“I know. You’re hungry. But you can’t eat Kieran. That would make me a little sad.”

I didn’t care if it made him sad. I threw my head back, connecting with his jaw. He grunted, but his hold on me didn’t loosen. It only tightened.

“Careful,” the one called Kieran said. “She’s stronger.”

“I got her,” he bit out, holding me tight to his front. “You should probably put some distance between you and her.”

The other didn’t move as the one who held me shifted an arm, lifting his wrist over my shoulder. A scent hit the air. My heart sped up as I stilled, breathing deeply. It smelled wonderful, lush and decadent. The gnawing ache intensified.

“Her eyes,” the other said as the one holding me lowered his arm—his wrist. His bleeding wrist. “They’re not black. They’re still green.”

The male stiffened against me. “What?”

Forgetting about the one in front of me, I grabbed the arm and struck, closing my mouth over the two open wounds and drawing in deeply. The male jerked and gasped. “Gods.”

The first taste of his blood was a shock to my senses, tart and sweet. His blood coursed down my throat, warm and thick. It hit the hollowness in my chest, the empty pit in my stomach, easing the ache. I moaned, shuddering as the cramping in my muscles began to fade. The red-tinted shadows in my mind started to thin, and fragments of thought began to break through the hunger. Pieces of—

A hand curled under my jaw, lifting my mouth from his wrist. “No!” I panicked. The painful hunger surged back to life. I needed—I needed more.

“Look at me.”

I fought against his grip, bucking against his hold, but he was strong.

The male turned my head. “Stop.” His breath danced over my lips, and something about his words was different, softer, deeper. It echoed through me. “Stop fighting me and open your eyes, Penellaphe.”

His voice pierced through the hunger as it had before when I was drifting in the darkness. My breathing slowed as my body obeyed his command. Amber eyes stared into mine, bright and churning with golden flecks. I couldn’t look away—couldn’t move even as a barb-edged surge of anguish flooded me.

“Poppy,” he whispered, those strange, churning eyes glimmering with dampness. “You didn’t Ascend.”

I knew his words should make sense. A distant, fragmented part of me knew that I should understand. But I couldn’t think past the hunger—couldn’t focus on anything but that.

“I don’t understand,” the other male said. “Even with the blood of the gods in her, she was still mortal.”

The one who held me shifted his hand from my chin and touched my lips. The urge to snap down on his finger rode me hard, but I couldn’t fight him. The hold he had on me wouldn’t allow it as he gently pushed back my upper lip.

“She doesn’t have fangs,” he said, his gaze quickly returning to mine. I felt…I felt the tartness of his confusion give way to the earthy, woodsy sensation of relief. “I know what this is. It’s bloodlust. She’s experiencing bloodlust, but she didn’t Ascend. That’s why you still feel the Primal notam.” He slipped his thumb away and shuddered. “Feed,” he whispered, letting go.