Chapter 18 Torch #2
I caught her wrist, held it tight enough to feel her pulse, the old soldier’s trick for checking if someone is really alive. “No, seriously. You’re just… different. Not the same as before. That’s not a failure.”
She tilted her head. “What if I want to go back?”
“Do you?”
She shook her head, and I felt the tremor run through her. “No. It’s worse than death, going backwards.”
I thought about the first time I saw her, blood on her teeth, eyes like a black hole.
She was the scariest thing I’d ever met, and the only thing I’d ever wanted to fuck even after it tried to kill me.
Now she sat inches from me, more human than demon, but every bit as dangerous.
The brand on my arm pulsed, a slow echo of her heartbeat.
Jasmine reached out, tracing the black line with one finger. It was cold, like touching the surface of a river in January, but the sensation made my skin stand up in goosebumps. “Does it hurt?” she asked.
“Only when I’m awake.”
She smiled. “I can fix that.”
She pressed her thumb to the spot just below my elbow, then leaned forward, her breath warm on my neck. For a second, I thought she was going to bite. Instead, she kissed the edge of the mark, her lips soft, almost apologetic.
The whiskey and the touch and the firelight did something to me, melted the last thin layer of bullshit I’d been hiding behind. I cupped her face in my hand, feeling the way her jaw tensed under the skin. “You don’t have to pretend,” I said. “I know you’re scared.”
“Not scared,” she whispered. “Just…”
She trailed off, and I understood. There wasn’t a word for what came after fear, after you’d spent centuries learning to eat it for breakfast.
I kissed her, slow, giving her every chance to push me away. She didn’t. She tasted like bourbon and regret, and something underneath I’d never get tired of.
When we broke apart, she crawled into my lap, legs straddling my hips, hands braced on my shoulders. The shirt gaped open, exposing the hollow of her throat and the line of her collarbone. The scar on her shoulder, where the brand had been, was pale and almost invisible.
She looked at me, eyes wild. “Are you sure about this?”
I laughed, surprised at myself. “Not even a little.”
She kissed me again, teeth grazing my lower lip. “That’s the best answer I’ve ever heard.”
The sex was slow at first, exploratory, like we were both learning to be gentle.
Jasmine’s hands mapped the terrain of my scars, pausing at each one as if memorizing them.
My hands found their way under the shirt, skimming over her ribs and hips, pulling her closer with every pass.
When she rocked against me, I felt the brand flare, heat radiating from the inside out.
We made it to the couch before the rest of our clothes came off.
She pressed me back, pinning my wrists above my head, her thighs tight against my waist. I’d always thought of her as a predator, but in that moment, she was vulnerable, her eyes searching mine for any hint of doubt.
I let her see it all. The fear, the hope, the hunger.
She kissed me, hard, and then slid down, taking me inside her with a slow, careful precision that made my vision blur.
Every movement sent a ripple down the brand, a feedback loop of sensation that bordered on pain.
I tried to hold back, but she knew exactly what she was doing, grinding down until I lost track of who was in control.
The fire threw our shadows onto the walls, doubling and tripling every time we moved.
At the edge, when I felt myself losing it, she whispered, “Let go.” Her body tensed, fingers digging into my shoulders, and the brand went white-hot.
I followed her, the orgasm rolling through me in waves, every muscle locked and burning.
For a second, the world went blank, the only thing real the glow of the mark and her voice in my ear.
After, we lay tangled on the rug, sweat cooling on our skin. The fire had gone out, leaving just the red eye of an ember, but the room was bright with the afterimage of what we’d done.
Jasmine traced a line down my chest, then rested her head on my heart. “You’re different,” she said.
“Yeah,” I replied. “So are you.”
She smiled, pressing her palm to the spot where the brand connected us. “I think I like it.”
I laughed. “I know I do.”
We fell asleep like that, limbs wrapped together, the smell of smoke and sex thick in the air. In the morning, I woke to find her watching me, eyes soft and unguarded.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.”
She kissed me, slow and sweet. “Ready for breakfast?”
“Only if you’re cooking.”
She rolled her eyes. “Hopeless.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But at least I’m yours.”
She laughed, and this time it was all joy.
We stayed there for three days, drinking, fucking, and pretending the world was just the two of us. By the time we left, I couldn’t remember what it was like to be alone.
But through everything, I learned a valuable lesson. Gaining the trust of a woman was one of the most challenging things in the world, but once you had it, your world would never be the same.