12. Rourke #2
It’s a simple request, especially since what she offers in return is much more valuable.
I’d almost forgotten about the dusty room.
I’ve always known we are the only ones who could enter, but I’d never pondered why this is—never pondered much, really.
Perhaps I should do so now, but I’m too distracted by the blue-eyed vixen before me.
I haven’t thought about anything else since her blood hit my skin.
“Great! Shall we go?” She walks ahead, turning to catch if I’m following. I’m still frozen in place. “Come on. You just got some of my blood. I’ll give you more after you let me in.”
I shake away my stupor and trot after her.
Again, pearly whites, apple-ripe cheeks.
I save the sight to memory. Belle leads me to the front doors, and I follow like a devoted puppy, but before she heads inside, she slows, clicking her tongue and bending low.
“Weasel, where are you? Let’s go!” The damned striped rat jumps out from a bush, right into my path.
I startle, nearly falling to my arse, but catch myself at the last minute.
Belle giggles, the sound melodic, but churns fury in my veins.
“It’s okay, big guy, he won’t hurt you.” She rubs her nose in his coat, and I mentally work out the various gifts I could present to her when I skin the fibers off the pest. For some reason, I don’t think she’d enjoy my ideas.
Perhaps I can make it look like an accident?
I’m distracted from my scheming as she turns back to the front door, her arse—accentuated by her steps and the thin fabric draping her figure—leads me into Hollowbrook, and for the first time after stepping over the threshold, my shoulders don’t sag under an unnamed weight.
Seconds pass, at least that’s what it seems like, and we arrive at the library doors. I’d been lost in a sea of silky green and sunshine the entire stroll.
“Wait, do you have the key?” Belle asks, turning to me.
It’s only been mere moments since I’d last seen the blue, but as always, I’m at a loss for words at the sight. “Hello?” she waves her hand in front of my face. “I hope you’re not thinking up ways to eat me.”
Oh, if she only knew…
I nudge past her, reveling in the slight touch of my skin against hers. I pull the crystal knobs, opening the doors for her to enter.
“Wait. I just tried that! These were definitely locked!” By the stars, she colors so easily, her cheeks blooming with her frustration. I can barely gather the focus to reply.
“They were. It’s Hollowbrook. It only lets us open the door.”
“Oh.” She steps inside. “Then let’s keep them open now so I don’t have to fetch you every time I want to read a book.
” She’s practically begging for me to close them behind us once we exit, but my desire to please her overtakes the devilish thought.
I’m not the only person in this manor. Someone’s bound to shut the doors at some point, and Belle will have to come find me.
This trade seems increasingly beneficial to me by the second.
I watch as she takes in the space around her, head thrown back as she examines the height of the coffered ceilings. The sun breaks through the trees outside the large windows occupying most of the wall space at the far end of the room, sending her golden hair aglow.
The musty smell of old parchment reminds me of when I was a child.
I’d only ever entered at Father’s heels when he came to check on Peter with his tutor.
Father never felt the need for me to learn academics.
There were many times I envied Peter, such as watching him sit at the large oak table near the curved windows, scribbling in books half his size with a red, feathered pen behind his ear.
While Peter learned, I spent my time in the dungeon, in the courtyard, refining my strength, learning the easiest ways to kill my prey.
I hadn’t thought about my childhood in…I’m not sure how long.
I suppose it’s the effect of the pixie blood.
I crave it, yet with this fresh wound of my upbringing at the surface of my mind, I’m fearful of what else is to come.
“Shit, this place is huge.” She talks like a pirate. The thought both frightens and excites me.
She walks to one of the tall-backed velvet chairs off to the corner, between two shelves of books, handwoven rug underfoot, and gold end tables at either side.
She sits, letting her head rest against the green upholstery, her eyes still rolling in her skull in wonder until they land on me.
She doesn’t untether our gaze, and my stomach flips under her attention.
She flinches, breaking away and clearing her throat.
“Well, thank you. I think I’ll go back to my rooms to rest for a little bit and then come back here later on. ”
“You don’t want a book?”
Her eyes widen. “Uh, right.” She grabs something off the shelf nearest her and reads the title.
“The History of Dinglelogs, perfect.” She scrunches her lips as she tucks the leather bound book under her armpit and heads toward the open doors.
Before she exits, she looks back at me. “Oh, right, you want my blood.”
I open my mouth, ready to tell her it’s not necessary, that being in her presence is more than enough, but I can’t get the words out.
She approaches, presenting her finger. I can’t resist. I meet her the rest of the way, piercing her flesh with my hook, and bringing her finger to my lips.
Fear dances in her pupils. She tries to mask it, her jaw set and her back straight, but I know fear all too well to miss it.
I cradle her hand as I drink her in. Her blue catches on my slitted and mahogany eye.
I fight my urge to gulp her down, to get my full fill.
Her lips part, chest rising with heavy breaths.
My cells mend, the jagged corners of my mind dull, but I still must be broken, more than I realize, because for a moment I believe she might enjoy this, find pleasure in my taking of what she freely gives.
My cock aches, and it takes everything in me not to press forward and buck against her as I swallow, but by the grace of the stars, I am mending, making it possible to contain my urges.
Somehow, my throaty moan escapes. The moment breaks, and Belle steps back, ridding a fog behind her eyes. She stammers. “Alright. Well, thanks for letting me in here. I’ll…see you around.” She races toward the door, the damned vermin at her heels.
I watch her go, wishing that her blood wasn’t as powerful so that I might not be able to stuff away the desire to chase her.