CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE #4
He stirred at that moment, the rhythmic pattern of his breathing coming to a halt.
His grip on me tightened, and he pulled me against him, so close it felt like he was trying to get me to sink into his skin.
By the Gods, I wanted to. He made a noise low in his throat, and I was suddenly more than aware he was aroused, and growing harder.
His erection pressed right up against my ass.
My chest rose and fell beneath his hand, my breathing coming faster.
Nothing was happening between us. We were just lying there, both fully dressed.
But suddenly, I wanted him. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anyone in my life.
I arched back, forcing my chest to lift, to push my breast closer into his hand.
I needed him to touch me, needed to feel his hands take possession of my body, take control.
In response, he rocked into me. His cock twitched through his pants, making me squeeze my thighs around his knee, arching my pelvis until pleasure rippled through my core.
And at last, his hand slid down and down, cupping the swell of my breast, his breath hot on my neck
I moaned and turned in his arms to face him.
“Brennan?” I whispered, catching his eyes in the dark. They were hooded and heavy, only half open. “Brennan,” I said again.
“Mmmmhmmm.” He nodded, his fingers tangling in my hair.
“Mmmmmm,” he moaned, nuzzling my neck, kissing me there, and again, making his way higher to my jaw, my cheek, and then his mouth was on mine.
His tongue plunged inside, kissing me so deeply, I thought I’d faint.
I pulled up the back of his shirt and slid my hands inside, needing skin to skin, needing to feel him, to feel more.
He was doing the same, sliding his hand down my leg, and pulling up my dress, lifting it higher and higher as he rocked into me, kissing me harder and faster, our bodies moving together.
Then somehow, I was on my back, as Brennan slid over me without breaking our kiss. I tangled my fingers in his hair, gasping into his mouth, moaning for more. Moaning for him. It had been so long, so fucking long, and I’d been so deprived of touch, of pleasure, of … love.
And just like that, the Azete woke with a vengeance. An invisible string was pulled taut between us, and one of those connections formed, so intense that I was in his mind.
Brennan kissed me, held me, his eyes closed, his heart racing, blood pumping through every limb of his body.
But then he opened his eyes, and I realized that the bed he saw beneath us wasn’t the one we were currently in.
It was my old bed in the tavern. And as he looked down at me, kissing me harder and harder, desperately wanting to tear my clothes off, to plunge inside me, he thought my name. My real name.
Samara. Samara.
I reached for his hips in his vision, and he moved to push my hair from my face.
Blonde hair. Not Olivay’s. Not even Samara’s as far as he knew.
It was Shamhira’s. It was the hair I wore in my original form.
I cried out, breaking the connection, and was forced back into my own body. Brennan stopped kissing me at once and pulled himself off of me as his eyes opened and widened.
“Olivay! Gods, I—” He crawled off me, practically sliding off the bed. “I’m sorry-I … I thought I was dreaming.”
“You were,” I said, sitting up, clutching my chest. “We fell asleep, and then …”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying desperately to calm myself.
But his energy, his lifeforce was pouring into me, and it was like being bathed in golden sunlight, warm and wonderful and energizing, and it kept coming and coming, washing over me.
A week of his life, then another, then a month, then more …
No. No. No.
But suddenly, his emotions changed to guilt. To shame. Because while he’d been kissing me, he'd been dreaming of another woman, of a form he couldn’t know, a body and a face that he’d never seen as an adult, that he’d never even met.
And he’d been calling her by my name. Samara.
“I should have left before I fell asleep here, I should have—”
“Stop,” I said. “Don’t. I’m the one who should apologize. I’m the one who turned in your arms. I initiated everything. I didn’t know. I thought you were awake, thought you knew—”
“No.” He pushed his hands through his hair.
“I was half-asleep. I did see you turn. I just … I didn’t know it was real.
I think I was already dreaming about you and then it just—fuck.
It all blended together. I’m sorry. Please ...
forgive me. I promised before we fell asleep that I wouldn’t do anything—that I wouldn’t—”
“And you didn’t. You didn’t. It’s fine.” I slid off the bed and wrapped my arms around him. “Everything’s okay between us.”
He sighed into the crook of my shoulder. “I’m still sorry,” he whispered. Then he looked out the window. “Gods. It will be dawn soon.”
We’d almost spent a whole night together.
“Brennan—” I started, but stopped. I didn’t know what to say.
I didn’t want him to feel bad or apologize anymore.
He hadn’t hurt me. It was the opposite. I’d hurt him.
Because of course, I did. What else did a demonos do?
An Azete who hungered, who couldn’t stop herself from feeding on the lives of those she loved most.
But I couldn’t admit any of that. In fact, I was supposed to be acting far more horrified at the physical transgression that had occurred before we were married.
Olivay would have. Then again, Olivay would have never fallen asleep beside him.
Not before the wedding. I kept forgetting, kept forgetting to be her when I was alone with him.
Brennan coughed. “It’s probably best that I return to my room before anyone sees.” He stepped back from me and took my hands in his, his eyes still searching mine. “Are you sure you’re all right? Is there anything you need or that I can do?”
“I’m sure,” I lied, and walked him to the door, kissing him on the cheek.
He stumbled then, his hand bracing against the doorframe for balance.
The energy loss was taking its toll. Looking down at me one more time, there was clear regret in his eyes.
But it was undertowed by the desire still running rampantly through him.
He was torn and confused. He thought he was forgetting the girl in the tavern.
And thought the girl with the blonde hair was just a figment of his imagination.
“You’re sure?” he asked again.
“I promise.”
“Until I’m your husband, I remain your loyal friend,” he said. “Promise that you’ll tell me if anything’s wrong?”
“I will,” I said, and watched him walk out, a member of his guard, silently moving beside him.
Then I closed the door and slid to the ground, hugging my knees to my chest, my pulse racing.
I was bursting with energy. By the Gods, old and new, my skin was fucking glowing.
Because Brennan’s lifeforce, his emotions, were so Godsdamned pure.
And I didn’t deserve any of it. Not even a single drop.
I wanted to race out the window. I wanted to fly into the night to escape this feeling rising up inside of me like bile, this guilt, this shame.
I needed to get away from here, from what I'd done, forget what I’d taken from him.
The cost to his life. Because every time this happened, it ended in shit.
Every time I thought I could love, thought I could accept it in return, and could allow myself to feel again, I was reminded of why it wasn’t possible for someone like me.
Why it would never be possible. Not in this life.
Not as long as I had this thing inside of me.
My mother died. Jaron turned on me. My aunt and my people hated me. There were only so many days before my fate with Brennan would be sealed.
He will die.
I imagined red scales covering my body, talons and wings forming across my hands and arms. I almost had enough energy inside of me for it. Enough to do it, enough to fly into the night and vanish.
But the scar on my wrist said otherwise.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t escape at the moment, no matter how much I wanted to. Because beyond the guilt, beyond the feelings of lust and need still radiating through my skin and bones, was a feeling of dread, a question I couldn’t explain.
That was the second time for Brennan. The second time he’d seen my original form in a half-awake, half-dreamlike state. He thought it was his imagination—that it wasn’t real. But it was. And all I could do was sit there and wonder how. How the hell was it possible?