Chapter 11 Haze
HAZE
BASTIAN
Bastian’s hands tightened on Luella as she lay, half on her stomach, face pressed into his lap, the tips of her wings brushing against the floorboards.
The unforgiving wood of the ship dug into his spine and backside; no windows and only one door.
He had led them into this room for safety.
A few crates were stacked against the wall, teetering and swaying with every tilt of the ship.
His stomach churned, and his fangs pulsed.
After he had all but dragged Luella below deck, she was near catatonic. Unable to sit still, her fear needled against him, making the ache of his hunger more prominent—she was trembling prey, and he was a predator.
And the prey slept in his lap, her head nestled against his thighs, nose pressing into the high point of his flesh, each breath puffed from between her pretty pink lips sending hot waves over his aching cock.
She slept, not because she had been able to calm herself enough to fall into blissful unawareness, but because Bastian had forced her to.
Just a little bit, he had murmured as the pad of his thumb had brushed over the space between her brows.
Her blue eyes had lightened with drowsy exhaustion as she stared up at him.
He had not felt any anger from her at his actions, just lazy shock.
He would honor her wishes about not stealing into her mind—until she asked, of course.
But she could not be awake during this storm.
Each crashing wave against the side of the ship stoked her fear, which made the ocean roil harder, faster, deeper, and the wind whip more furiously.
If she didn’t sleep, it would never end.
Bastian would explain as soon as Luella awoke.
He would fall to his knees and press his brow to the harsh ground of the wooden floor if that was what it took.
Her quiet understanding and gentle acceptance beat against him, settling low in the pit of his stomach and seeping throughout his cold limbs.
It was a feeling he would not forget: her forgiveness.
Not quite, but the promise of it, the understanding that, in time, it would be bestowed upon him.
As long as he didn’t fuck up.
Which was more than likely, considering the small, cramped storage room he had taken her to—her scent teased him, the lack of light making his mind go wild.
And… the few crates stacked against the wall were full.
Of blood.
Stale and musty. The iron tang burned the back of his throat with each inhale, but as soon as he had set foot on the ship, it had nearly driven him to tear through each room until he found it.
Blood stores.
Vale had put a supply of blood on the ship for Bastian.
The vampire didn’t want to acknowledge what that information did to his heart.
He was torturing himself by being near the blood, had thought he could grab a bottle and chug himself into a stupor while she slept, but she was on his lap, soft and sweet, and he could not stomach the thought of her waking up and finding him, eyes scarlet and blood dripping down his chin from a frenzy.
He had seen her reaction to him drinking before—he knew it made her uncomfortable.
The sloshing of the blood inside dusty glass bottles within the crates was like a heartbeat he could not ignore, throbbing in time with his fangs.
As the ship rocked and Luella rested on his lap, Bastian traced the swirling patterns etched along the wooden panels of the walls.
He thought of the treacherous feline that he had left in a tiny storage closet, along with a carelessly thrown blanket.
Dyara, Lya, and Akira were in the neighboring closet.
Bastian wasn’t so cruel as to place the wolves in the same room as the helpless kitten.
The distractions he plucked from midair helped only slightly in dulling his hunger.
Until it didn’t.
A wave crashed against the side of the ship, his only warning the increase in the howling wind.
The entire ship rocked to the side, forcing Bastian to brace a hand on the ground to stop from falling.
His other hand slammed up onto Luella’s shoulder, cradling her against his lap. Her heart stuttered, limbs twitching.
And the crates stacked against the wall… toppled to the side, sending corked glass bottles shattering against the floor, the blood within spilling from the cracks and the mess of shattered glass and splintered wood.
Even stale, the scent of the blood made Bastian’s body lock up. Luella jerked against his lap, small hands shooting out to grasp his chest as she woke up with a drowsy gasp.
"What was that?" she said huskily.
He clenched his jaw so hard that he felt his teeth threaten to snap. Good. Maybe if his fangs broke, then he wouldn’t feel so tempted to sink them into her neck, tear into her delicate flesh and suck her dry.
Gods.
The white feathers of Luella’s wings shivered as she pushed herself up.
Bastian was strung so tight, he felt his body might splinter with the effort of holding back.
Breathing through his mouth, he stared and stared at the red rivulets soaking the wooden floor.
Streams trickled toward them with the ship’s rocking, scarlet licking at her bare toes.
His mouth watered. He wanted to suck them clean.
"Bastian?" she questioned, holding her body at an odd angle as she stared up at him, wings folded close to her back and one thigh notched on his, the other leg stretched behind her, almost brushing the shattered bits of glass and splintered pieces of wood.
He didn’t answer. His breath sawed in and out of his chest—ragged, primal—as he tried to hold himself back from her.
The ship groaned, throwing them both to the side again.
He couldn’t catch her, could barely catch himself.
All of his focus was on trying not to dive for her pretty little neck.
Her pulse fluttered on the soft skin under her jaw.
His attention honed in on it, unable to break himself away from the trance she draped over him with berry-scented desire and hunger.
He found himself leaning forward, arousal thundering through his veins. Just a taste.
His lips parted, he leaned in, and—
The ship rocked furiously, sending tiny pieces of glass skittering over the floor.
Her hand slipped to rest against his lower stomach, and a guttural sound tore free from deep within his chest. Gods, she felt so good against him.
Smelled so good. He bet her blood would taste divine—even more so from the soft flesh of her inner thigh, suckling her skin as her thighs wrapped around his head and fingers tangled in his hair.
Slight fear washed over him. Not his.
He was too far gone to care.
Even her fear smelled sweet, like ripe berries splitting open. It made him want to bury his cock between her thighs, his fangs in her neck, until she forgot to be scared.
"Wait, Bastian, are you... Do you need—" Her soft voice wavered, and the sound of fear that tinged her tone only made him harder—it was the predator in him.
His hands tightened on her as he breathed her in raggedly. The sound of his breath was too loud, drowning out the roaring waves and howling air that battered against the side of the ship.
A red haze clouded his every thought, ridding him of the ability to rationalize. He knew she was scared, felt it, scented it. But he didn’t care. Just as he didn’t care he was already fucking up his promise to her.
She took a shaky breath, soft lips parting, revealing a flash of her tongue as it swiped over her lower lip. He wanted to chase after it.
"It’s okay," she whispered. Slowly, she brought a trembling hand up, wrist on display, revealing the blue and green veins threaded under her moonlit skin.
Her other hand was still braced on his lower stomach, and he felt himself tense up at the hesitant feel of her fingers, curling in his rumpled shirt.
"Go ahead, Bastian. You can d-drink from me. It’s okay," she repeated, voice low and desperate.
And that was what broke him. Her gentle, understanding innocence. The sort of gentleness that would be her downfall.
His head hung low, black hair falling into his eyes as he squeezed them shut. "Get away from me," he gritted out, "now."
He felt her shake her head, chin brushing his chest.
"N-no," she said, but there was no heat to it. "I feel how you need me, how you need… blood. It’s like an ache under my skin. If it feels this way for me, I cannot fathom how it must pain you."
She didn’t know the half of it.
Bastian knew she wouldn’t leave him, so he must make her. Still, he would not go into her mind. He was lucid enough to realize that might shatter the tentative understanding they both had forged.
In a flash, Bastian stood, tugging her against his body, feeling the soft slide of her warm flesh against his, her shallow breaths puffing against him, waist indenting under his fingertips, wings fluttering at her back, softly as if they, too, knew a starving predator lurked.
She gasped. His hands left her, and she stumbled into the wall, fingers curling against it to keep herself upright.
The glass crunched under his boots as he moved to the far side of the small room—it wasn’t far enough.
The scent of blood brushed against his senses, taunting him. The fish blood he had forced down in Vale’s den had been salty and rancid, making bile rise to the back of his throat with the urge to expel it at the mere thought. It hadn’t been enough to sate him.
Nothing would but her.
She spoke lowly, but he didn’t hear. His fangs pulsed like the arousal straining against his pants. Her scent wrapped around him, more enticing than anything he had ever breathed before.
The bloodlust built up, up within him, and the lingering vestiges of his control slipped from his cold fingers like wisps of air.
Bastian snapped.
One blink, and he found himself moving across the floor, uncaring of the blood sticking to his boots or the glass and wood he crunched over.
Another blink, and his hands were on her, feeling her again.
The haze fell over him.
His knuckles brushed against the delicate feathers at her back as he gripped her carelessly, lifting her until her toes were clear off the ground.
Blood dripped from her dainty feet. A soft sound fell from her lips as he buried his face in her neck, his other hand tangling with her white curls and wrapping it around his fist, using it to tilt her head at the perfect angle to reveal her beautiful, unmarked throat.
Luella’s pulse thundered. He heard it. He saw it.
She was flush against his body. Though the ship rocked, he kept them both steady, forcing her further into the wall as he notched his leg between hers, pressed into the heat of her center.
"B-Bastian," she gasped.
He didn’t move his face from her neck. Her fear curled around him, filling the air, and as he pressed his thigh deeper into her core, she shivered. That fear turned thicker, infinitesimally, until it merged with sweet desire—tangled up with each other, warm and slick, making his cock twitch.
And Bastian pounced. Shattering like a windstorm against a rockface, his jaw unlocked, fangs throbbing, as he finally, finally buried the sharp points in her neck.
She shuddered against him as they slid inside her flesh, which gave way easily against the deadly prick of his predator’s fangs.
He was made for this, and she was made for him.
He was sure of it.
Bastian may have cursed, but it wasn’t audible with the way his mouth was locked around her flesh, holding it between his teeth, fangs buried in her skin. He didn’t draw blood. Yet.
Her skin tasted of saltwater and thick smoke where she had lain among the dragon’s furs.
She didn’t fight him… He waited, his hands tightening on her until he knew it must hurt, feeling the thundering of her heart pulse against him where she was flush to his chest. But she was still, and the weight of her interest carried to him.
Gods, she was so sinfully deviant.
Bastian nuzzled against her further, and the action made a small burst of blood fill his mouth—
And he was gone.