Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Samantha
Everything aches—even my teeth and nails hurt. If this is how it feels to be dead, then I’m not impressed.
Slowly, I blink, trying to get my eyes open. It takes a lot of effort and, once I manage, I’m greeted with utter darkness. Well, at least that tracks with death.
It’s silent. No sounds of haunted souls being tortured or harp stings plucked.
Where do people who don’t believe in heaven or hell go? I had kinda counted on some form of recycling. An eternity in this empty void seems like a bore.
My fingertips tingle painfully, and I lift my hand, or at least I try to. It takes a second for the command from my brain to reach my arm—and then I almost smack myself as my hand flies up with way too much speed and force.
I manage to scratch my cheek in the process and the smell of blood makes me gasp. I’ve never smelled the coppery tang in such detail. Did I cleave my face open?
When I rub my cheek to check, I end up with another scratch. What the hell happened to my nails? They seem to be way too long and sharp. Carefully, I feel them out with my other hand, only to realize I now have what I can only describe as claws.
I’m sure there are plenty of women who would not consider them long or difficult, but they feel fucking weird to me. And the smell of my blood is fucking distracting.
A flare of panic rises deep in my core, but before I get to spiral too far, a door slams somewhere—the first sound I’ve heard besides my own ragged breathing—then footsteps approach.
My body decides that now is the time to heave in air, like it’s been starved for it. Or maybe it’s the building panic attack.
What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On?
With all the air comes a scent, delicious and masculine. It reminds me of something, but I can’t put my finger on it. It has layers to it and when I focus on it, I can separate the smell of fresh sheets and my shampoo from it.
Too much information at once overloads my brain, and I gasp out loud.
“Samantha!”
Someone pulls me into a hug, and instinctively I bury my face against his throat. Rafael. His arms band around me and hold tight enough that I can finally exhale. He rubs my back and his scent seeps into my pores, weirdly calming me.
I didn’t know vampires hung out with ghosts—or whatever the hell I am.
“Breathe, darling,” he murmurs and I obey. Every inhale brings more layers of his scent. His soap is something luxurious and deep, maybe roasted coffee; there’s a smell of blood clinging to him and something that reminds me of a dark chocolate cake.
My brain has to be totally frizzing. No one smells like that.
But there’s no way to deny I want to taste him. Lick him all over. Bite him. Drink him down.
What?
“Shh, Samantha. It’s all right. You are all right,” Rafael says and a huge part of me believes him, relaxing in his hold. Then there’s the part that’s screaming and fighting to be heard. I shake my head.
“No,” I rasp. Moving my lips renews the ache in my teeth and I lick them. My mouth is dry and throat parched.
“I’ll take care of you. Just relax.” There’s an underlying thread of dominance in his tone that makes me want to yield. As my hands curl into fists, my new claws prick my skin and shake me out of it.
“What’s going on?” My voice sounds off, too layered. I clear my throat, but I’m so, so fucking thirsty. Except, instead of wanting a glass of water, I desperately want to sink my aching fangs into Rafael’s throat.
Fangs.
I have fangs.
“What did you do?” I snarl and push myself away from his hold.
“Come back here,” he snaps and my body folds without a question.
“You—”
“I know you have questions and I’ll answer them in just a minute. First, you need to drink.”
He cradles me closer and I try to push away, but my body betrays me again, curling up against him.
“No.” I want to growl it, but it comes out as a whine.
“Yes, Samantha. You need to drink.”
“What did you do, Rafael?” I can’t voice the idea even to myself. He wouldn’t… would he? I choke as the sharp smell of blood floods my senses and my fangs elongate. I think he cut himself. Bastard.
“Drink, Samantha,” he commands me.
“I don’t want—”
“You do. I can smell your craving. Rest assured, if you don’t do this voluntarily, I’ll make you,” he purrs.
“Asshole!” I punch at his chest with everything I have, but despite his little grunt, he doesn’t let me go.
“I’ve had it with you dying on me, Samantha,” he growls, the sound so deep it rattles my bones. “Now drink.” He lashes out the command and my body obeys, turning in his arms just enough to sink my fangs into his throat over the cut he made.
He tastes better than chocolate, better than the richest red wine. Frantically, I lick his neck and suck. The instinct overrules everything else. I need his blood more than my next breath. I don’t realize I’m moaning until he hardens under my bottom.
“That’s it, darling. Take what you need,” he murmurs softly. The biting command has turned into soft coaxing. Rafael cradles me closer even after the wound in his neck heals under my tongue and my fangs pull free of their own accord.
“You… you…” I try to find my anger, but now my body is sizzling. The anger is simmering behind the need. It’s like his blood is filling my veins with electricity and the current is going everywhere. My nipples throb, so do other areas of me, and I moan again. “Ra-Rafael.”
“I know, darling. I’ll make it better for you soon,” he whispers and kisses my cheek, quickly licking over the scrapes there.
“I—I… what is happening to me?” When I writhe in his lap and rub my breasts against his shirt, it finally registers that I’m naked.
“You are completing your transformation. Awakening.”
“You made me a vampire.” I manage to gasp between trembles racking my body. My nails tear through his shirt as I clutch his shoulders and wantonly press closer. I’m out of my mind. There’s something seriously wrong with me because I fucking hate his guts right now.
“I did.” His reply is calm, while he keeps running his hands up and down my back. If he’s trying to soothe me, it’s not fucking working.
“I told you no!” Momentarily, the anger flares past the need to be fucked senseless. Past my veins being on fire. I dig my claws deeper into his shoulders and I would have bitten him again, but Rafael takes a hard hold of my neck and keeps my fangs out of his throat.
“I’d do it again too,” he growls. “You’re mine, Samantha Ramsey. I’m not letting you go.”
“Fuck you.” I thrash in his hold and rake at his shoulders. Rafael just pulls me closer and tips us so we are lying on the bed. The buzzing in my veins turns painful and the throbbing in my nipples and clit makes me whine, even though I try to hold in the desperate sound.
“Shh, darling. I’ve got you,” he says and wraps his lips around my nipple. One hard pull, and I arch against him, whining for more. He slips his hand between my thighs and ruthlessly drives me to an orgasm.
Except it doesn’t wane. The wave keeps crashing and my body tingles all over. Everything feels overly sensitive, even my toenails.
Oh God! I don’t have claw nails there too, do I?
Rafael’s fangs scrape over my nipple and all my focus zeroes in on that one point of contact. Vaguely, I think this should hurt. The way I’m burning up definitely is painful, but I don’t feel it. All I register is the aching need and the painful edge of release he keeps me at.
Then he rubs my clit again, murmuring something soft that I miss as I scream over my next orgasm. He rubs down my back, up along my arms, over my thighs, and then he grasps my throat.
“Mine,” he says, and there’s nothing human in his voice. I don’t have the strength to refute his claim. My breathing turns shallow, and slowly the sizzling currents fade. Rafael stroking my arms and back brings me back to my body.
Vampire body.
“I fucking hate you,” I murmur as the darkness takes me.