Chapter 23 #2
“And I love you. But what you’re asking would leave you completely unconscious. Me drinking from you would make you oblivious to any kind of action.”
It’s not a lie. But it’s not the whole truth either. The whole truth is that I’m terrified. Terrified that if I bind her to me now, she’ll hate me for it later. Terrified that the bond will trap her with a monster she never wanted.
“I know this, you’ve told me thousands of times and yet, I trust you, Flynn. Unconditionally.”
My heart shatters at those words.
Unconditionally.
She trusts me unconditionally, and I’m about to give her every reason not to.
Because there’s a very big chance she will turn against me as soon as she finds out who I am. Who I am to her family. What I did—or didn’t do—the night her grandmother died.
And the crazy thing about all of this? I still feel I did what needed to be done.
So I shake my head, even though it feels like I’m tearing out my own heart. “I can’t give you that, yet,” I start, sighing. “But I can give you something close to it.”
“But—”
“No buts, Talulla,” I say, grabbing her neck—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind her who’s in control right now.
Who needs to be in control, because if I’m not, I’ll break down and tell her everything right here, right now, and ruin this last perfect morning.
“Now lie down on the counter. I’m going to have breakfast.”
She doesn’t continue to argue. Talulla knows me and knows that I’m done with the topic. So she does exactly what I ask. She lies down, completely naked, in front of me.
In front of Flynn, I think, and the third-person distance feels necessary. In front of the monster who’s going to break her heart.
I click my tongue in approval and pace to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of blood. The movement gives me a moment to compose myself, to shove down the self-loathing and the fear and the desperate, clawing need to just tell her and get it over with.
“Don’t move,” I say as I walk back to her.
I let a few drops fall on her body—crimson against pale skin, like rubies on snow. Her nipples harden as they get coated by the viscous liquid, and I watch, transfixed, as the blood trails down the curve of her breast.
My eyes darken at the sight of her covered in blood.
This is what I am, I think. This is what I’ll always be. A creature of blood and death and darkness.
But for now, for this moment, I can pretend I’m something else. Something worthy of her.
Then, I indulge in my favorite meal. I lick and suck every inch of her body clean, tasting the copper tang of blood mixed with the salt of her skin, making her come over and over again until she’s trembling and gasping my name like a prayer.
Or a curse, I think. Soon it might be a curse.
Then, not being completely satisfied, I decide I can do better. I walk to the cabinet and grab a burgundy-colored goblet—the one I commissioned specifically for this, for her, made of rubies because she’s my red ruby and I’m a sentimental fool.
Talulla narrows her eyes at the item I’m holding as I settle between her legs and hold the container right at her entrance.
“Is that a chalice made of rubies?” she questions, staring down at the scene of me kneeling before her.
“Perhaps.” I can’t help but smirk.
I’m kneeling before her, I realize. A vampire who’s never knelt for anyone, kneeling before a hunter. Worshipping her. Loving her.
Destroying her. Destroying me.
Talulla chuckles and starts to moan again as I kiss her inner thighs. “You know this is an unhealthy obsession, right?” she says, as I flick her core with my tongue.
“My very healthy obsession is with your nectar. I want it in my mouth.” Another lick, separating her folds, tasting her arousal. “Every day.” I suck her clit, feeling it swell under my tongue. “I told you. I crave it more than air.”
More than life. More than redemption.
“You did say that.”
“I even crave it more than blood.”
Talulla’s jaw drops open. “See? That’s very unhealthy.”
It’s the truth, I think. Her essence is more vital to me than the blood that keeps me alive. She’s become my sustenance, my addiction, my reason for existing.
I kiss her more and make sure the chalice is still at her entrance, ready to catch every last drop. “You’re my favorite drink, Talulla.” Drip. “My Holy Grail.” Drip.
My salvation. My damnation.
With that, I feast on her until she can’t take it anymore. Until half the chalice is filled with her arousal, precious and sacred and mine.
Then, I grab the bottle of blood that I left on the counter and fill the remaining of the chalice with blood.
She stares at me in awe, and I lock my eyes with hers as I drink. The mix of copper and her orgasm is even more divine than I imagined—life and death, hunter and vampire, love and violence all swirling together on my tongue.
This is us, I think. This impossible, beautiful, doomed thing we’ve created.
And when I finally get to drink hers, I know it will give me the power to breathe again. She’s my cure, and her essence is the medicine I need to walk this earth.
I always try to contain myself, to have control, but right now? Right now it’s almost impossible not to bite her and drink her dry.
Almost impossible not to bind her to me forever and damn the consequences.
This act was more than I expected, but Talulla needs to see how far I would go. How far I could go to make sure she always has an exit.
And she always needs to have an escape from me. I’m temporary, after all. I know what I am—a monster playing at being a man, a killer pretending to be a lover. I just hope she’ll see me as she saw me every day we spent together.
I hope she’ll remember this morning when she hates me later.
After we clean up and have breakfast, I’m ready to sit her down and say my speech.
Ready to say everything I didn’t share about my past, and tell her everything I remember of the night her grandmother passed away.
Passed away. Such a gentle euphemism for was murdered by my mistakes while I stood by and did nothing.
“I need to talk to you, Tal,” I say, following her to our bathroom.
Our bathroom. As if we’re a normal couple. As if this is our home, our life, our future.
She nods, knowing very well this was coming. “Okay, I’m ready,” she says, putting on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. “I might have something to ask you as well.”
Her sudden sad look makes me concerned. “Is everything okay?”
“I just have a question about the Original, if you’ve ever crossed paths with him.”
My blood runs cold. She knows. Somehow, she knows.
“What question?”
“Do you know if he has his sleeves tattooed? Like full, even hands.”
How the hell does she remember that?
She was just a child when it happened. Just a little girl hiding in the shadows while her grandmother was being murdered. But she saw him. She saw his tattoos.
She could have seen me.
This is going to be quite the talk.
I clear my throat, and start. “I have a lot to tell you, Tal—”
But my words get interrupted by the doorbell.
No. Not now. Not when I’m finally ready to confess everything.
“Were you expecting someone today?” she asks me, as we both walk to the door.
“No, I wasn’t,” I reply, as I wait behind her. This is not good.
My instincts are screaming. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.
We open the door, and I quickly check outside, but no one is in sight. Talulla stares at the ground in shock and I follow her gaze to an envelope on the doormat.
On it was the burgundy hunter sigil. The Popescu Cross.
No.
“Well, he’s dramatic, that’s for sure,” she whispers as she brings a hand to her mouth almost in disbelief, but that quickly turns into annoyance.
The notes we received until now were pretty tame. But this? This is a statement. I try to grab the envelope, but she’s faster. I let her do what she needs to do.
Let her read it. Let her see what her father thinks of me. Let it all come crashing down.
Talulla unfolds the paper, and I notice her knees buckling.
“What is it, love?” I ask, dropping beside her, shaking her, trying to bring her back to me.
But it is too late.
The piece of paper falls from her hands. Her body trembling in shock.
“What the fuck is it, Tal?” I shake her once more. “Talk to me, please.”
But nothing comes out of her.
I grab the piece of paper and read my sentence.
We know what you’re doing, Flynn. Or should I call you the Original’s pet? Release my daughter, she is not just a job. Stop toying with her. Taking my mother was more than enough.
Emil