Valeska didn't hesitate. The moment her fingers slipped from his wound, she yanked her hand back and scrambled to her feet, her heart slamming against her ribcage. She didn't have a plan—she just needed to run. But before she could take a single step, a blur of motion stole the air from her lungs.
Kieran was behind her.
His presence sent a chill down her spine, his breath warm against the exposed skin of her neck. She went rigid. A vampire standing this close meant only one thing—death. She expected his fangs to pierce her throat at any moment, to feel her life being drained away in an agonizing rush of pain and darkness. But nothing came.
His grip on her was firm, holding her in place, yet strangely, he wasn't hurting her. She tried to think—had he compelled her? But no—her mind was still her own. She could still think straight, still feel the frantic rhythm of her pulse pounding in her ears.
Then he spoke.
"Valeska Belmore."
