“More,” he confirmed.

Once again she razed her tongue against her fangs. A new wound opened up. Blood welled, though not as much and not as quickly. Still he sucked and sucked and sucked.

Not enough, not enough, never enough.

Within seconds the blood stopped leaking. He didn’t want to hurt her, couldn’t let himself hurt her, but he found himself biting her tongue; unlike her skin, this flesh was soft and malleable. She moaned, but not in pain. He’d accidentally cut his tongue, too, and his blood was trickling into her mouth.

“More,” she said, a demand now.

His hands tangled in the silky length of her hair, fisted. He angled her head, allowing deeper access for them both. So good.

She’d once told him humans died when vampires attempted to turn them. She’d also mentioned that the vampires attempting the turning died as well. At the time, he hadn’t understood why.

Now, he understood—but the knowledge cost him.

When she’d taken what remained of his blood and poured her own straight into his mouth, they’d done more than swap DNA, more than trade his souls for her monster. They’d swapped and traded everything. Memories, likes, dislikes, abilities and desires, back and forth, back and forth, until he sometimes couldn’t tell what was his and what was hers.

Had he once been whipped with a cat-o’-nine-tails? Had he once drained a human to death? Had he once stumbled upon a sick shape-shifting bear clan and doctored them to health?

A muted rumble—a yawn?—in the back of his mind claimed his attention. The monster. Actually, demon was a better description for Chompers. Aden felt utterly possessed by him. A feeling he should have been used to. Only, Chompers was nothing like the souls—he wasn’t affable like Julian, perverted like Caleb, or caring like Elijah. Chompers thought only of blood and pain. The taking of blood—and the giving of pain.