Fourteen
Avalon
As soon as she found a pair of jeans and a blouse that fit her well, she dressed and stepped out of her room. She searched the hallway, wanting to find and apologise to Lysander. Assuming he was hiding in his room, she walked opposite the living space and peeked into the open doors there. “Lysander?”
A moment later a door to her left opened and his tall figure appeared, taking up the whole door frame.
She stared up at him, dark hard eyes cold on hers. “I…” she stammered. “Thank you for the clothes. I’m sorry for hurting you.”
“It’s not your fault.”
She squirmed, a little insecure. They’d never been very close to each other, and him smelling like a treat wasn’t exactly helping. She was hyper aware of his blood pulsing just beneath his skin. She held his gaze with all her strength, fighting not to let her eyes travel down to where she’d bitten him before. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”
“I won’t provoke it.”
How was she supposed to tell him how awful it felt to stand there? Now knowing how good his blood tasted. Her teeth ached, and pain shot through her lip. Pushing her tongue forward, past her fangs, she tasted her own blood. Her hands flew to cover her mouth and she rushed back to her own bedroom.
She slammed the door behind her, trying to get her fangs to retract. She’d never been so embarrassed—or upset with herself. She never had any intention of hurting Lysander again, but the memory of his taste blinded her.
“Avalon, open the door.”
She covered her mouth and nose with both her hands. “No.”
Lysander fell silent and for a moment, the only thing she could hear was his heart thumping in his chest.
“Open the door, Avalon,” he repeated in a softer tone, reminding her of how he’d soothed her after she’d nearly ripped his wrist apart.
After another moment, Lysander opened the door and stepped in. She scrambled back, collapsing onto the bed.
“Avalon, it’s alright.”
“No.” The word was muffled by her hands still pressing onto her face.
“I know you don’t want to hurt me, but I also know my sheer presence is enough to trigger you.” He slowly stepped closer until he came to a stop mere inches away from her.
“Go.”
His eyes softened, and he reached out to grab her wrists. “That won’t help you.”
“Please,” she begged as he pulled at her arms. “I want to hurt you.”
To her surprise, her arms didn’t budge. “No, you don’t want to hurt me. Which is why you are asking me to leave. But you will inevitably hurt me because you don’t know how to control your thirst. There is a world’s difference between the two.”
Lysander stopped tugging, instead stroked her skin in a soothing pattern.
“You don’t know how not to hurt me. Feeding on someone doesn’t have to be painful but it will be if you don’t know how to do it properly.”
She tried to focus on his words, but his heart had started thumping louder and stronger in his chest. His carotid pulsed heavily under his thin skin. She was mesmerised by the motion, finding it harder and harder to understand his words.
“You need to learn to feed so you don’t hurt me, because that’s what you are afraid of. It’s the reason you’re still fighting the urge to feed. Once you’ve learned how to make it pleasant for me, you will want to feed.”
“I don’t.”
“You will, because that’s who you are now. You have to let go of those human reservations.”
Why was he saying those things? Why was he so close? “I don’t want to kill you.”
Lysander chuckled, chest rumbling against her arms, his thumb still smoothing over her wrist. “I’m not that easily killed. Marcus and Varos will help you.”
She forced her attention away from the pulsing artery and found his gaze once more.
“Pull your hands away and give into the urge.”
Her head thrashed side to side in protest but to her surprise, he let her right hand go. She watched in horror as he lifted his hand and scraped his fingernails over his skin, exactly where that gorgeous artery throbbed. There was barely any blood, but it was enough to cloud her mind. The sweet smell crept through her hands and up her nose. Before she knew it, her fangs extended past her lip, and then they were plunged deep in his neck.
Lysander’s blood ran over her tongue and dripped down her throat, coating her insides like honey. It extinguished the scratchy, burning feeling, like cough syrup to a sore throat.
Lysander shuddered, wrapping his arms around her waist. With a hum vibrating from deep within his chest, he ran one hand up her spine while the other held her tight.
“Good.” His voice shook through the praise. “You don’t want to hurt me, remember? Focus on how you don’t want to cause me pain.”
She couldn’t pinpoint why, but she relaxed into his embrace. Letting the blood naturally fill her mouth, she stopped sucking
“Just like that.” Then they were moving, and Lysander lowered into an armchair with her in his lap. “You have venom that causes pain, and an antidote that makes it feel better to the person you’re draining.”
Her mind swarmed with questions, but she couldn’t pull away to ask them. For once, her throat didn’t hurt.
“It feels good, doesn’t it? Better than the donated blood, huh?” Lysander’s words were slurred, his hand slipping into her hair to hold her head in place.
She hummed her agreement, lips vibrating against his skin.
“It doesn’t hurt,” he groaned, words slurring more with each second. “You’re doing so well.”
With her thirst satisfied, and her throat soothed, she let herself fall into his embrace. As his blood dripped past her lips, dribbling down her chin, his fingers massaged the nape of her neck, his other arm around her waist. Being in his strong arms felt good but then again, that could just be the high from his blood.
“Avalon,” Varos softly whispered somewhere close to her ear. “Sweetheart, I think we should give Lysander a break.”
Her eyes fluttered open and even though she didn’t want to, she separated from Lysander’s neck. This time the mark left behind was far less gruesome, though blood still trickled down his neck and onto his shirt.
“Don’t worry. All you must do is lick the wound.”
She nodded, thankful for Varos’s guidance. She leaned down, licking up the small trickle of blood before sealing the puncture marks. When she sat back up, they were all but gone.
“Shame,” Lysander whispered with a lazy smile, his head lolling back against the armchair.
Worriedly, she looked up at Varos, Marcus standing next to him. “Did I…”
“No, you didn’t drain him too much.”
“He’s a big guy,” Marcus laughed. “He’s just high out of his mind, that’s all.”
“High?”
“The antidote he was referring to is like a drug for your victims. It makes them submit but at the same time, thins the blood so you can drink faster.”
She returned her attention to Lysander. He looked paler than usual, his eyes half shut as his hands rested on her thighs and gently caressed her with his thumbs.
“He needs to eat,” she stated, shuffling off his lap. “Blood donors always have to eat well before and after a donation.” She started towards the kitchen, Marcus on her heels. “And he needs fluids.”
“Does that make me a horrible friend? I’ve never offered him anything after using him as my meal.”
She—gently—bit her tongue to keep from scolding him, pulling a soda and water bottle from the fridge. “Would you please give these to him?”
“Anything for you.”
Marcus vanished and returned empty-handed, watching her as she made Lysander a few sandwiches. “He’s fine, you know?”
“He didn’t look fine.”
Marcus approached and cupped her face, directing her eyes away from the plate on the counter. “You don’t need to worry about him.”
“I… He lost a lot of blood,” she stammered, unable to say that he was like that because she’d fed on him.
“Not that much. As he said, you did well. You went slow and didn’t hurt him. ”
“Still…” she turned back to the sandwiches, letting Marcus’s hand fall from her face.
He stepped up behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder while his arms wrapped around her waist. “You are aware that he wanted it to happen, right? He wouldn’t have come after you if he hadn’t wanted to feel your fangs in his neck.”
She wouldn’t admit that he was probably right. The act still felt wrong.
“You don’t need to feel bad for him. After all, you gave him exactly what he asked for.”
“I’m still going to bring him the sandwiches.”
Marcus chuckled, throat vibrating against her shoulder. “Maybe if you keep spoiling him like this, he’ll let you feed on him more often.”
She took a step away, and Marcus let her move. Taking the plate, her eyes fell on Varos—when had he gotten there?
“Take this,” he said, handing her a full glass of blood
Though the thought of drinking it still disgusted her, she would have it regardless. She took the glass and walked back to her room, where she found Lysander still sitting in the chair. He had his head leaned back and his eyes closed, his lips no longer in a lazy smile.
“You should eat,” she whispered.
Lysander opened his eyes, his cold gaze meeting hers. It was a vast difference from the adoring looks they’d shared moments ago. Finally, he took the plate and placed it on his lap.
She sat on the bed across from him with her glass in her hands. “Can I ask you something?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Are you just going to ask something, or do you expect an answer as well?”
“I would like an answer, but that is up to you.”
Finishing off the first sandwich, he nodded .
“What are you? I mean you’re not a vampire like Varos and Marcus.”
“And you.”
She wasn’t sure why, but his words stung. “And me.”
“I’m a lycan.”
“So, a werewolf?”
“No.”
She bit her lip—carefully this time—and wasn’t sure if she could push further without upsetting him. Once the plate was empty, he set it aside and relaxed into the chair.
“Werewolves were created by my kind. They are humans that voluntarily shift into wolves. And though they are much stronger than humans and larger than actual wolves, they are nothing compared to my kind.”
The arrogance in his voice made her uncomfortable. It was as if werewolves didn’t deserve the thought.
“Lycans are beasts, hidden like a wolf in a sheep’s skin. We look like humans, can learn to adapt to their culture, move and speak like them. But when the full moon rises, we leave nothing but dead bodies in our wake. Only the strongest of them survive and become our wolf slaves.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but Lysander continued.
“At least, that’s how it used to be when the legend of our existence spread, and the myths of our kind had their roots. We reigned with violence and arrogance, taking whatever we wanted— whoever we wanted whenever we pleased.”
“What happened then?”
A dark chuckle rumbled from deep in his chest. “What happens to blood thirsty beasts that do as they please? They kill out of greed, spilling the blood of their kin in order to take whatever they want. We let our inner monster take even the slightest of our humanity and were our own downfall.” He sighed, his arrogance now faded. “We didn’t care for anything or anyone but ourselves. Our enemies simply had to sit back and watch until they could extinguish our existence.”
“If that’s the case, why are you here?”
“I didn’t want to die, but I also knew I couldn’t tame the beast within me by myself. The more we let our lycans take control, the more we lose what humans have taught us. The more control we hand over with each full moon, the more the creatures taint our minds. My clan had been able to capture Varos and Marcus. They weakened them with silver and drained their bodies of blood until they were nothing more than corpses that simply wouldn’t decay. I saw my brothers and sisters murder each other. Mates turned on the ones they vowed to protect, and I knew I couldn’t let my beast do the same to me. I fed Marcus and Varos just enough to wake them. Then I promised them freedom in exchange for their strength and willpower to save what little humanity I had left.”
“I don’t—”
Lysander silenced her with a shake of his head. “Every full moon they drain me of all my blood, so I don’t have to watch my lycan leave a trail of bodies behind.”
Still unsure of what he was trying to say, she opened her mouth to continue her questions, but he was already standing.
“You should drink that. I’ve heard it doesn’t taste well once it goes cold.”
She stared after him, trying to picture him being so dangerous that he left a trail of bodies behind him. Only when her eyes fell back on the glass in her hands did she realise she was capable of the same. She could kill without warning and the scratching feeling in her throat only solidified the thought. She’d bit his throat without batting an eye and still, the thirst remained. All it had taken was one drop of blood, from a tiny scratch on his skin.
She closed her eyes, trying to erase the images of bathing in his blood. She hadn’t cared for him—or anything for that matter—once she’d sunk her teeth into his skin.
No not teeth— she thought to herself— fangs.