to me on the eve of Iltsar. To share blood is considered an act of great intimacy among my kind. I sucked in a breath, my eyes raking over him. His jaw was clenched and the muscles in his arms grew taut. Guilt washed over me.

“Enhart only gave me his blood because it was an emergency,” I said slowly. “An accident.”

He nodded, avoiding my gaze. “Correct.”