Chapter 7 #2
Oklahoma’s handsome face comes into view. His hair is slicked back, revealing the perfect angles of his cheekbones. His lips seem swollen, or like he’s trying to cover something he doesn’t want me to see.
I must have hit my head harder than I thought, because his eyes are red beacons in this rubble.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see anyone in my entire life, Sugar,” he says. Oklahoma’s nostrils flare, his crimson gaze analyzing every part of my body. “You’re bleeding.”
I lift my hand to show the bandage I made. “I’m okay. I cut it on that stupid pipe.”
“That’s not the only place you’re bleeding.” He sniffs the air, lifting my leg and eyeing the bottom of my feet. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m okay. It’s just a few pieces of glass. I’ll be fine.” He plucks a piece of glass out of the wound. “Ow!” I protest, trying to yank my leg away from him.
“I know it hurts,” his voice soothes. “But it will feel better when I get the glass out.” He moves to the other foot, plucking a bigger piece of glass from the middle of my foot.
Oklahoma sneers at it, tossing the sharp piece onto the ground.
Blood coats his fingers, and he licks his lips, showing a flash of his teeth. It’s almost as if he has fangs. The tips are sharp and peeking out from his mouth. Even his features seem more pronounced and angular, like a creature from old movies.
My vision sways, and I blame it on my head injury for having me see things that aren’t there.
“Come on, Sugar. Let’s get you out of here before whatever is left of this building falls.” He scoops me into his arms effortlessly, lifting me from the tub.
I’m too out of it to know for sure, but I swear, his tongue flattens against the cut on my head.
He moans in delight.
There’s no way he licked my head. I must have a concussion.
Being this close to him feels so good. I press my cheek against his chest. His natural scent of wood and leather has me inhaling deeply, wanting my body to memorize his scent. Oklahoma relaxes me, and being in his arms, I’ve never felt safer.
“I got you, Nariko.” His hand cups the side of my head, keeping me against his chest. “I hear your brother and your friends calling out for you. They are worried.”
“I can’t hear anything?” I only hear the waterfall bursting from another set of pipes.
“I can,” he says without explanation.
My mind connects the dots even in the concussed haze. Maybe what I’m thinking is delusional given the circumstances.
He gets distracted by blood.
He can hear what I can’t.
He has red eyes and sharp teeth.
He has more than what is considered normal for strength.
I’m not sure what he is, but there’s no way he is completely human. I’m open-minded enough to know I’d be a fool to think humans were the only life form on this planet or in the entire universe. That’s a close-minded way of thinking. If Oklahoma is something different, it wouldn’t bother me.
If he wants to play hide and go seek, he’d better be ready for me to win because I do this for a living with tornadoes. In my mind, there’s nothing or no one more dangerous than a vortex on a wicked path.
Oklahoma steps over the fallen walls and shredded furniture, his boots squelching in the puddles of water. He covers my face with his hand, then curls over me the best he can to protect me.
“You had me worried,” he admits, staring down at me with his usual deep sapphire eyes. “I was scared I wouldn’t get to you in time.”
“How did you know I was here?” More information piles into the nonhuman category for him.
“Jazz told me a tornado ripped through here, and this is where you are staying. I came as quickly as I could.”
“You couldn’t get here in time with a car, Oklahoma. How did you get here?”
He pauses at the opening where he came in; the sun shining outside leads us to safety.
“Talk to me.” I grip his chin, tugging it down to force him to look at me. “Tell me the truth.”
His fingers slip across my jaw, his gaze darting all over my face, the truth surfacing again in his irises. The hue of red takes over; whether it’s on his own accord, he can’t hide himself from me. No matter how hard he tries.
My breathing quickens from his touch; the hard callouses of his fingers from working so hard on the ranch scratch against my skin. He growls, yanking his hand away.
I snag his wrist, leaning my cheek against his palm. “I like how you feel,” I admit, nestling into his hand. “I like it so much, it’s all I think about. You’re all I think about.” I peer up at him, knowing I must look terrible. “Why?”
His eyes become brighter, burning red suns I want to explore and understand.
Oklahoma doesn’t say a word. His body betrays him. The impressive expanse of his chest and shoulders rises and falls with every breath. His touch becomes slightly rougher, as if he is fighting with himself to not devour me.
I’m tired of fighting.
Gripping the material of his shirt, I pull him down, my lips meeting his halfway.
I’m sick of waiting for him to make the move. At his pace, I’ll be old and grey.
When his lips give in to mine, my entire world halts. My thoughts stop spinning.
Every wrong rights itself.
He moans into my mouth, his hand cupping my jaw to control the kiss. His lips are softer than I thought they would be, yet commanding with a hint of greed. His tongue slips between my lips, teasing the tip of my own. I whimper when I feel him, wanting, wishing we were anywhere else.
My body comes to life, awakening to his silent commands. I become hot with need, wanting his hand to grope and squeeze other parts of my body.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he says, his voice rough with lust.
He captures a kiss from me again, sweet and slow. His lips are pliant and soft, kissing me like he has all the time in the world. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind if he stood here holding me until the sun set and tomorrow started.
He breaks the kiss again, leaving my lungs needy for air.
“Since when?” I ask, needing to know for myself.
“Since the moment I saw you on my property.” His mouth is swollen, his wild carmine stare has me questioning everything again.
“What are you?” I ask him, my fingers tracing the edge of his mouth, wanting to touch what appears to be a fang.
He lifts me, pressing his forehead against mine. “I’ll tell you soon, but I have a feeling you already know.” He captures my lips again, better than any dream I’ve ever been able to imagine.
There isn’t a better feeling than his kiss.
Whatever he is, I don’t care.
It’s who he is that matters most to me, and he came to save me. Somehow, someway, he knew I needed help. He will not hurt me, no matter how predatory his eyes become. Harming me is out of the question.
I feel that from him. The emotion is like a warm blanket of energy, cloaking all around me to keep me protected.
“I don’t care what you are, Oklahoma.” I slide my hand over his heart, noticing it doesn’t beat like mine. He’s cooler to the touch, and his heart rate is much slower.