The other young man did not so much as twitch. His muscles did not quiver, he did not wince when Rogan shuffled closer, not even his face rippled with fear or aggression. It was as if Rogan’s words had transformed him into inert earth. The russet warrior opened his mouth to ask the kid what was wrong with him—if he were mocking Rogan for some reason—but as soon as the vampire parted his lips, his fangs slid from their sheaths. Their full length shimmered shockingly white in the darkness, twin hypodermic needles. Carved solely for the spilling of blood. Oh yes, blood. The word conjured a violent tug of hunger in his guts. A seismic growl resonated in the leech’s broad chest. Saliva poured openly from between his teeth now—no longer a petty dribble but a garish current. This stranger smelled good. So good. Better than a freshly slaughtered deer with his insides hot and open and fresh, begging to be devoured. Rogan had never wanted to eat something as much as he wanted to eat the other brute. The muscles of his jaws strained so hard they ached. “Very good,” he rumbled toward the coffee-colored soldier in a voice wholly not his own. “Stand there. Just like that.”

Glowing rubies never left unwavering moss while Rogan stalked forward. It only took a few strides to reach the opposite hessian—and then it was as if an unseen force took control of the vampire’s body. Awareness abandoned him. He struck with the lightning grace of a snake, unhinged maw slashing toward the boy’s throat. Knives connected with fur. Cut through flesh. Punctured tissue and opened vessels. No mind no thought no worries no hesitation—only bite, only taste, only feed. The animal that had replaced all conscious thought in Rogan’s skull unleashed a sickening purr as wolf’s blood washed over its palate for the first time. Incredible. The muscles of his throat contracted, peristalsis guiding his meal into the roaring starving pit of his stomach. Delicious. Delicious. I need MORE.

One final squeeze, lower daggers trying to connect with the top—and then Rogan released with a breathless gasp, returning to himself with breakneck speed. He felt . . . satisfied. For the first time since Princess Diosa had kissed him, the vampire felt truly, deeply satiated by a meal. No longer did maddening pain claw at his guts. His fangs gradually slid back into place; his tongue lapped leisurely at the steaming liquid iron staining his muzzle, the crimson stain reaching nearly up to his eyes. Rogan took a step back . . . burning gaze starting to widen as vision and thought kicking back online. He’d just . . . attacked a stranger. His intention had been to tear the other male apart. And they didn’t even know each other! And this stranger had simply allowed this assault?

Panting heavily, vision clearing little by little, Rogan cocked his head at the stranger. Or maybe the stranger HAD tried to beat him off, and Rogan had been so enchanted by the taste of blood he hadn’t noticed. The vampire appeared drunken when he backed away, mentally categorizing any new bruises he hadn’t noticed yet. “Er . . . what just happened?”