Everything was a hazy, fuzzy array of shadows and splotches of light. I blinked several times, half-afraid my eyes wouldn’t open again, but they did. My vision cleared. Soft light from a gas lamp flowed across gray walls and an old, worn chair—

A chair that wasn’t empty.

A male was slumped in it, his skin a beige-brown, his dark hair cropped close to the skull. He rubbed at his eyes, and a strange feeling took root in my chest, a sensation I tried to grasp. But whatever it was kept slipping through my fingers. I was too starved to concentrate. I needed…

The male sighed and my muscles tensed. My legs curled up, and the ache in the pit of my stomach and my chest grew and grew. Throat constricting, my heart started to thud heavily against my ribs as the hunger seized me. I wasn’t aware of moving, of sitting up, until hair fell over my shoulders, causing my skin to pinch. The man lowered his hand.

Shock splashed across his features and against my heated skin like an icy rain shower. My legs tucked under me, tensing.

He leaned forward, gripping the arms of the chair until the tendons popped, and his veins… “I can still feel your notam.”

His words didn’t matter. Hunger pierced my chest as my chin dipped, and my lips peeled back. My entire being focused on his throat, on where I swore I saw his pulse pounding.

“Shit,” he whispered, rising.

I shot off the bed and launched myself at him. Stumbling back, he caught my wrists. The back of his knees hit the chair. Off-balance, he fell into the seat, and I went with him, straining forward as I scrambled into the chair. “Gods. You’re fast. And you’re really strong,” he grunted, his arms trembling as he held me back. Strands of coppery-red hair fell across my face as I lifted my head.

He gasped, his blue eyes widening. “Holy shit.”

I threw myself onto him. The chair groaned under our combined weight. One of his arms caved, and I went for his throat, my mouth stretching wide, stomach clenching—

An arm folded around my waist, catching me. Another banded across my breasts, hauling me back against hard, warm skin. A static charge passed during the contact, startling me. That feeling…that smell of spice and pine. A keening, whimpering sound tore its way from my throat as I stretched out, trying to grasp the male as he jumped from the chair, his black tunic wrinkled and stained with…with something. Blood? My blood. I stared at him, sensing that he was not mortal. He was something else. Something that belonged to me.

“You don’t want him,” a voice danced over my ear. “He won’t be as tasty. You want me.”

“In any other situation,” the male with wintry blue eyes said, “I might be offended.”

Hunger lashed at my insides. Desperation blistered my skin. I was starving, and it hurt. Everything ached. My skin, my bones, my muscles. My hair. A low, humming sound came from deep within me, finally forming rough, guttural words. “It hurts.”