23. Chapter 23
23
Chapter 23
August
I never realized just how much self-control I had until I let her walk away. The only thing my body had been craving for weeks just walked away.
She walked away.
If she hadn’t pulled me off her when she did, I might not have been able to stop myself from draining her in broad daylight right in front of those nosy women.
Each step up the stairs grew heavier. My body begged me to go after her while my mind pushed me forward until the door closed behind me. The dim light filtered through cracks in the shutters, casting jagged lines across the room. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and damp stone, suffocating as the rage inside me boiled over.
Go go go go go . The voices grew louder, insistent, until I grabbed a chair from the small table and hurled it across the room. The crash of splintering wood echoed, but it did nothing to quench the fire roaring inside me. My chest heaved as I picked up one of the broken legs and, without hesitation, plunged it into my stomach.
The sharp, excruciating pain bloomed, grounding me just enough to stop the spiral. I collapsed onto the ground, my back hitting the cold floor, and closed my eyes. The agony was a small mercy—a barrier between me and the overwhelming urge to chase her down and take what I wanted. My mind whispered dark thoughts, but the pain kept me tethered.
I needed something to prevent me from going after her with the taste of her blood still in my mouth. It was too much. But gods, I needed to feel it again. I begged the pain to knock me out, to carry me through the night without another thought.
***
When the first light of morning crept through the cracks, I stared at the ceiling, exhausted and empty. I hadn’t dreamed. Could it be that I’ve lived and died through every vampire she had killed? No. It was more than that. I fed on her. Gods alive, I have never felt something like that. Her taste set every fiber of my being on fire with need.
I shouldn’t have done it. It made the unrelenting craving for her infinitely worse. She was all I could think about—not just the image of feeding on her, but everything else. The scent of her hair, the way she looked at me like she’s plotting every possible way to kill me.
She didn’t just make my mouth water anymore. She made my fucking cock hard.
My body craved her blood, but my mind—it craved something I didn’t dare name. She wasn’t just prey; she was a force that could unmake me .
And fuck I think I’d let her do it.
I stood, the broken chair leg still embedded in my stomach, and pulled it out with a grunt. The wound closed almost instantly, but the pain lingered in my mind like a dull ache. As I paced the room, my thoughts spiraled further. Why was feeding on her different? Why had the dreams stopped?
The silence of the night before was unnerving, like a missing piece of a puzzle I didn’t know I was solving. Why did feeding on her feel like . . . more? It wasn’t just blood. It was her.
And I hated how much I wanted her again.
As the memory of her blood filled my mind, I clenched my fists. Her taste was unlike anything I’d ever known. It wasn’t just sustenance—it was euphoria, fire, and something that clawed at the edges of my control. It was her defiance, her fury, the way she looked at me as if she could burn me to the ground with a single glance.
She doesn’t just consume my thoughts; she ignites something primal, something I can’t suppress.
And then there was the kiss. The moment her lips met mine, everything shifted. For a brief second, she’d taken control, and it had stunned me. Even now, the memory of it lingered, her taste mingling with the faintest trace of blood.
I shouldn’t have let her walk away. But I did. And it was the second time I’d made that mistake.
I stopped pacing and stared at the closed door. The room felt too small, the air too thin. My mind screamed at me to stay put, to fight the urge clawing at my chest. But I couldn’t.
The storm had left the ground saturated and muddy, muting the world outside. When I opened the door, the damp air hit me like a whip, but it wasn’t enough to ground me. I couldn’t smell her—not in this rain-soaked atmosphere and certainly not near her home, where her father’s magic masked their scents. The absence of her scent was maddening, but it also told me one thing: she was home.
The distance to her house from town was long, but my speed made it feel like nothing. The ground squelched faintly beneath my boots, a reminder of the storm that had drenched everything in slick, dark mud. As I reached the treeline near her home, I paused, staying hidden among the towering trees. From the treeline, I saw the cottage bathed in the faint, damp glow of morning light. Shadows moved in the yard—Winnie and her father. I stayed hidden, my body pressed against a tree, watching them.
She was training. The sharp clang of steel rang through the heavy air as she parried her father’s blows. Her movements were precise, her posture rigid yet fluid. Even from this distance, I could see the determination in her eyes, the way she refused to back down, even when he pushed her harder.
Her hair was pulled back, but a few strands had come loose, clinging to her face with the moisture still in the air. She fought with an intensity that made my chest tighten. I couldn’t look away.
Her father said something I couldn’t hear, his tone sharp but instructive. Winnie responded with a quick retort, her lips curling into a faint smirk before she lunged forward, forcing him to step back. Even in this, she was defiant, unyielding.
My eyes traced the lines of her figure, the way her breath clouded in the cool, damp air, the flush of exertion on her cheeks.
I tightened my grip on the tree, forcing myself to stay hidden. To her, I was the monster in the shadows, and maybe she wasn’t wrong. But watching her now, something shifted in me again, a pull I couldn’t ignore.
What was she doing to me?
I stayed until the sun began to set, the light glinting off the damp ground as her father called an end to their training. As she turned to follow him inside, a flicker of hesitation stopped her. She paused at the door, her head tilting slightly. I recognized the motion instantly—she was listening.
Her head snapped around, her sharp gaze sweeping the treeline. What sound my magic made was too subtle for most, but she had learned to hear it. I held still, but it was too late; she’d sensed me. Her green eyes narrowed, and without a word to her father, she stepped off the porch and began walking toward the woods.
I stepped out from the shadows, letting her see me. Her expression shifted, a mixture of irritation and curiosity crossing her face. She didn’t hesitate, closing the distance between us with purposeful strides.
“What do you want, August?” she asked, her voice sharp, but there was something else there too—a challenge.
“Just checking in,” I said smoothly, letting a slow smile spread across my face. “You seemed . . . preoccupied.”
“Did you bring me the journal?” she asked, her voice sharp, cutting through the cold air.
The journal. For a moment, it had slipped my mind, replaced entirely by thoughts of her. The way she moved earlier, the fire in her eyes—it had consumed me.
“No,” I said smoothly, letting a slow smile spread across my face. I leaned against a tree, feigning calmness to hide the truth. “I’ve been dealing with some other things.”
Her expression darkened, her irritation flaring instantly. “ We had a deal, August. You feed on me, and I get the journal. Or have you conveniently forgotten?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” I said, pushing off the tree and stepping closer. “But it’s not as simple as handing it over. That journal isn’t some bedtime story, Winnie. It’s filled with things that could change your perception of the truth.”
Her eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening. “And you’re the expert now?”
I tilted my head, letting the playful menace creep into my voice. “I might be. At the very least, I’m the only one who can help you decipher it.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Don’t you?” I asked, stepping close enough to see the defiance flicker in her gaze. “I’m not keeping it from you. I only want to help. But if you’d rather find another vampire old enough to understand this lost language, then by all means.”
Her anger faltered slightly, replaced by hesitation. I could see the war inside her, the conflict between her pride and the possibility I might be right.
After a long pause, she crossed her arms tightly. “Fine. But I want it back.”
“Of course,” I said, smiling faintly. “We can meet tomorrow at our spot to study it.”
The mention of the pond brought an immediate shift in her demeanor. Her shoulders stiffened, and her gaze turned distant. She didn’t say anything, but I knew exactly what she was thinking. The soldiers. The blood.
“You’re thinking about them,” I said softly, watching her closely.
Her eyes snapped back to mine, her expression guarded. “They are dead. I killed them. Should their deaths not bother me?”
I let the silence stretch between us, the weight of her question hanging in the cold air. “Does it truly bother you? Or do you just think it should?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t respond. Without another word, she turned and began walking back toward the cottage, her boots squelching softly against the wet ground. I watched her go, every step drawing her further away yet leaving me more tethered to her than ever.