Chapter 26 #3
“It had everything to do with me!” I bellowed. “You blocked yourself to get back at me, and you cannot admit it! You are angry at me and act as if you hate me—your heart says otherwise! I can feel you, you foolish man!”
I prowled towards him, taking a small delight in the way he moved backward with each step. There was no hint of fear, however, and that only spurred me on.
“What do you want, Warren? Do you want to hit me?” I pounded my fist against my chest. “Fais-le, mon amour. Hit me. If that is what it takes for you to be honest with yourself, then go ahead. I can handle it.”
Warren snarled, shoving at my shoulders. “Fuck off! You are being ridiculous. I should not have come here.”
My answering laugh was bitter as I stepped forward again, invading his space. “Yes, yes, as you have said. Hit me, love. It will make you feel better.”
Hitting at me again, Warren managed to push me away some, his chest heaving. I could see the labyrinth of thoughts in his eyes, the confusion between wanting to do as I told him or do something else…The latter is what I was counting on.
I grabbed him by the arms, forcing him backward until he was pinned against the wall, my hands placed at each side of him to keep him caged. He bucked against me, which only made me drop more of my weight against him, leaving little wiggle room.
Dropping my face next to his, I let my lips hover just beside his ear. “If you will not hit me, darling, then you may as well drop the pretense and just fuck me already.”
Warren’s growl turned into a moan as I captured his lips in mine, angrily claiming what belonged to me. All his softness, his anger, his kisses, and his love…Mine.
Still, he hit my chest again before his knee made contact with my groin. I hissed in pain and staggered backward.
“You are a twisted bastard, Levy,” he spat, grabbing me by the collar.
I grinned triumphantly as he threw me onto the bed carelessly. It was not lost on me that he had finally used his nick name for me after being so formal since his return. Albeit slowly, I was forcing him to unleash himself.
“Oui, I will not deny that. But it makes you feel alive, doesn’t it, cher?”
Refusing to answer, Warren climbed atop me and crashed his mouth against mine. His fangs descended, piercing my lip and drawing small droplets of blood. We moaned simultaneously as he licked the liquid away with a tenderness I did not deserve from him.
I pulled at his hair, ready to grapple for control one more time, when a knock at the door drew our attention. I sniffed, recognizing the scent in the air, and cursed silently.
Warren made to climb off me but I placed a hand on his arm. “Ignore it, love. We are not finished here.”
“You look nervous, love. It could be important.” I could hear the bitterness in his voice as he moved speedily to the door, opening it with a false smile on his face. It was a facade I knew he had learned from Maggie; I knew that sickly-sweet demeanor well.
“Is Levette here?” the voice asked, and I swore under my breath again.
I felt Warren’s irritation zap through the bond like lightning. “He is! Why don’t you come in?”
The man—was his name Matthew? Michael? I could not remember clearly—walked in with a confidence Warren clearly noted as he trailed behind him, his lip curled slightly.
“What are you doing here?” Warren asked politely, though there was a harshness to his tone that he could not hide.
Matthew-Michael looked between us inquisitively. “Levette, who is this?”
“I have the same question,” Warren muttered, staring at the man with death in his eyes.
“He is nobody,” I told Warren, not bothering to even look at Matthew-Michael.
The man took a step closer, trying to step between Warren and me. He turned around to Warren, placing his back to me as though staking his claim. “My name is Michael. You are?”
“An old friend, you might say,” Warren said, shaking Michael’s hand. “I’m Warren.”
Michael nodded. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Warren. If you will excuse us, Levette and I have plans.”
Warren laughed coldly, looking from Michael to me. “This is how you spent your time? I am sure you were truly anguished all these years, fucking your way through the population. How many have there been, I wonder?”
I winced, hating how deeply the betrayal was entwined with the anger of his words. “It was not like that…”
“I see, I see,” Warren muttered, nodding his head. “You missed me so much that you turned my apartment into your own personal whorehouse! Why, it is truly a mystery that I have not fainted from romanticism!”
“How dare—” Michael sputtered, trying to jump to my defense.
“Oh, do be quiet, you harlot. The adults are speaking,” Warren snapped.
“Do not be so petulant,” I scolded. “YOU abandoned ME! Was I supposed to remain celibate, waiting for your return?”
Warren’s eyes flashed in fury. “I was! I could not bear the idea of another touching me that was not you. I guess it was foolish of me to expect anything like that from you. After all, I am not the first for you, am I? Moving on comes easily to you.”
I took a step backward, feeling the sting of his words like a slap to my face.
There was a brutality in what he was saying, and it grieved me to know that I had created that in him.
Yet, even at the base of his fury, I could feel his hurt.
And pain, I had learned, came from love.
There was a very thin line between love and hate, and I would pull Warren back with force if I had to.
Michael stepped up to Warren, and my eyes widened. Not in worry, necessarily, but an abject fascination with what was about to transpire.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Old friend or not, you cannot speak to my man like that.”
As if in slow motion, Warren turned his anger towards the man between us. “Your man? You poor fool, you have no idea who I am, do you?”
Michael clenched his fists and took a swing at Warren, who sidestepped the hit and laughed sarcastically. “You cannot speak to either of us like that!”
“I can speak to you however I like. And as for him,” Warren told him, motioning his head towards me, “I am the love of his fucking life, and you, you sad buffoon, are a plaything to pass the time. You are no replacement for me.”
“But he loves me!” Michael argued, which then put my teeth on edge.
“I did not say that,” I added, locking eyes with Warren. “I have never told another soul I loved them, and I never will. Only you, mon amour.”
Warren grabbed Michael by the back of his hair, the man screaming at the tightness of the grip. He shoved him in front of me, lifting him off the ground slightly. “Tell me, my love, did you fuck him in my bed?”
“Yes,” I answered truthfully.
A frenzy passed over Warren at my confession, and I watched in morbid fascination as his fangs descended on Michael’s throat.
It was, in complete honesty, enthralling to see him give in to his vampiric nature after it had been hidden from me for so long.
He tore into the human’s skin, tearing his throat out entirely, and gulped down the spurting blood.
With his eyes never leaving mine, those whites turning completely black around his vibrant purple irises, I was captivated.
Once he was done, he dropped the dead body between us like it was nothing. Blood dripped from his lips, leaving a trail down his throat that made my skin tingle as I resisted the urge to lick it off.
When his eyes cleared, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, smearing the crimson across his skin. It only made me more eager to throw myself on him.
He looked down at what used to be Michael, and where I expected to see horror or regret, Warren simply sighed, resigned.
He pointed at the body, catching my gaze.
“This is how toxic we are together, Levy. Look at what I just did because of you, for you. You make me crazy in the worst possible way, and I cannot keep the monster at bay around you.”
“Warren, mon cher—”
“We are the worst versions of ourselves around each other. It is unhealthy for us both.”
Before I could open my mouth to reply, Warren sped from the apartment, leaving me alone once again. Defeat was starting to overcome me, the feeling of abandonment returning, when he sent an image to me.
He was standing in front of the fountain where we had courted.
A group of drunk passersby were singing raucously as Warren stalked them, ready to pick his next meal.
At first, I thought killing Michael had broken his control, but there was a method in how he stalked that made me realize just how much he had mastered self-restraint.
Killing Michael had not been impulsiveness, but rather a way to stake claim.
It delighted me and caused the fire within me to roar even louder for him.
Warren tugged at the bond again, showing me which poor human he had picked for his next meal. A handsome, angelic-looking man in his thirties who had broken off from the group, stumbling down a darkened street.
Are you hungry, mon cher? Come and find us, Levy.