<h4>Chapter 79: _ Bit Her</h4>


    María José’s blood was beyond euphoric. It was rich and warm andced with something <i>otherworldly</i>. It spread through me like liquid fire, filling my veins and setting every nerve aze.


    <i>If I was a vampire, I’d drain her without a second thought. </i>


    We werewolves found no such satisfaction in drinking blood like vampires do, but why was I so fucking drawn to hers?


    Why did I feel like I was drowning in its intoxicating aroma, like a shipwrecked sailor sumbing to the siren’s call?


    My grip on her tightened, my body pressing her closer and unwilling to let her go.


    María José gasped—but she didn’t struggle.


    She <i>should have</i>.


    Instead, she let out the softest little whimper. I felt her fingers twisting into my hair, and my eyes zed with need when she arched into me.


    I groaned as I <i>sucked</i>. <i>Fucking drinking her blood like it was fucking Tequ. </i>


    It was madness.


    It was bliss.


    Her taste, her scent, her heartbeat—everything overwhelmed me. The world outside of this bed ceased to exist in my mind.


    It was just me and her, connected in a way that no one else could be. Her blood pulsed into me, every drop flooding my senses, addicting me to her in a way I knew I would <i>never</i> recover from.


    And <i>fuck</i>, she <i>liked it.</i>


    I could feel it in the way her breath shuddered against my skin, the way she <i>moaned</i> so quietly.


    I needed to stop. She was already so frail. What if I ended up draining her? Werewolves couldn’t do that. We weren’t vampires for fuck’s sake!


    I needed to...


    I <i>couldn’t</i>.


    I pulled her closer, cradling her against my chest, drinking deeper, consuming everyst bit of <i>her...</i>


    ... Until reality came pping my face like a wake-up call.


    <i>What the fuck was I doing?</i>


    I <i>bit</i> her.


    Not just any bite.


    A iming bite.


    A <i>mate’s</i> bite.


    But it wasn’t technically a mate’s bite, was it? This was something else. She didn’t have a wolf for Hugo to connect with.


    Bloody hell, was I even biting her? I was drinking her BLOOD!


    My heart beat against my ribs in horror.


    I ripped my fangs out of her throat, shoving her back with enough force to create space between us. She let out a startled gasp, her dazed green eyes blinking up at me in confusion.


    My breath came in ragged pants, my lips wet with the taste of her.


    And then I saw it.


    The mark.


    Two perfect puncture wounds on the side of her throat with a slow trickle of blood escaping down the slope of her corbone.


    I should have been horrified.


    I <i>was</i> horrified.


    But the moment I saw her blood—rich, dark, <i>more</i>. <i>I want more.</i>


    I didn’t think.


    I jerked forward, grasped her chin with shaking fingers, and dragged my tongue over the bite.


    She gasped.


    A <i>deep</i> shudder ran through her entire body.


    I groaned before pressing my mouth to her throat again, sucking softly, cleaning the mess I had made.


    That blood dripping down the mark shouldn’t go to waste when my inside was on fire, roaring for more of her. I licked them off with my tongue, trailing around her skin... her soft, <i>soft, </i>skin.


    My hands were still trembling, but not from fear. I <i>should</i> have been terrified.


    Instead, all I could think about was how she tasted.


    How she felt.


    How she <i>let me</i>.


    María José let out a breathless sound and her fingers curled against my chest. I pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her gaze.


    Her lips were parted. God, her cheeks were flushed and her pupils were blown wide. She looked... <i>wrecked</i>.


    But not from fear.


    From <i>want</i>.


    I swallowed hard.


    We stared at each other mutely, both of us caught in the aftermath of something we didn’t understand—something dangerous and irreversible.


    Then she whispered...


    "...What did you do, Axel?"


    I had no answer.


    Because I had no fucking idea.


    I opened my mouth to answer her. To say something. To exin, to apologize, to curse the Moon Goddess for making my life so fuckingplicated...


    But María José’s eyelids suddenly fluttered, and then, just like that, she went limp.


    I jumped, catching her before she crumpled to the floor.


    "<i>Joder</i>!" I swore, my heart leaping into my throat.


    Her body was warm, feverish, and far too light in my arms. My heartbeat elerated as I adjusted my grip, hoisting her against my chest.


    The scent of her blood—<i>my</i> bite—was still there... so fucking in the air, teasing my senses. But the brief intoxication took a backseat to the sinking realization that hit my gut.


    I did this.


    I bit her. I drank from her. And now she was <i>unconscious</i> in my arms.


    I felt sick.


    I scooped her up finally, cradling her against me as I staggered toward the bed. Her red hair cascaded over my arm like a wildfire. There was a faint flush on her cheeks, lips swollen from our kiss, and—Dios mío—the fresh bite mark on her throat stood out starkly against her skin.


    Guilt tore at me.


    What the fuck have I done?


    Had I taken too much? Werewolves weren’t supposed to drink blood. This wasn’t some vampire fairytale where she’d wake up grinning and glowing, talking about how <i>divine</i> my bite was.


    This was real life. And in real life, people <i>died from</i> blood loss, and I...


    No. No, no, no. She was breathing. Her heartbeat was weak but it was there. I hadn’t killed her. Not yet.


    I carried her over to the bed, maneuvering carefully so I didn’t jostle her too much. She stirred slightly when I set her down and a small sound slipped past her lips, but she didn’t wake.


    Guilt broke into me like a wrecking ball.


    She looked so damn <i>fragile</i> like this.


    Iid her down gently, my hands shaking as I pulled the nkets up to her shoulders. Her body had given out. Whether it was from exhaustion, blood loss, or something <i>more</i>, I didn’t know.


    But I wasn’t taking any risks.


    I grabbed a clean rag and a bowl of water.


    She didn’t jerk as I pressed the damp cloth to her throat, carefully wiping away the blood. Her skin was soft beneath my fingers.


    I worked as gently as I could, cleaning the wound, then grabbed the tiny jar of salve from the bedside table—standard in every room, because Don Diego’s idea of parenting apparently involved letting his daughter <i>bleed</i> on a regr basis.


    The thought sent another pang of anger through me.


    I ignored it, focused on dabbing the ointment onto the wound.


    She let out a small sigh, turning her face slightly toward me in her sleep. Her breath fanned across my wrist, warm and soft, and...


    Nope. Not doing this.


    I pushed back from the bed so fast I nearly knocked over the water bowl.


    This was bad. <strong>So bad.</strong>


    I couldn’t let myself lose control again.


    <i>Get it together, Axel. </i>


    Once I finished tending to her, I sat at the edge of the bed, dragging my hands down my face.


    I needed to get out of here.


    Now.