Chapter 23: Tangled Hearts- CONT
Chapter 23: Tangled Hearts- CONT
Cassian's POV
He bares his fangs, but there’s a spark of humor in it. “Keep dreaming, Cassian. My title’s safe, unlike your face if you keep eyeing Mara like she’s your personal sunrise.”
“Touché,” I say, leaning back, arms crossed. “But I’m not the one growling like a guard dog every time someone breathes near her.”
Before Silas can fire back, Dorian saunters in, his smirk dripping with smugness. “Gentlemen, bickering already? Save it for the next full moon.” His voice is all velvet and venom, and I roll my eyes so hard I nearly see my own brain. Liam, oblivious to the tension, stumbles forward, his gaze locking on Mara like she’s the second coming. Without warning, he drops to his knees—knees, like he’s proposing to a deity—and thrusts out his wrist. “I want to serve you,” he says, voice shaking with awe. “My blood—it’s yours.”
Dorian chuckles, a low, grating sound, and rolls his eyes. “Always so dramatic, Liam. You’d think Mara’s handing out sainthoods.”
Mara’s silver eyes widen, her hunger warring with that flicker of fear I catch in her thoughts—What if I lose myself? A growl rumbles in my chest, mirrored by Silas’s, and we exchange a glance, a rare moment of unity. Neither of us trusts Dorian’s intentions, and Liam’s puppy-dog devotion is just another complication in this already overcrowded love triangle. I lean toward Silas, voice low. “Bet you ten bucks Liam’s got a Mara fan club T-shirt under that jacket.”
Silas’s lips twitch, but his eyes stay hard. “Twenty says he’s got her name tattooed somewhere stupid.”
“Deal,” I mutter, but my focus is on Mara. Her struggle is palpable, her fangs glinting as she stares at Liam’s wrist. She’s fighting it, but Elena’s words—human blood is the fuel—are eating at her. I want to tell her she’s stronger than her fear, that she’s the brightest damn thing I’ve ever seen, but Silas’s presence keeps me quiet. For now.
Mara’s POV
Okay, universe, you’re officially messing with me. First, Silas and Cassian decide to play vampire cage match in the study, throwing punches like they’re auditioning for a supernatural soap opera. Now, this human, Liam, is standing here, green eyes all doe-like, offering his wrist like it’s a happy hour special. “Take my blood, Mara,” he says, voice quivering with hero-worship. My fangs are practically tap-dancing, the void in my soul whispering, Drink, you idiot, it’s a free buffet. But seriously? I’m one brawl and a blood donor away from starring in my own gothic sitcom.
“Liam, buddy,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose, “you sure about this? I mean, I’m flattered, but I’m not exactly running a juice bar here.” My voice drips sarcasm, because if I don’t quip, I might scream. This Aetherborn hunger is no joke—Elena’s words are stuck in my head like a bad pop song: Human blood is the fuel. Yeah, great, but do I really need to chug Eau de Liam to level up?
He blinks, all earnest and clueless. “I want to help you, Mara. You’re… incredible.” Oh, fantastic. Another fanboy. I half-expect him to pull out a “Mara is My Hero” T-shirt.
“Help me?” I snort, crossing my arms. “What’s next, you gonna knit me a cape? Look, Liam, this isn’t a charity blood drive. I bite, you bleed, I maybe go full cosmic glowstick. You cool with that?”
His lips twitch, and—credit where it’s due—he doesn’t back down. “I’m tougher than I look,” he says, puffing out his chest like a scrawny rooster. “Plus, Dorian says my blood’s top-shelf. Organic, free-range, the works.”
I choke on a laugh, glancing at Dorian, the silver-haired vampire lounging nearby, smirking like he’s enjoying this way too much. “Organic? Really?” I deadpan. “What, you graze in a meadow before bed? Sip kale smoothies?”
Liam grins, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Only the finest grass for me, ma’am.”
Well, damn. The kid’s got spunk. But my fangs are screaming, my veins buzzing with need. I sigh, dropping the sass. “Fine, Liam. But if I turn into a glittery supernova and accidentally yeet you through a wall, that’s on you.”
He nods, rolling up his sleeve, and I take his wrist, my heart pounding. Here goes nothing. My fangs sink in, and—holy cosmic cappuccino—his blood hits like a star exploding in my mouth. It’s a supernova of flavor, like sunshine and adrenaline had a lovechild. My veins light up, power surging, and I focus, channeling my Aetherborn glow into him. Heal, I think, picturing his cuts fading, his body strengthening. His skin starts to glow, scars vanishing, and he stands straighter, like I’ve mainlined him with superhero serum.
I pull back, gasping, my body humming with energy. Liam’s eyes are wide, his cheeks flushed, looking like he just ran a marathon and won. “Whoa,” he breathes, flexing his arm. “I feel like I could bench-press Dorian.”
Dorian, still smirking, steps forward, his silver hair catching the candlelight. “Well, well, Mara,” he drawls, clapping slowly. “You’ve turned my snack into a bloody Olympian. Cheers for the upgrade, love. Liam’s never looked so… edible.”
I roll my eyes, but a grin tugs at my lips. “Don’t get used to it, Dorian. I’m not your personal health spa.” Inside, though, I’m buzzing—stronger, brighter, and, yeah, still me. Maybe this blood-drinking gig isn’t so bad after all.