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Aleah
I cannot believe I let him do that. My face heats with embarrassment, with absolute and utter shame at my atrocious behavior. I could rant and rave all night about not having any choice in the matter, but it wouldn’t be true.
Of course, I had a choice. I could have rescinded my invitation at any time.
Instead, for some weird reason, I chose to let him kiss me. What’s worse is I actually liked it. I wanted him to kiss me again. It was why I couldn’t bring myself to push him away at first. At least I had the strength to say no before it went much further.
Too bad my body doesn’t feel as happy as my head about the fact that he left. Too bad the zing in my woman bits is still making itself felt, even though he’s out there in the dark somewhere and no longer pressing his engorged and very ready organ against my aching and equally ready clit.
Holy motherfucking hell. I almost let him drink my blood.
That’s what scares me the most. The fact that I know better and yet it made no difference. I wanted him enough to put my values—and myself—at risk.
There is something about Luc that forces down my guard and makes me forget who or what he is, without even realizing that it’s happening. Is that how vamps lure their prey? With charm and sexual chemistry? Making sure their victim switches off the logical and thinking part of themselves and, instead, switches on their rampaging libido? He says he can’t control my mind because I’m part-fae, but I’m not sure I believe him. Would I have been so open about wanting him, otherwise? Incapable of important things like movement and breathing?
Despite the fact that, up until today, I’ve harbored nothing but hatred for all things vampiric, it seems one particular vamp has definitely managed to get under my skin in a most unexpected way. Am I this easy to push over? Would this have happened with any other vampire?
I simply don’t know. And that thought scares me even more.
I’m glad he’s out of my house. I’m glad he disappeared so quickly and seemingly without care. Back in the dark where you belong, monster.
The thoughts might be fierce, but they feel hollow. Was my aunt wrong all these years? Is it possible there are good as well as evil vampires? Just like there are with any other species?
I hurry around the house, switching on all the overhead lights. It’s a stupid gesture but I can’t seem to stop until the whole cottage is lit up like a Christmas tree. My heart races. Every now and then, I can’t help but glance at the door to see if he’ll try to get back in.
He can’t, I remind myself. I have to invite him in and I won’t do that.
And yet, I still worry. Almost like I don’t trust myself.
Will I ever see him again? Do I want to see him again? I can’t settle at anything, and I’m grateful when Bobo and Suki appear out of nowhere, scratching at the door and demanding their dinner. My two Siamese cats are nothing if not predictable, especially when it comes to their stomachs. Dodging their sinuous bodies as they wind in and out around my legs gives me something other than a sexy vampire to think about.
I’m relieved to know they’re back inside, away from the loup danger that I’m disturbed to hear lurks outside. I’m positive my cats are able to take care of themselves but I’m glad to see they’re safe.
Once the fur babies have been fed, I add a frozen curry to the microwave for myself. I might even have a glass of wine tonight, to celebrate. To celebrate what? Who the hell knows, but I feel like a glass of something, so I pull out a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator. I run my thumb over the label. I don’t know enough about wine to care about the date or where it’s from. Hopefully it will taste good.
I’m just about to crack it open when pain and darkness rolls over me like a wave that threatens to drown me. Death and dying. Oh, God. Another attack.
One moment life is completely normal, and the next the wine bottle smashes all over the floor. The cats screech and flee to the next room. I bend double, clutching at my belly as a rising wail pushes its way inexorably upward out of my chest.
No, no, no, no...
Not now. Not again. Two nights in a row. I can’t do this!
Who is it? Can I get there in time to warn them? Oh, my God!
Agony rips at my belly, causing me to hunch over. My fingers spasm and my breath sounds become harsh as I fight to remain on my feet. Light flashes my vision. I see stars. My head starts to spin, to throb. It’s hard to retain my balance.
It has to be someone close by. Much closer than last night. My range as a half-human is more restricted than a full-blood banshee, which is why I moved so far out of the city. Fewer people. Less death. Less of this agonizing need to wail so loud that the whole world can hear my warning.
Only, no one ever hears my wail. Defective...fucking...voice.
Unbearable. I have to let it out.
Somehow, I manage to stagger outside and down the porch stairs. I make it all the way across my front garden before the next wave hits. The perfume from my gorgeous winter flowers laced with recent rain permeates the air, and I suck in deep breaths, fighting the call of death and focusing on the fresh scent of life and growth.
Not death. Not tonight. Not if I can help it.
Another surge of pain rushes through me and I clutch at the garden gate, fighting the wail. I have to get there in time. I have to let them know.
When the crescendo of pain briefly retreats, I wrench open the gate that separates my yard from the paddocks, and make my way across one of the grassy fields that make up the remainder of my property. If anyone is watching—unlikely in this rural setting—I must look like a drunken fool, lurching and staggering, falling in the long damp grass and rising, as the pain takes hold more fully and death becomes ever more certain.
Finally, I reach the gate on the other side that leads from my land to the neighboring property. I can smell the sweet nectar, a familiar scent that wraps around me like a warm blanket. My beehives are off somewhere to the left, hidden in the darkness.
My beautiful honey bees. I hope you’re safe. I hope you’re sleeping.
The trees thin out at this point and I totter through the gate into an open meadow where my view down the hill into the valley is uninterrupted. The windows are ablaze with light in the farmhouse at the base of the incline.
My closest neighbors, Darrie and Gwen, have lived here for a long time. Darrie’s family has owned this land for generations. Despite my preference for isolation, they always check in on me at least once a week with homemade apple pie. In exchange, they take home a jar of my honey. No. Not them. Please, not them. I have very few friends in this world, and those I have allowed to sneak in under my emotional guard are very special people, indeed.
The wail is imminent. I fight it. I fight it so hard, until I can’t fight it one second longer. The sound bursts forth from my throat in a blast of fae-touched energy. If I were a full banshee the whole region would hear my keening. Maybe if I were, someone might come to assist the person in need.
But I am not full-fae. And no one comes.
Instead, all that permeates the air is muted sobbing. My voice is defective, my wail all but useless, and just as I failed my beloved father all those years ago, I’m about to fail Darrie or Gwen.
I fail all of them. Every time. I’m never, ever enough. And yet, I cannot stop this mangled wail from coming, and I cannot make it greater than what it already is.
I am useless.
Nausea rises and I drop to my knees. I’m not going to reach them in time to warn them.
I start to crawl, my hands and knees squelching in dirt made damp by recent drizzle.
Don’t die. Please don’t die. Let me be wrong this time.
Please let me be wrong.
Nothing ever seems to protect the innocent from the various evils that stalk the earth. Regardless, all I can do is utter a prayer of hope, of pleading for the opportunity to finally do something.
I can’t. The moment death arrives, I give up the futile crawl and curl into a tight ball, keening in near silence, unable to move further as waves of nausea from the agony of death wash over me like relentless surf against a rocky shore.
I am a pathetic ball of uselessness. I cannot help and I cannot get others to hear me. What good am I? Death is imminent and I can’t help those who need it.
Which of them has been taken? Why? And how? If there was anything I could do, I would do it, but I already know I’m too late. Instead I just lay here in the grass in Darrie’s home paddock, sniffling amidst the wet earth and the cow patties and living the reality of death.
So much death.
I stare up at the sky above me. Tiny pinprick stars light up the black sky, and I feel myself burn with anger. Why is the backdrop against such tragedy so beautiful? The contrast makes me retch, and I roll onto my knees, preparing myself for the oncoming vomit. I heave once, twice, but nothing comes.
The agony goes on, longer and more intense than ever before, and my keening intensifies in nature. Oh, no. More than one. This time, there must be more than one death.
I can’t bear the thought of losing either, but both? Unthinkable. Darrie and Gwen are an older couple who opened their home and their hearts to me, a strange and lonely young woman, when I first arrived in the region. I boarded with them for two years, until they transferred the mostly wooded portion of their land atop the hill and presented the title to me as a gift. They gave me everything I now own, simply because of their innate kindness. I owe my life to them. I owe my continuing connection with humanity to this beautiful and generous couple. They are the reason why I trust humanity. If it weren’t for them, I probably would never come out of my home if I could help it.
Can’t stop. Keep going. Save them.
Somehow, I stagger to my feet and hobble forward, a few tiny steps at a time. The agony is seated deep within me, as if my very blood carries pain to every part of my body. It feels like I’m about to be cut in half, and yet I’m nearly there. A few meters more and I’ll be within reach of their door. It’s open, light spilling out onto the three steps leading up to the porch. A few meters more and maybe I can warn them to watch out. To fight off whatever is coming...
The flash of movement to my left is too fast for any eyes to register properly, even mine. I catch only a flicker of shadow-light-shadow before I’m being lifted into a firm embrace and carried away from the scene. Musk and spice rise around me.
Luc?
I furrow my brow. Did he do this to my friends? He didn’t seem like the type. He even mentioned how he wanted to help, that he was here in the first place because he had been trying to save a child attacked by two preternatural creatures.
Yet, I can’t help but remind myself that he’s a vampire. Manipulation is his forte.
Did I save a murderer last night, and in the saving, ensure the deaths of Darrie and Gwen?
Anger flares within me. I curl my fingers into fists as I continue to wail. Is this somehow my doing? Is Luc planning to kill every living creature he encounters?
Am I about to die, too?
My scream of despair mixes in with the wailing and yet all that emerges is another strangled whisper. “Why, why? Take me back. I need to go back, to warn them...”
“Too late, little banshee.” The voice is soft and low and too familiar. I suppress a shudder as he continues to speak. “And it’s far too dangerous for you to be out and about in this obviously helpless state.”
The words are full of sorrow. Death, and sorrow, and pain. I can’t hold it off one second more. My eyes close and I sink into the loss. I’m never going to come back from the agony of this.
My fault. My fault. I’m so sorry.
His strong arms continue to hold me tight. His gentle voice, crooning, hints that everything is going to be all right. But it’s not. Not after this.
“Death came.”
“Yes.” He pauses, and then says, “I’m sorry, banshee.”
I manage to look up. I am stunned by his wistful expression. Somehow, he’s able to retain a haunting beauty even though his features are tainted with angst. It is strange to hear him apologize. Stranger still, it sounds as though he means it.
I blink. My friends are gone, captured by death. Their sentence is not singular, but for both. I feel it. I feel the hollow emptiness that makes up death. I’m living it. And nothing will ever be all right again.
***
Luc
Death came. Oh yes, it came with a vengeance. Aleah’s voice is cracked and bereft. I don’t think she even knows where she is at this moment.
How the hell did she get herself across the fields in this state?
I can’t carry her back inside her home without permission, and for a while she’s too distraught to provide it. I tell her things, sweet things, assurances that it will be okay eventually, in hopes that it will help settle her.
It does not work.
There’s a swing seat nestled at the edge of her porch, so eventually, I choose to wait there. I have all the time in the world, literally. I will not push her until she’s ready. Almost, I wish for the return of the suspicious, guarded creature I met a few hours previously.
I balance her limp body across my lap and rock her as gently as I can. After what seems like hours, she quietens and the soft keening turns into something more like sobs.
“They’ve both passed on.” Her eventual words are full of sorrow. She sits upright. Her face is blotchy and red from all the crying.
The color reminds me of her blood and how much it sings to me.
I curb my body’s natural response.
This is not the time.
“I’m not surprised.”
Hopefully she didn’t get a proper look at the state of those two bodies that littered the graveled yard. Bits of arm, pieces of leg, blobs of flesh scattered everywhere. The fact that the elderly male survived as long as he did was testament to what must have been a true fighting spirit. No chance for the woman. From what I could see, her head was torn off in the initial attack.
This killer clearly did not want to feed. It wanted to destroy, and with a viciousness I’ve rarely witnessed even in my extended lifetime.
I don’t understand that. Though I may not agree with non-consensual feedings, at least the motive makes some kind of sense.
But this?
This makes no sense whatsoever. Why destroy the innocent? What will that achieve?
“Will you invite me inside, Aleah?” I need answers. Perhaps having someone to talk to will help me find them.
“You again.” She hiccups, but her voice is resigned, not resentful, and I know she’s coming back to herself. More than that, there’s a chance she may now be open to giving me another chance at earning her trust.
“Me again.”
“They died horribly.” Her gaze is on the dirt covering her feet.
I want to reach out and touch her, remind her that while her friends are gone, she’s still here, rooted to this dwelling. She can’t remain in this state of sorrow or it will swallow her up whole.
I don’t pretend to be ignorant.
“Yes, they did.” I pause. I try to remind myself about sympathy and showing it to others in their time of need. “Did you know them well?”
She nods, and wipes snot from her nose with the back of a hand. A streak of mud is left behind. She’s going to need a bath when she gets inside. I don’t think she even realizes how dirty she is. She’s still in shock. I can’t blame her.
“They were good friends of mine.” A bitter laugh escapes her throat. “I don’t have many. And... they were kind. Really nice people. Without them I wouldn’t have this place. Wouldn’t have my home, or my business. Or my beautiful bees...”
Tears well in her eyes again, but this time she holds them in. Her eyes look enormous and haunted.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” I have another urge to offer her comfort in a physical way. A simple touch, nothing to do with sex. It’s not a familiar feeling, and I roll my shoulders to try and curb the impulse.
“They didn’t deserve anything bad to happen to them, but especially not...that.” She keeps talking, and part of me wonders if she realizes I’m even here. “Who would—”
I know the instant the thought hits by her sudden recoil. She seems strong enough to stand, so I slowly release my hold and allow her to slide down off my lap. It’s harder than I expect to let her go. I enjoy the way her body heats mine when I hold her.
Once standing, she takes a giant step back, those luminous eyes narrowing in accusation. “Did you—”
“No. I did not.” My tone is sharp. I don’t know why I’m so offended by her accusation. It makes sense. I am a likely suspect. I am capable of such carnage. And yet, her words make me bristle. Just because I have the capability does not mean I would choose to act in such a vile manner.
After a moment of uncanny stillness, she nods. I blink. I wouldn’t have guessed she could believe me. But she does. The anger vanishes from my system. Slowly, I get to my feet. Now is not the time to spook her.
“But I know who did.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. A curious sparkle lights her eyes. I’m glad to see I have not yet lost her to sorrow. If anything, I sense a burning desire for revenge. “Who?”
“One of the rogues who caught me off-guard last night. The vamp.” Anger rises in me again, this time directed at myself. I should have stopped them both. I should not have been caught off-guard so easily.
A twitch of muscle beneath one eye is her only response.
I briefly lift my healed arm. “I killed the were who disabled me, but the other one got away. I thought maybe he’d have left the area by now, but he is obviously hanging around for some reason.”
“Is that normal?” There is hesitation in her tone, as though she’s worried. It’s strange to hear. She gives the impression of someone strong and fierce, at least, she has in the little time I’ve known her. Perhaps she’s starting to trust me.
My mouth tightens. “Nothing about this situation is normal,” I say. I don’t want to upset her more, but it’s important that I’m honest. “Rogues go loup. They don’t think rationally, and they certainly don’t work in partnership with anyone else. Blood lust takes them and they kill and run, kill and run. An endless cycle, without thought or calculation, until someone brings them down. This...”
I shake my head and stare out into the night, straining to sense anything that might give me a clue as to what the hell is driving the monsters out there hunting humans with such unusual intent. The only sounds beyond standard night creature rustlings are the faint wail of a siren as emergency services make their way presumably toward the tragedy at the neighboring property, and, overlaying it all, Aleah’s raspy breath.
“This is all wrong, isn’t it?” she asks. Her hand clutches the side of her throat, as though she has batted away loose strands of hair and forgotten to drop her arm back to her side. She looks so vulnerable, I have this sudden urge to take her in my arms, to fit her head against my chest, to reassure her that everything is going to be all right.
The only thing I can do—the only thing I’m willing to do, because she’s owed this much—is to be honest with her about this. I will not condescend and try to whitewash everything that has occurred.
“Yes.” My answer is crisp.
“Do you think someone is compelling them to do this? Someone, or something... unnatural?” Her eyebrows rise.
I’m not sure why she’s asking me these questions when she so recently wanted nothing to do with me. Perhaps, things have changed. I nearly balk at my own stupid thoughts. For her, everything has changed. Now, I am likely a lesser evil.
“It’s a possibility.” I shrug, unwilling to drag her into this any more than she already has been.
Something unnatural. I’m beginning to suspect that is exactly what’s happening. Unnatural and definitely evil.
The rogue behavior seems intentional. Planned, almost. The opposite of what one would expect from a crazed loup. It’s calculated and savage at the same time.
She nods, as if it was something she already guessed, and joins me in looking out at the night. Her arms cross over her chest, and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s cold or if she’s protecting herself from the thought of the monsters out there in the dark.
“Did they suffer a lot?” Her question catches me off-guard.
“Your friends?” How am I supposed to answer that, other than with truth? “Yes.”
“Right.” Her arms tighten across her middle.
“I won’t lie to you.”
She shrugs. “I don’t even understand why I asked. I already knew the answer.”
“You felt it?”
“Yeah. That’s generally how it...works.” Her last word falters and she staggers.
I reach out and grab her elbow to steady her, and this time she doesn’t shift away from my touch. She must feel worse than she looks, to accept my support so complacently.
“If you let me help you inside, I’ll leave immediately, if that’s what you wish,” I tell her.
“Hmm.” A snort escapes her. “Feels a bit like déjà vu. Why are you back here, Luc? What were you doing...there? What’s your role in all of this?”
She looks at me with narrowed eyes. Her words have tightened like a finger just before the trigger pull.
“Hunting.” My grim tone causes her breath to catch, but I shake my head. “Not humans, Aleah. I’ve already told you I won’t take blood by force. I meant what I said.”
She shivers, and I heave a sigh and continue.
“I revisited the clearing where I was ambushed and tracked the vamp from there. The scent led me in a wide meandering circle around your property and all the way back to your friends’ farm. Unfortunately, I was too late to save them.”
She clenches her jaw so hard it pops.
“As was I.” Her voice is faint, and after a minute she leans into me. The way her curves mold against my side stirs something in my loins, but now is not the time to explore anything related to lust.
I tighten my arm around her waist and wait for her decision. Her strong floral scent wafts upward and fills my nostril with a subtle beauty. I want to kiss the crown of her head. But I reject my instinct and continue to hold her. She’s allowed me this much, and I do not wish to take it for granted.
“All right.” She seems exhausted, as if there’s nothing left in the tank. “You may enter, Lukey.”
This time the ridiculous nickname doesn’t bother me. I can tell it’s an attempt at reaching out toward something—anything—light-hearted. A feeble attempt, perhaps, but clearly death takes a heavy toll even on those still living. I don’t know exactly what it feels like to be a harbinger of death, but from the state of Aleah, it appears to suck the life out of whoever is charged with that miserable task.
No wonder the other banshee I met was so bitter. To live with that level of anguish on a regular basis would likely be enough to turn anyone into a bundle of negativity. Anyone except Aleah. Despite what she must endure on a regular basis, she still retains that sense of lightness and life. I perceive it within her, strong and sure, as clearly as I do her heartbeat. Life force.
She must be a rare creature indeed, to be able to rise above the suffering and cling to life so determinedly. I smile. Her stubbornness is a pain in the ass but it has obviously kept her alive and connected to life instead of wallowing in death.
Right now, though, her reliance on my strength to get her back into the house is a reversal of the previous evening. A swell of something that I can’t quite identify rises deep within. It’s more than a physical attraction. That would be easy to recognize. Perhaps it’s as simple as the fact that someone needs me, if only for a few minutes, despite what I am and the danger I pose. She needs me. The experience of being needed is new, and more enjoyable than I want it to be.
I clear my throat and slowly lead her inside. I’m afraid she’ll realize what she’s agreed to and pull away from me, rescinding the invitation yet again. For some reason, the possibility of this concerns me and I do not want it to happen.
I’m used to living—and working—alone. As a vampire whose Mistress is no longer in this world, I have no coven. No family. The House was disbanded when the woman who turned us died, and even though another rose in her place and the flock reformed under a new Master, the nature of our Maker’s death meant that I have no chance of ever being accepted back in to the fold.
It was my fault she died.
I’ve been ex-communicated.
My mind shies away from the dark sadness of those early years of isolation. Instead, I focus on the here and now. I have a job and a purpose, and these days my isolation is by choice, rather than necessity. I find I get much done when I’m alone. I only need to rely on myself. I only need to take care of my own needs, and not those of a flock. Much better this way.
When I say alone, though, I don’t mean in a physical sense. There is always someone who wants to be fucked by a vamp. Often many “someones”, and on occasion, all at the same time. I continue to stay active in the sexual sense. Being undead has heightened those urges and I cannot quell them, even if there are moments when I want to. I enjoy carnal pleasure.
But emotionally? No. Emotion slows you down. Emotion can get you killed. Emotion damn well hurts. I avoid it as much as I can.
In my previous—human—life, I knew what it was to love. I knew what it was to be betrayed by that love. Since my turning and ex-communication, I have not needed anyone in that way. Life is easier not needing anyone. I pride myself on the physical connections I make and how separate I keep them from my life.
Until now. No one has stirred any emotions in me until the moment a strange pang strikes hard in my chest when I assist a dirt-and-snot-covered little banshee into her home.
“Where’s your bedroom?” I ask. I wonder if she’ll tell me, especially after what happened the last time I was here.
“Upstairs. But you don’t have to—”
“More stairs! Up we go, then.” I sweep her back into my arms and she releases a tiny, protesting moan, followed by a long, capitulating sigh. The lack of protest is clear evidence of her current level of exhaustion. Her head flops down to rest on my chest and once again, a strange warmth rises within me.
I swallow. I don’t want to think about that right now. The floral scent tainted with just a bit of honey makes me want to taste her, to kiss her just behind her ear. I shouldn’t be this close to her. It’s doing strange things to me.
“You’re like a bad smell, Lukey,” she says, interrupting my thoughts. “Can’t get rid of you.”
“Charming.” My lips quirk up.
Her eyes close and her head lolls. She’s gone, wherever banshees go to recharge their inner batteries when the agony of the death call has come and gone.
I sigh and continue up the stairs. It looks like I’ll have to figure this out on my own, then.
The fact that she lasted this long before losing consciousness is testament to her inner strength. Aleah’s dichotomous mix of fortitude and fragility fascinates me on so many levels, and yet we’ve hardly had time to get to know one another at all. I want to know her better. And that thought frightens me. I shouldn’t want to peel away her layers so I can see what’s underneath.
Perhaps you should leave while you’re still able.
I glance through doorways as I make my way along the upstairs hallway. A white-tiled bathroom is on the left, almost directly opposite what appears to be a spare bedroom, before we reach the room at the end.
The size denotes this as the main bedroom even before Aleah’s scent hits my nostrils. This is definitely where she sleeps. The honeyed notes are every bit as flowery and sweet as the woman herself, and as I rest her now-sleeping form on the bed, I hope she doesn’t mind about the mud on that previously pristine white comforter. Too late if she does. Probably should have removed her boots first. And maybe wiped her face and hands.
My hands linger on her body longer than they should. I like her warmth.
I glance around to see if I can glean more about this strange, intriguing woman. She seems more human than fae in terms of her general demeanor, but I suspect that’s a deliberate attempt to ignore the faerie half of her blood.
Pastel wallpaper, adorned with silvery stripes at various intervals, and delicate white furniture fill the room. Touches of yellow and blue add a restful air. The bed dominates, king-sized and covered with a puffy comforter. I feel suddenly too large, too gauche, and too masculine for this place.
Dare I stay, even for a little while? Will her blood song be too strong to resist? It can’t hurt, surely, for at least a few minutes, to keep her company and ensure her recovery is well underway. She’s so frail-looking, lying there in the center of that enormous mattress. Surely it would be wrong to leave her alone at this point?
What has gotten into me? I can’t remember the last time I cared this much about the emotional welfare of a living, breathing creature. Perhaps I shouldn’t have offered to help her. Perhaps I should have simply kept my mouth shut.
I head back up the hallway to locate a wash cloth in the bathroom and return to clean her face and hands. I then proceed to remove her dirt-clad clothing. She’s not wearing a bra beneath her top and, finally, when she’s laid out on the bed with nothing but a pair of bright pink panties covering her mound, it takes all my strength not to lean in and suck those rose-peaked nipples deep into my mouth.
I let my eyes linger. I give myself time to take in the sight, knowing there’s a good chance I won’t see it again. I want to memorize the perfection.
My fangs unsheathe at the beauty of her body spread-eagled before me, and my loins tighten at the thought of lapping at her hybrid flesh and sucking on those enticing peaks. Her skin color is creamy rather than white, lush and warm when I run my fingertips experimentally across her belly before reluctantly shifting her onto her side. I need to extract the coverlet from beneath her so I can conceal her sleeping form before my libido takes over and reduces my brain to a state where logic no longer exists.
This is not exactly what I had in mind when I told her I would help. I know that I’m not doing myself any favors by taking advantage of her incapacitated state. Logic and reason war with desire and it’s hard to fight at all. I am completely powerless before her and she does not even realize it.
She releases a tiny moan when I roll her, trying to get enough of the quilt out from beneath her that I can cover her properly. That sound is almost my undoing. This woman exudes sensuality and yet, she doesn’t even seem to know it. I want to make her moan again. I want the sound to be louder. I want to sink my fangs into her flesh and finally—finally—taste the blood that sings so sweetly to my own. I want to mark her. I want others to know she’s mine and mine alone.
I clear my throat, which has thickened in tandem with my cock. Remember, she’s off-limits until she wakes. Instead of doing what I know is the sensible thing and leaving her alone to sleep off the shock, I remove my own boots and clothing, and climb in beside her beneath the covers. It’s so natural that it does not even come into question that what I’m doing is completely insane. She will not like this when she wakes up—if she finds me. It’s as if I’ve permanently switched to auto-pilot and am unable to control my actions.
She rolls into my arms, her long body folding itself against mine as easily as if we were made for each other. Two pieces of a puzzle, fitting together perfectly.
Bad idea, man. Bad idea. I keep replaying the cautionary mantra in my head, but it appears my brain is no longer listening.
I shift her dark hair that has fallen in a tangle across her face, and slide one of my arms beneath her shoulder, and then realize my error as she sighs and settles more comfortably into my embrace. If I try to leave now, she’ll wake, and I have the feeling she needs plenty of sleep to recover from whatever trauma her banshee soul has just endured.
I have ensnared myself in a spider’s web. I have no doubt she will devour me when she wakes, and not in the way I wish. She will be upset at my violation, betrayed by someone she thought she could trust.
I look down at her. There’s no tension in her face now. She’s calm, vulnerable. She looks younger.
Who is she, this unusual hybrid, and how did she come to be living all the way out here in the wilderness, alone in the middle of mostly empty fields and wooded forest? What is her story? What is her background? And why does she so clearly distrust all vampires?
A vampire ruined my life. Her mention of that fact last night caused an uneasy sensation to settle in my gut. My kind can be vicious. We are, at our core, essentially cruel and predatory, and the thought of Aleah being on the receiving end of a vampire’s cruelty fills me with disquiet.
There is a reason I am so fierce in my hunting. There is a reason I have taken it personally to track the perpetrators to this farmland, trying to save these innocent humans. I know what my kind can do. I want to prevent rogues from assaulting the innocent. I do not want all supernaturals blamed for the actions of rogues—in this case, one rogue who seems to be slaughtering purely for sport.
Since the supernatural creatures came out of hiding thirty or so years ago, the world as everyone knew it turned on its axis and eventually resettled into a new normal. It took time, though. Time for those who clung to the old ways to adjust, and realize that the Accord was created for the betterment of all of us, no matter which species or realm we belong to.
Even now, tension still remains in some pockets across the country on both sides. There are some supes who did not wish to announce their existence while there are humans who still do not trust those of us with superhuman abilities to keep our powers controlled. Attacks like those recent ones here only make it more difficult for trust, on either side.
Today, supes mingle alongside humans; fae pass freely between realms as more safe passages open up, and even the existence of angels and demons has been acknowledged as inroads continue to be made into negotiating a peaceful existence for all. Overall, there’ve been some positive developments to help reduce the fear and anxiety experienced by all sides in relation to living with those different from their own kind.
She’s half-fae herself, so Aleah must have always been well aware that there are many things other than human out there, even if her human relatives were the ones to raise her. And there are many things other than vampire that cause death and destruction in their wake. It’s important that she knows this. I may be a monster, but I am also a lesser evil compared to many others.
Why is she so afraid of my kind? What, specifically, happened to make her so close-minded?
What did a vampire do to ruin her life?
She arches her neck, angling her chin away from me. The movement is clearly unconscious as she sleeps. I catch a glimpse of the regular thump of her carotid, steady and sure. The solid beat fascinates me. I cannot look away.
Without volition, my fangs release from their sheath once again and I bend toward that heady pulse with a low purr emanating from my throat. All questions of her past vanish from my mind. I am solely focused on her throat and how soft the skin will be once I slide my fangs into her.
No. I can’t. Not without her permission. Definitely not while she sleeps. Then I will be nothing more than the monster she already assumes I am.
And yet, I can’t stop staring at her throat.
I watch as the pulse consistently jumps against the flesh, hypnotizing me with its vitality.
I’m more than old enough to feed without draining her, if I wish. She would not feel a thing other than the briefest of pricks and then a slow, sensual whoosh as her blood released into my system. The heady desire that naturally accompanies a feed would ignite her sex and, should I choose, I could lead her to orgasm with a single touch of my incisors. She would see that vampires can deliver pleasure, that we might be monsters but the sensations we provide are not to be found anywhere else.
The lure is almost too much. My fang tips graze her skin and I inhale. Divine. What an aphrodisiac she would be.
Her mere scent causes a stirring in my loins. I feel like a young man once again, when sex was new and everywhere and even the caress of silk on my skin was enough to imagine the touch of a lover. I have not felt this way in so long.
I could drink my fill and lick her clean afterward, closing the wound and at the same time sending her into raptures of delight when the orgasm rips through her body. She may feel light-headed from the effects of my bite, though that would be the only downside, unless I chose to drain her fully.
You promised. The whisper through my mind sounds like Aleah’s own voice. Low and husky, hardly there at all, and yet all-encompassing in my head as if she has actually invaded my soul.
I hear you, Aleah. I hear you. My growl erupts from the deepest reaches of my chest. Fuck. I did promise to behave. I don’t know why this promise suddenly means everything to me, why it’s so important I follow through.
I clench my teeth together, careful to ensure my fangs don’t nick my own skin. It’s unbearably difficult to turn away from that slow, steady beat, but finally I manage it, only to encounter two sets of accusatory eyes as a pair of Siamese cats watch warily from their perch on the dresser across the room.
“I won’t,” I insist. “I promised her.”
One of the cats continues to stare unblinkingly, but the other narrows it’s eyes as if judging me and finding my response wanting.
I don’t hate cats, nor do vampires feed on any blood other than human, but right now, with the strength it has taken to turn away from the enticing delight in front of me, I might just transfer my anger elsewhere if they don’t hurry from my reach.
Why am I even talking to them in the first place? It’s not as though they’ll respond, even if they seem to watch me acutely, accounting for every breath I take. I wouldn’t be surprised if they leapt from where they sat and started to claw at me if I did something they didn’t approve of.
“Go. Get.” I release a long low hiss and both arch their backs and race each other to the exit. At the door they turn as if one and hiss right back at me before disappearing down the hallway. I have to admit, their combined hiss is slightly more impressive than my own.
Another whimper comes from Aleah’s pouted lips, and my attention returns to my bed partner.
The soft curve of her hip is the perfect resting place for my heat-filled cock. At least, it would be if I knew we were soon to sate its hunger. My God, I want this woman badly, and in so many different ways. And yet it seems as if we’re fated to remain unconnected in every respect, unless I break my word and seduce her with a vampire blood call. A call we would both be physically unable to resist.
Could I? The urge grows, becoming almost unbearable.
If I act on this physical need, will she ever forgive me?
