He was standing behind me.I froze, my fingers still hovering over the glass I’d meant to pour from. The air between us felt charged — heavy, like the few seconds before a storm.“I’d also like a drink,” Perth said quietly.My chest tightened. His voice was close, too close, and I could almost feel the words brush against the back of my neck. “O–okay,” I managed, my voice sounding small even to my own ears. “I’ll make you one.”I reached for another glass, but before I could even lift it, his hand came down over mine. Cool. Firm.“Not that kind of drink,” he said, his tone unreadable.He took my wrist gently but with an authority that made resistance feel pointless. I felt him draw my hand closer, until my pulse beat right beneath his fingertips. Then, to my surprise, he didn’t bite — not yet. He only breathed in, as if the air around my skin carried something he needed.The sound of his breath was quiet, almost thoughtful. And when he finally pressed his nose lightly to my wrist, I
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