Chapter 22
Edie
With my heart in my throat, I run downstairs, holding onto the railing for dear life so I don’t fall and break my neck. When my feet hit the wooden floorboards of the hallway, I make the mistake of looking over my shoulder.
Dorian is standing on the landing above, his gaze drilling into mine. He’s all sharp angles, rigid muscle and art, his vine tattoo an intricate, thorny masterpiece etched into his skin.
“Do you want me to catch you that badly?” he asks, a dangerous smile pulling up his lips as my heart jackhammers in my chest. “Well?” he insists, holding the banister and taking a step towards me.
I twist on my feet and run, because I want him to chase me.
By the time I reach the kitchen, I realise I don’t have anywhere to go other than the garden.
My house is detached, my neighbours on either side are elderly, but there’s no guarantee they won’t see me.
Flicking my gaze to the clock on the wall, I see it’s almost midnight.
They must be in bed by now, and there are no lights at the back of my house, so it’s dark enough.
My garden is long, secluded, with high fences on either side and a small copse of trees at the back.
Without giving it another thought, I open the kitchen door and sprint towards the bottom of the garden, the grass wet beneath my feet.
When I reach the trees, I step between them, my breath coming out in short, sharp gasps.
The air is cool given the late hour and recent rainfall, but I’m burning up with heat, with the kind of desire and lust I’ve never, ever, felt before.
As I look back up to the house, Dorian stands at my back door, the light from inside silhouetting his incredible body.
I step back into the darkness, body trembling as I wait for the moment he finds me. Seconds later, strong fingers wrap around my arm as he tugs me against his chest.
“How did you get here so—”
My question is cut off abruptly as he grasps my arse and lifts me, his lips slamming against mine.
My brain short-circuits as my legs wrap around his waist and his tongue invades my mouth.
His kiss is rough, passionate and raw, and I yield to it.
I lean into the moment, tugging him closer, my nails scratching across his back, my hips undulating against the firmness of his stomach, spreading my desire across his skin.
I don’t feel the cold. Only heat. His. Mine. Ours.
Right here at the bottom of my garden, shrouded in moonlit darkness, we burn for each other.
“Fuck me, Dorian. Make me come again,” I demand, reaching between us and grasping his cock.
He grunts, his hands coming to my hips as he lifts me, then in one quick motion he impales me on his cock. I slam my mouth shut, swallowing the scream attempting to burst free from my lips. He stills momentarily as one commanding sentence slips past his lips.
“Let go, I want to hear you scream.”
Then he slides his arm around my back, supports all of my weight in his massive arms and fucks me like a man possessed.
He doesn’t give my body time to accommodate his impressive cock.
No, he slams into me without restraint. With a need so powerful that I feel it in the very depth of my bones.
The feel of his cock inside of me is nothing like the dildo he gifted me.
The pulse of his cock, the way he undulates his hips, forcing his piercings to hit every sensitive spot, makes this experience a thousand times more satisfying.
Every swipe of his tongue, every grunt and groan, is mirrored back at him.
I’m lost in him, in his powerful presence, in the way he takes and gives with equal fervour.
In this moment we are nothing more than two bodies lost to sensation, more animal than human.
I try to stay quiet, but every thrust is breaking something open within me.
All the years I’ve held my tongue, all the times I’ve dampened my needs at the whim of another, all the occasions I’ve been made to feel small, insignificant.
It’s as though he’s unlocking that part of me I’ve buried deep down inside, and I hear the call of my femininity, not the soft or nurturing kind, but the kind that claims and devours, that lets herself be heard.
“Dorian!” I cry, my internal muscles squeezing as an intense orgasm builds.
It gathers strength in my womb, a pulsing, living thing intent on breaking me apart only to rebuild me into something new, something infinitely more powerful.
Stars and fireworks blaze behind my closed eyelids as I detonate, my body shuddering and shaking as a scream rips past my lips.
My nails score into Dorian’s flesh, drawing blood, marking him, claiming him as mine.
My teeth sink into his shoulder, biting hard as I try and fail to appease the feral need within me.
“Look at me,” Dorian demands and my eyes snap open as he curls his fingers into my hair and yanks my head back.
I stare up at him as he shoves me up against the trunk of a tree, the sharp bite of pain as the bark scratches my skin, making me gasp.
I feel blood slipping over my skin, but I don’t tell him to stop.
Instead, I yank him closer, pressing my forehead against his as he continues to thrust deeper, harder.
I have no time to recover from one life-altering orgasm as another gathers strength behind it.
The blaze inside of me transforms into white heat and right at that moment, as moonlight spills across his face, a deep crimson bleeds into the white of his eyes.
“Your eyes,” I choke out, ice-cold fear slipping down my spine.
“You’re bleeding,” he snarls, then he tips his head back and roars, teeth bared. I gasp, fear choking my breath as his canines elongate into sharpened points.
“D-dorian?” I stutter, but my voice is whipped from my throat as he wrenches my head to the side.
“I can’t fight it.” A flicker of regret crosses his features, then a heartbeat later, his mouth is at my neck, and he bites. Hard.
Pain explodes. Sharp. Intimate. Devastating.
It is the catalyst to my undoing, shredding me apart from the inside out.
Sunlight warms my skin between the gap in the curtains and I blink slowly, a deep ache between my legs as I push upright in bed. For a moment, all I’m able to do is drag in slow, even breaths as my body pulses in the aftermath of last night’s events.
Dorian was here.
We fucked…
As if on its own accord, my hand lifts to my neck, pressing against a tender spot there.
He bit me.
My stomach lurches, my heart skipping a beat as my body recalls something my mind is finding hard to comprehend.
Dorian bit me. He feasted on my blood.
My blood.
“It’s not possible,” I mutter, trying to convince myself that what I’d seen, what I’d experienced, wasn’t real. It can’t be.
I begin to tremble, refusing to believe what my body and mind are screaming at me to understand.
“No,” I exclaim, jumping out of bed. Yet, despite my mind on full alert, my body is weak and I stumble towards the bathroom.
On shaky legs, I push open the door to my ensuite, and walk drunkenly towards the mirror. Pushing my hair over my shoulder, I stare at my reflection, at the spot where his abnormally long canines pierced the skin.
There are no holes, no trail of dried blood, not even a bruise.
But that makes no sense. I can still feel the lingering tenderness.
My head spins, a horrid feeling of vertigo taking over me, and I have to grip hold of the vanity unit to keep myself upright. Pressing my eyes shut, I drag in more shaky breaths as my mind conjures up disjointed memories.
His moans as he drank from me.
His fingers digging into my skin.
The utter, unbelievable bliss that made my body go lax despite what he was doing.
The throb in my neck, and the deep pulls as he drank, only heightening the pleasure.
The pulse of his dick as he came inside of me.
I’d come. Over and over again.
And then the sharp, sudden tug as he removed his teeth and cursed.
I’d blacked out, waking up moments later as he cradled me in his arms, agony in his voice, grief scrawled across his handsome face, regret etching deep grooves into his forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he’d muttered, pressing kisses against my forehead as he carried me back into my house.
He’d laid me down on my bed, pushing my hair off my face. His touch was gentle. Reverent. Then he dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “I am not who you think I am,” he’d said. “I’m so much worse.”
When I roused again, he was standing beside my bed, the rising dawn dousing him in a soft orange glow.
He’d hissed, stepping into the shadows of my room.
I could smell the scent of something burning.
Bile rises in my throat and I gag, stumbling towards the toilet, heaving up the contents of my stomach.
It takes me a long time to climb to my feet, and I stumble into the shower, turning it on.
“Who are you?” I mutter as warm water rains down over me. “What are you?”
It’s a question I’m not certain I want to know the answer to as I eventually turn off the shower and grab a towel. My actions are automatic, functional, as I dry myself off and step into my bedroom, pulling on my discarded pyjamas.
Then I hear it, a pain-filled groan.
I spin around, the wet tendrils of my hair whipping across my face as I search the room.
My gaze falls on the door of my walk-in wardrobe. It’s slightly ajar. The light within turned off.
I hear another groan, softer this time.
My throat constricts as I stand rooted to the spot. Every single cell in my body vibrates with fear.
“Edie.”
Dorian’s voice drifts through the gap, and I stiffen. He’s still here.
The man who fucked me, who made me come. Who bit me. Who drank my fucking blood. He’s still here.
Self-preservation kicks in. I stumble towards the knife I’d discarded last night. Snatching it up, I curl my fingers around the handle and hold it out in front of me.
I know I should leave. I should run.
Instead my feet carry me forwards.
Reaching for the door, I pull it open. Sunlight spills into the space, pooling on the floor. Dorian is tucked into the corner, my clothes shoved aside as he curls against the far wall. He’s naked still, crouched low, his arms hugging his knees, his face turned away from me.
“What the fuck?” I exclaim as he trembles violently, his bare foot slipping into the pool of sunlight.
It instantly turns a deep red, the skin blistering and bubbling, oozing yellow puss that dries up and quickly turns black as his skin literally burns.
The stench of cooking flesh, once again, makes me gag.
He hisses, then he drags his foot closer, out of the pool of light, and right before my eyes, his skin starts to heal. The blisters knot together. The blackened skin turns to ash, drifting to the floor as the violent red beneath fades to pink, finally returning to his natural colour.
“What are you?” I ask, my voice barely audible above the chatter of his teeth and the low, painful whimpers that are coming from him.
“It hurts,” he bites out, turning his head towards me.
I gasp, my hand flying to my chest at the sheer agony etched into every line of his face. Gone is the blood-red that had leached into the whites of his eyes last night. His canine teeth are no longer sharp. All I see is a man begging me with his whole body to help him.
“The sunlight?” I say, barely able to comprehend what I’m asking as I back up, reaching for the handle of the door.
“Yes. That and—” He shudders, and I swear I can see his tattoos shift beneath his skin.
“What is happening? How is this possible?”
“Please, Edie,” he begs, trembling so hard his teeth start to clack.
I don’t take my eyes off him, the soft click of the door shutting making me almost leap out of my skin. All that’s left is a thin line of sunlight seeping through the gap beneath the door. He lets out a shaky breath, and I reach for the light switch, turning it on.
“What are you?” I repeat, my back sliding down the door as my legs give way.
“I won’t hurt you,” he says, slowly drawing upright, his arms falling away from his shins as he groans.
Dark circles bruise the skin beneath his eyes as he twists his body, turning to face me. He’s barely able to lift his hand as he swipes it over his face.
“Won’t or can’t,” I say, holding the knife up between us. It shakes in my hand and I grit my teeth, forcing strength into my body.
“Both,” he says.
“And yet you did. You hurt me last night. You bit me, Dorian. You…” My voice quavers, and I swallow hard. “You drank my blood, didn’t you? So, I’m going to ask you again, what are you?”
“I’m a cursed man. A monster.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He lifts his gaze to meet mine, his eyes swimming with regret. “I’m a vampire,” he replies, before falling to the side and passing out.