The blow never landed.

At first, I thought it was simply because I’d gone numb, but then I realized Jericho was no longer standing above me. There were sounds—shouts and growls. High-pitched yelps, and then I felt a warm puff of breath against the top of my head, over my cheek. I turned my head and saw pale blue eyes and fur as white as snow. The wolven nudged my cheek with its damp nose, and then it lifted its head and howled.

I blinked, and suddenly there was a shadow falling over me. Above me, Kieran loomed. “Shit,” he said. “Get the Prince. Get him now.”

Chapter 38

Gentle arms lifted me from the dirt floor. Kieran. His face blurred, and there was buzzing in my ears. Everything around me faded out until there was nothing, and I felt no pain. I stayed there until I heard him calling for me. Hawke.

“Open your eyes, Poppy. Come on,” he urged, and I felt fingers prying the dagger from my hand. It thunked off the floor next to me. His hand curved along my chin. “I need you to open your eyes. Please.”

Please.

I’d never heard him say the word please like that. My sluggish heart rate picked up as awareness returned, bringing with it burning, sweeping pain. I forced my eyes open.

“There you are.” A smile appeared, but it was all wrong and forced. There were no deep dimples, no warmth or laughing light to his golden eyes.

Out of lack of willpower or stupidity, I did what I hadn’t since I discovered the truth about him. I reached out with my weakening senses and felt the hum of anguish from him. It ran deeper than before, no longer feeling like chips of ice against my skin but like daggers.

Like claws.

I took a breath, and it tasted of metal. “It hurts.”

“I know.” Misreading what I said, his gaze latched on to mine. “I’m going to fix it. I’ll make the pain go away. I’ll make it all go away. You won’t carry one more scar.”

Confusion rippled through me. I didn’t know how he could do any of that. There were too many wounds. I’d lost too much blood. I could feel it in the coldness creeping up my legs.

I was dying.

“No, you’re not,” he argued, and I realized I’d said the last part out loud. “You cannot die. I will not allow it.”

He then lifted his arm to his mouth, and I saw those sharp teeth I’d felt before, watched in disbelief as he bit into his wrist, tearing open his skin. I cried out, trying to lift my hand to cover the wound. He’d kidnapped me. He’d killed to get to me, had betrayed me, and he was the enemy. Because of that, I’d been made helpless once more. I was dying, I shouldn’t care that he was bleeding.

But I did.

Because I was an imbecile.

“I’m going to die an imbecile,” I murmured.

His brows knitted. “You’re not going to die,” he repeated, the lines of his mouth tense. “And I’m fine. I just need you to drink.”

Drink? My gaze dropped to his wrist. He couldn’t mean…

“Casteel, do you—” Kieran’s voice interrupted.

Casteel?

“I know exactly what I’m doing, and I don’t want your opinion or your advice.” Deep red blood trailed down his arm. “And I don’t require either.”

Kieran didn’t respond to that as I stared, caught in fascinated horror. Hawke lowered his torn wrist toward me—toward my mouth.

“No.” I pulled away, not making it very far with his arm around my back like a band of steel. “No.”

“You have to. You’ll die if you don’t.”

“I’d rather…die than turn into a monster,” I vowed.

“A monster?” He chuckled, but it was a rough sound. “Poppy, I already told you the truth about the Craven. This will only make you better.”

I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t. Because if I did, that meant…that meant that everything he’d said was true, and the Ascended were evil. Ian would be—

“You will do this,” he repeated. “You will drink. You will live. Make that choice, Princess. Do not force me to make it for you.”

I turned away, inhaling sharply. I caught a strange scent. The smell…it smelled nothing like blood, nothing like the Craven. It reminded me of citrus in the snow, fresh and tart. How…how could blood smell like that?

“Penellaphe,” Hawke spoke, and there was something different about his voice. Smoother and deeper as if it carried an echo. “Look at me.”

Almost as if I had no control over my body, I lifted my gaze to his. His eyes…the honey hue churned, swirling with brighter, golden flecks. My lips parted. I couldn’t look away. What…what was he doing?

“Drink,” he whispered or yelled, I wasn’t sure, but his voice was everywhere, all around me and inside. And his eyes…I still couldn’t look away from them. His pupils seemed to expand. “Drink from me.”

A drop of blood fell from his arm to my lips. It seeped between them, tart and yet sweet against my tongue. My mouth tingled. He pressed his wrist more fully against my lips, and his blood ran into my mouth, coursing down my throat, thick and warm. In a distant part of my brain, I thought that I should not allow this. That it was wrong. I would become a monster, but the taste…it was like nothing I’d ever tasted before, a complete awakening. I swallowed, drawing in more.

“That’s it.” Hawke’s voice was deeper, richer. “Drink.”

And so, I did.

I drank while his gaze remained fixed on me, seeming to miss nothing. I drank, and my skin began to hum. I drank, clasping his bloodied arm and holding him to me before even realizing what I was doing. The taste of his blood…it was pure sin, decadent and lush. With each swallow, the aches and pains lessened, and the rhythm of my heart slowed, becoming even. I drank until my eyes drifted shut. Until I became surrounded by a kaleidoscope of vivid, bright blues, the color reminding me of the Stroud Sea. This blue carried startling clarity as if it were a body of water untouched by man.

But this was no ocean. There was cool, hard rock under my feet, and shadows pressing against my skin. Soft laughter drew my gaze from the pool of water to the dark-haired—

“Enough,” Hawke bit out. “That’s enough.”

It couldn’t be enough. Not yet. Latched to his wrist, I drank greedily. I fed as if I were starving, and that was how I felt. That this sustenance was what I’d been missing my entire life.