From Tortured Fates (The Immortal Accords Book 4) by Anna Hawke

Author:Anna Hawke [Hawke, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hawke Publications
Published: 2023-09-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

The coolness of the keys warmed Lucius’ heart. Familiarity was a dynamic thing: it could sour or soothe, hurt or heal, cringe or cure. For him, the piano’s notes were a calming melody, a reminder of good times and good company.

Circe’s voice cut through the silence after he finished the song, his hands remaining fondly on the heavy keys. “You play beautifully, Luc.”

“I’m a little rusty. It’s been too long since I’ve played.”

“You didn’t sound rusty to me.” Her hum of laughter—which sounded slightly forced—echoed from beside him. “Who taught you to play?”

“Believe it or not, Nina did.” The corners of his lips twisted up when he remembered her mentorship. “She mastered it first, then taught me to play not long after. Compared to her, I’m but a neophyte.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Skepticism roared through Circe’s voice before he felt her take a seat next to him on the piano bench. When he went to wrap an arm around her, she caught his forearm and gently inspected the places where he’d been injured.

“Have your wrists healed completely, then?”

Eyebrows pulling together, Lucius flexed both hands in equal measure. “I think so.”

“Good. At least now you can take off your own pants.”

Lucius smiled bashfully and hung his head. “Yes, I suppose that’s a good thing.”

While Circe’s hands lingered delicately on his wrist, Lucius straightened beside her. This close, he could hear the steady drum of her heartbeat. Deprived of blood, his body yearned for the sustenance that raced just under the blush of her ivory skin.

Inadvertently, his fangs lengthened, and the predator within him stilled in anticipation. With every beat of her heart, he grew more infatuated with the sound, more keyed into the pulse. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and that’s when he knew.

Lucius was in trouble.

Snatching his wrist away from her with breathtaking immediacy, Lucius jolted to his feet from the seat beside her, desperate to put space between them. Parched, his throat closed as he choked on the sudden thirst that desperately rose within him.

“Luc? What’s wrong?”

As his lengthened fangs nicked his tongue, he grappled with the urge to taste her blood again, the intoxicating allure of the sweet nectar that ran through her veins. Though it’d been but a taste when he’d closed her wound, he’d inadvertently primmed himself to desire nothing else.

“My body craves blood, Circe,” he explained, his back coming up against a wall. “I’m starving.”

And that was the truth of it: he was starving. A vampiric body riddled with wounds would do little else other than covet blood, the only nourishment that’d aid in swift healing. While he’d partially healed since he’d gotten here—in no small part due to Circe’s efforts—blood would remain the priority until he fully recovered.

If he didn’t find sustenance soon, he’d lose what sanity remained. He’d become nothing more than a mindless predator, seeking the one thing that could cure his ailments.

The pitiful noise from Circe’s throat recaught his attention. “I’m sorry, Luc. I didn’t know where else to take us.

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