Chapter 33 - CHAPTER 32: I AM NOW THE WALKING BLOODY COKE DISPENSER!

🐺Dominic's POV:

Fuck—his fangs slide out!

"Lean! You—"

He cuts me off, eyes locking onto mine, glowing like damn brake lights. My stomach flips.

"Please, Puppers… let me go. I'll hurt you again. I'm going through a blood fever! The symptoms—they're random! Last time I shrunk down like a leaf, and now—"

He almost pounces before slapping himself back, fighting the monster inside him with everything he's got. His voice cracks, desperate.

"I'm getting aggressive. Please… let me go, Puppers…"

He yanks his hand out of mine, stumbling to run—but I grab him by his curls and drag him back. Black tears roll down his pale silvery cheeks, lips trembling like glass about to shatter.

"Drink!!"

The word tears out of me like a command, sharp, absolute.

"What?!"

"Drink from me!"

I grip his shoulders hard, bruising, as he writhes against me. My pulse hammers. My fear isn't for myself—it's for him.

🧛Lean's POV:

No. No, no, no. Not this again.

My throat burns like fire, my fangs ache so bad it feels like knives stabbing through my gums. I can hear his heartbeat—thump, thump, thump—like a drum made just to torture me.

"Drink from me," he says, like it's nothing. Like he doesn't know what those words mean to me.

"I—Puppers, stop!" I choke, my vision swimming. My claws dig into my own arms just to keep from digging into him. My chest heaves. "I'll rip you apart, I swear—I'll drain you dry, and you'll hate me—"

He shakes me, hard, his grip burning through my skin. His wolf eyes pin me like I'm prey, but his voice—his voice is pure fire.

"Then drain me! I don't care, Lean! Just don't burn yourself alive like this."

Black tears blur my sight. My lips quiver, my whole body trembling. I want to run. I want to disappear. I want to kiss him. I want to drink him dry. I want everything and it terrifies me.

I can smell his fear—but it's not for him. It's for me.

And that breaks me.

"Puppers…" I whisper, my voice cracking, "…don't make me love you more than I already do."

The hunger slams into me like a tidal wave. My control shreds apart. Before I know it, my fangs pierce into his neck.

Warmth. Rich, golden, alive. His taste is chaos and comfort all at once, and I moan against his skin, clutching him like I'll fall apart if I let go.

"Agh—fuck… fucking oversized mosquito," he groans, half a moan, half a snarl, and Princes of Hell help me, the sound shoots through me like lightning.

Then everything blurs.

One moment I'm clinging to his neck, the next I'm pinned against a tree, bark scraping my back. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, big hands gripping my ass, hauling me up, and my legs coil around his waist like desperate vines.

I'm gone. Completely gone. My fangs sink deeper, drinking him in like he's the last thing tethering me to this world, as I clutch his messy hairs or wolf ears whatever I don't care.

It's not blood. It's not even close.

It's wine—no, nectar—liquid fire that tastes like storms, forests, home. I feel drunker than the lovers of Aphrodite, head spinning, body burning, heart hammering in a rhythm I can't control.

The only sounds ticking in my ears, "Glup! Glup! Glup!" From my blobbing Addam's apple, and "Thump....Thump...Thump..." from his throbbing heart.

I'm sucking the life out of him, and yet… he clutches me tighter. As if I'm not his death but his life.

And that's the most dangerous, terrifying, beautiful thing of all.

🐺Dominic's POV:

It burns.

His fangs slide in, and my whole body jolts like a live wire.

Every nerve screams, but not from pain—from something worse, something better. My wolf howls inside me, clawing at the edges, torn between tearing him off and shoving him closer.

"Fuck—" I groan, and it's not the kind of sound I ever wanted him to hear. It's low, guttural, shamefully desperate.

His lips latch harder, drinking like a starved thing, and every swallow sends fire racing through my veins. My heartbeat pounds against his mouth, against his tongue—louder, faster—like I'm feeding him my very soul.

He's trembling, but it's not weakness. It's need. And all I can think is: take it. Take everything. Just don't leave me.

I slam him back against the tree before I know what I'm doing, bark splintering behind him, my hands greedy on his hips. He's light—too light—and that terrifies me more than the fangs in my neck. I hoist him higher, his legs knotting around me, his claws tangled in my hair.

And God help me, I don't care that he's draining me dry. I don't care that my vision's going hazy at the edges. Because for the first time, I'm not just the wolf, the monster, the beast in control.

I'm his.

The rhythm of his throat swallowing matches the hammer in my chest. Glup. Thump. Glup. Thump. Our bodies locked in a rhythm older than love, older than hunger, older than sin.

He thinks he's killing me, I think he's killing me. But every drop he takes just ties me tighter to him. His desperation carves me open, and all I can do is hold him, whisper against his hair, half-growl, half-plea:

"Don't you dare stop, Lean. Don't you fucking stop."

Because the truth is, I'd rather bleed out in his arms than breathe another day without him.

🧛Lean's POV:

"I…I love you!" I bubble against his throat, lips sealed to his skin, fangs sunk deep in his carotid.

"I fucking hate you, leech!" he huffs, clutching me tighter like I'm the only thing keeping him upright.

Time becomes nonsense. Seconds? Hours? I don't know. I only know the wild hunger burning through me—until suddenly it isn't. The frenzy dims. The primal edge dulls.

But then—his arms. They're trembling around me. His skin is cold. Too cold. Cold like…me.

"Fuck no—" I rip my fangs free, faster than a blink. Blood coats my mouth as he slide me down his grip, as I try to catch him, but his body just flops in my arms.

"PUPPERS!!!!" I scream so loud the forest birds probably file a noise complaint.

"PUPPPPPEEEEERRRSSS PLEASE!!! WAKE UP, I—I'M SORRY, I'LL BURN YOUR KITCHEN!!!"

My hands fly to his wolf ears, pulling, scrunching, yanking like I can squeeze life back into him while tears blur my eyes.

"DUMBASS—I'M NOT DEAD!" he mumbles, weak but annoyed. "And just…don't—don't touch my kitchen!"

For half a second my brain short-circuits. This man is bleeding out in my arms and STILL his priorities are: 1) Don't die. 2) Don't let Lean near the spice rack.

"Pupp—" I start, but he cuts me off with a shaky motion, dragging me against him.

"Shut the fuck up…just for one night. Let me rest."

And just like that, he passes out on me.

I panic. What do I do?! Call 911? No, they'll throw him in a zoo! Call 666—the monster helpline? Nope, Puppers would put me in garlic just for dialing!

Then, in his sleep, he clutches me. His big alpha arms curl tight, like instinct, pulling me into his chest. He's trembling, yes, but he's also…whimpering? Soft little doggy noises, tucked against me.

And bam. Just like that, I'm lying on the forest floor, cuddling with a passed-out near 7ft werewolf who's somehow acting cute as hell.

Agh. I love my undead life.