Chapter 2
TWO
JARETH
I glare at the faint outline of the full moon still lingering in the pink morning sky.
Doesn’t it know better than to taunt me by now?
Not that I can actually do anything about it except glare over the rim of my teacup and grumble useless curses to myself.
But even celestial bodies should have the common decency to read the room a little.
It’s petty as fuck, but I try to not even do rituals or spellcasting that involve the moon if I can help it.
I sigh, sending a ripple across the surface of my lavender tea.
It’s not the moon itself I have a beef with, but it’s so much easier to be salty with a giant rock in the sky than to blame the fates for fucking me over, or Roman for being so damn fixated on the idea of a fated mate, or Lochlan for being the world’s biggest idiot.
I guess I could blame myself for falling in love twice in my life so far and picking wrong both times.
My heart aches and I scowl a little harder.
Not at the moon this time, but distantly into the forest, at nothing in particular.
I sip my tea and absently trace my fingers along the raised edges of the scar that stretches from the bridge of my nose to my chin.
I made peace with it years ago, but touching it is a reflex, like reaching up to brush my hair out of my face even when I already have it tied back or leaving my door unlocked on full-moon nights, even though I know Roman won’t come.
Leaves rustle somewhere unseen and a twig snaps.
I tense instinctively and stop stroking my scar to reach for my pocket, reassuring myself that I have a sachet there for protection, just like I always do.
It’s nothing fancy, but it creates a puff of colorful smoke and an illusion, which is a great diversion in a pinch.
I watch the tree line for a minute or two, and then I laugh at myself.
It was probably a deer or a rabbit. I’ve lived in these woods for thirty years now, and only once has there ever been anything scary lurking out there in the trees.
Besides, it’s past dawn; any monsters with any sense have slunk back into their hidey holes to wait for dark again by now.
I pull my hand out of my pocket, take another sip of my tea, and decide my garden could use a bit of weeding this morning.
Most mages are happy enough to buy the herbs and roots they need, but in my opinion, that misses the point entirely.
Mage magic comes from energy, and I think tending the plants yourself, sharing energy and nurturing them while they’re growing, makes for much stronger magic when the time comes to use them.
I set my tea down on my windowsill and pull on my gardening gloves, turning my back to the fading moon and taking a deep breath to draw the energy of the forest into my lungs and the cells of my body.
The subtle tingle of magic that dances along the surface of my skin is better than ten cups of coffee, and it’s almost enough to make up for the other disappointments in my life.
Sure, I was abandoned by my parents at a young age, left unaware of my mage lineage until I was nearly an adult, almost murdered in the woods as a teenager, and ultimately left brokenhearted by the two men I’ve loved, but at least I’m here.
I survived all those things and I’m stronger for them.
I slowly let the breath out, lingering for a moment on thoughts of how the plants all around me will breathe in the carbon dioxide I’m releasing and will give me more fresh oxygen in return.
It’s a cycle that works the same way magic works, the same way all energy works.
It’s the natural symbiosis of the universe, and it’s beautiful.
I open my eyes again and kneel in the dirt.
A breeze ruffles my hair, and I listen to the sounds of the forest while I work, carefully rooting out the weeds and checking each of my plants for any signs of disease or general displeasure.
Curiously, there aren’t any birds singing this morning.
That can’t be right. I listen a little harder and manage to catch the faint coo of a morning dove, but it doesn’t sound close.
Maybe a mile away? That rustling comes again, and the hair on the back of my neck rises.
There’s only one reason birds in the forest go silent, and it’s when a predator is near.
I gather my magic from the deep well inside me and pull it close to the surface.
The faint purple glow of it pulses just beneath my skin and sparks briefly on my fingertips as I tug off my gloves and get to my feet.
My heart pounds, but I stand still and tall just in case whoever or whatever is out there in the trees is watching me, looking for signs of vulnerability or fear.
The smart thing to do is to go inside, put a spell on my door so no one will be able to get in, and wait for the danger to pass.
Except something keeps me rooted in place, some instinct I can’t put my finger on.
I swing my leg over the fence that surrounds my garden and I take a few steps towards the trees, listening hard, keeping my eyes moving, alert for any signs of movement, even a ripple in the air that gives away a glamour.
“Jare.” I hear a quiet rasp, and my pulse spikes with an entirely different kind of fear.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
I let my magic simmer, but no other part of me relaxes. I don’t have any shoes on, but that doesn’t stop me from running the short distance from my cottage to the tree line, then straight into the woods.
“Loch?” I call out. “Where are you? Give me a hint so I can find you.”
“Thorny bush,” he croaks.
I veer to the left, heading for where the wild rose bushes grow.
Something sharp pierces the bottom of my foot and I bite back a yelp, only stopping long enough to yank it out and keep going.
What the fuck is he doing out here? How long has he been out here?
He sounds bad. He sounds weak. I squint at the shafts of sunlight coming through the trees and run even faster.
“Loch?” I call again. There’s no answer this time. “Loch?”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
The rose bushes come into view, but I don’t see him.
Are there other thorny bushes? I rack my brain, trying to think of every damn bush in a one-mile radius.
But it has to be the roses. One of them rustles and I scramble forward, falling to my hands and knees so I can peer into the heavy brush around the bushes.
“Loch,” I gasp again.
LOCHLAN
I’ve had plenty of bad ideas in my life, but this might have been one of the worst. My skin is burned from the sunlight that managed to reach me before I thought to crawl underneath the pile of rotting leaves and overgrown grass surrounded by these stupid, thorny bushes.
I thought I would start to heal as soon as I got out of the light, but I haven’t, and now I just feel so…
weak. Tired. Like I could sleep here in the dirt and leaves for a hundred years.
Did I really hear Jareth or am I just imagining things? Am I dying?
No, I can’t be dying. I’m a vampire.
Weak laughter bubbles up in my throat but doesn’t make it past my lips.
“Fuck.”
That definitely sounded like Jareth. I pry my eyelids open half an inch and smile just as weakly as I tried to laugh. He’s here. He really found me. A warm, salty, delicious scent tickles my nose and my gums start to ache.
“What the fuck, Loch?” he growls.
The scolding tone feels so familiar that it reminds me what I’m doing here, why I risked coming when I knew sunrise was getting close.
I miss him so fucking much. There are leaves tangled in his long, silvery hair, and I want to reach up and pick them out for him, but I can’t seem to make myself move.
“Shit. Okay, I need to get you inside so I can figure out what’s wrong with you.”
“Sun,” I croak.
“No shit, Sherlock. I’m guessing you’ve already been reminded of that lesson the hard way at least once this morning.” He turns a pointed glare on the burns on my hands and forearms where I used them to block the sunlight from scalding my pretty face.
Fuck, he’s mad. Is it weird that I kind of like that he’s mad? It means he still cares, right?
He tugs his shirt over his head, and even though I might be dying—probably not though—I spare a second to enjoy the view.
There are a million things to love about Jareth that are in no way physical, but damn does the man have a body that begs to be worshipped.
Massive pecs dusted with silver hair, chiseled abs I’ve drizzled chocolate sauce over and licked clean more than once, and intricate tattoos lining his jacked biceps that glow a faint purple that I’ve only been able to see since I was turned.
Jareth throws his shirt at me, interrupting my lingering stare.
“Use this to cover your face and arms. It might still hurt a little, but we’ll go fast, okay?”
“Fast, sure,” I say, even though I’m not sure I can even stand up.
“Fuck. Okay, I’m going to carry you. Ready?”
I nod and then pull the shirt over my face, tucking my arms inside of it just like he said.
The world spins as he lifts me off the ground, and that delicious smell gets even stronger.
He’s so warm, and his skin is so, so soft.
With the fabric of the shirt between us, I press my face into his chest and inhale deeply.
The wet, steady thump of his heart brings my awareness to just how dry my throat feels and makes my stomach cramp painfully.
He jostles me so he can open the door to his cottage, and a minute later, I’m set down on something soft—his couch, I think.
“Don’t take the shirt off yet,” he says.
I listen as he moves around the space, and I can hear the sound of windows being shut and curtains being drawn.
The mouthwatering scent is still at the forefront of my mind, but the other familiar scents in his house make me ache in a completely different way.
The scent of drying herbs and lavender tea remind me of mornings waking up in his bed.
“Okay, it’s safe,” he says, but he doesn’t wait for me to pull the shirt off myself. He tugs it roughly and I look up at him, towering over me with disapproval etched on his face. “What the fuck, Loch?” he asks again.
“Wanted to see you,” I rasp.
Jareth rolls his eyes, but I swear I see something soft in them for just a second first.
“We’re not doing that right now,” he says gruffly. “What happened to you? Why aren’t you healing? Did someone poison you? Did you drink from someone who’d been poisoned? Piss off another mage and get cursed?” He rattles off some possibilities and I shake my head.
I don’t know what happened, but it’s none of those things.
“Haven’t fed,” I try to explain, but his expression gets even darker.
“Dammit, Lochlan,” he shouts. “You wanted to be a vampire so fucking bad, and you can’t be bothered to take care of yourself?
” He shakes his head and crouches next to the couch.
He holds his arm out in front of me, and I see deep scratches that must have come from the rose bushes oozing crimson blood.
My mouth waters and my stomach cramps again.
That’s what the delicious smell is. “Drink.”
I shake my head.
“I’ve never met anyone more stubborn than you,” he mutters, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pocketknife he always carries with him.
I asked him why once and he told me that sometimes you need to do a blood ritual in a pinch and you should always be prepared.
He thought it was funny how green I turned at the mention of blood, and I didn’t ask any follow-up questions because I honestly thought I might puke if I had to imagine him cutting himself open to do some kind of magic spell.
I can’t look away as he drags the sharp blade along the muscle of his forearm now though, creating a cut that’s deeper than any of the thorn scratches.
A dark trickle of blood pours out, and even though that human part of my brain recoils in disgust, it’s been too long since I’ve fed and my instincts take over.
He shoves his arm in front of me again and I latch on, groaning with pleasure when the first drop touches my tongue.
I can taste his magic swirling in his blood, making it sweeter than anything I’ve tasted before.
I run my tongue over the open wound and gulp down everything he’s offering me.
I can feel my strength returning, my wounds healing, and my cock stiffening.
“Okay, stop.”
I hear him faintly, but I can’t stop. It’s too good. I need it. I need all of it. I sink my fangs deeper into his flesh and he hisses.
“Stop,” he says again, more firmly this time. He puts his free hand in the middle of my chest, and I get a forceful jolt of magic that pushes me back.
“Sorry,” I pant, licking the remnants of his blood from my lips and scrambling to sit as far away as possible on the far end of the couch so I won’t accidentally attack him.
“It’s okay.” He picks up the shirt he loaned me and wraps it around the wound.
It will stop bleeding soon and should heal within a few minutes, but I understand why he wants to cover it up in the meantime.
“Sorry,” I mutter again, but I don’t mean about the feeding mishap just now. “You weren’t answering my texts.”
“We broke up, Loch. When you break up with someone, you don’t get to keep texting and coming over to see them.”
“I didn’t want to break up.”
“Well, you should have thought about that before you got yourself turned into a fucking vampire,” he growls. “I didn’t want this either, Loch, but I’m not the one who made this mess.”
I slump back on the couch. I want to keep arguing, but he’s right.
It was my stupid, impulsive decision that got us here.
But I’m not ready to just let him go. I can’t.
I won’t. Maybe I need a better approach, because showing up half-dead in the woods behind his house clearly isn’t a power move.
With my belly full for the first time in weeks and my body still healing, exhaustion sets back in.
“Is it okay if I sleep here until the sun goes down?” I ask, already stretching out on the couch.
“Yeah, go right ahead. I’m going to be out in the garden.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to say anything else before he’s out the door. I don’t know if he actually feels like gardening or if he just knows it’s safe out there since I can’t follow him. I guess it doesn’t matter much what his reason is.
I make myself as comfortable as possible and my eyelids get heavy. I promise myself that when I wake up, I’m going to come up with a plan to get Jareth back, and then I drift off to sleep.