Chapter 22
Iwoke with a gasp, my chest rising and falling in bursts. Light perspiration coated my skin, turning it sticky. Embracing the urge to move, I ripped my covers back and climbed free of the bed. I’d been dreaming, but not of the witches. It would have been better if I had.
Laurent. Fucking Laurent.
My heart thudded as I rushed to the bathroom, stripping bare and slipping beneath the cold spray. It was jarring, but exactly what I needed as it raced over my heated skin. I was so thirsty.
I remained under the spray for as long as I could stand it.
Then I turned off the water and stepped out, dripping all over the floor as I filled a glass at the sink.
I drank and drank until my stomach was full, then braced my hands on the counter to look at my reflection.
My cheeks were flushed, and the look in my eyes…
Pure hunger.
“My blood is yours for as long as you wish it.”
“No,” I breathed. “No!”
My throat ached. My chest itched. The place between my legs throbbed.
I needed.
“No,” I groaned again, eyeing the shower. My thoughts were disjointed. Scattered. Lacking their usual logic.
The minutes ticked by, punctuated by my heavy breathing. I was fighting a battle. One I was desperately losing.
I stood up, my shoulders pulled tight as my lips pressed into a firm line. Laurent Sarkas had taken everything from me. Everything. Perhaps it was time I took something from him.
Searching for a robe, I covered myself and slipped from my room. It wasn’t yet dawn, but I was unsurprised to find him in his study. His head was fixed on the door as I opened it, like he’d been expecting me. At the sight of my attire, his eyes widened. “Miss Shaw—“
“I want it,” I said, shutting the door behind me. “Your blood.”
His lips parted as he gaped at me.
He wasn’t the only one caught off guard. I’d surprised myself, too. But I wasn’t a centuries old vampire. That gave me a mild sense of satisfaction.
“I’ll have it now, that is, if you meant what you said.”
He chuckled, a deep rumble that sent shivers over my skin as he leaned back to regard me.
His moonlight hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, proudly showing his chisled jaw.
He’d exchanged his rumpled shirt from earlier for one of the billowy white ones that reminded me of the bodice ripper covers I enjoyed so much.
After a heated silence he stood. “All right.”
“All right?” I licked my lips.
“Yes. All right.” His voice was calm. He walked around the front of his desk and leaned against it, slipping his hands into the pockets of his pants as he watched me.
Closer now, I took in the features of his face. He might have been immortal, but there was an exhaustion there I hadn’t noticed before. It gave me pause. “What happened earlier? When Zola called?”
He hesitated, as if contemplating, then said, “She checked in on one of our houses—our children.”
“Your children—wait, like you and Zola?”
The thought was jarring. Why had I never considered it? The idea that they might be intimate. And why did it make my stomach roil?
“Fuck, no. Not like that,” he clarified. “Vampires do not procreate.”
“You don’t have sex?”
“Some do. We can’t create children that way. It is not how we sire.”
Oh, right. He’d mentioned something before, about the way vampires were created. With death and hearts and blood. I didn’t really want to think about it at the moment. “What happened to your children?”
“They were Zola’s. They’re dead. Most of them, anyway. The newborns. The older ones are missing.”
My eyes rounded. “Zola’s children?” I whispered. He hummed in confirmation. “But…is she okay?”
“She will endure. As we all do.”
“But…she lost her children.”
“She has more.”
“But…doesn’t she care about them? Love them? They’re her children.”
“Vampires do not love, Miss Shaw. We do not feel. We do not have the capacity for such things. We are empty. Creatures with instincts and cravings.” He said this without a shred of emotion and it sounded so very rehearsed.
“Whatever,” I decided, uninterested in indulging him. “I’m hungry, Laurent. I’m here to collect.”
Something sparked in his gaze. Something predatory. The tendons along his forearms flexed.
“Come, then. Let me feed you.” I didn’t move.
“Very well.” He stepped up to me instead, positioning himself behind me.
I went rigid at the proximity. My mouth watered but my head pounded, a mix of hunger and fear battling it out.
“Steady now, little flower. All you need do is drink. Let your mind relax. I’ll manage the rest.” His gentleness surprised me, but I didn’t linger over it.
His closeness made every hair on my skin come to attention. My fear hadn’t left. Not entirely. It was simply overruled by this craving. This…need.
He didn’t touch me, simply hovered behind me as he said, “I’m going to open my wrist and give it to you. If at any time you are uncomfortable, you need merely step away. This is entirely in your control, understand?”
I stood there.
“Lily, do you understand?”
I nodded, the motion stilted.
“I need to hear you say it, little flower.”
“I understand.”
“Good. My wrist will close on its own, but it should remain open long enough.” There was a hesitation when I didn’t say anything. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I rasped, my mouth salivating. Even my fingers twitched, restless.
I heard the sound of it and flinched. The sound of his teeth breaking skin. A shocked noise rose in my chest but I pushed it down. His wrist appeared in front of me, his arm snaking around my shoulders. I stared at it and blinked. He’d bitten himself. Blood oozed from the marks.
“Hurry,” he warned.
Spurred by his command, a primal thing within me roared to the surface.
A part of me I didn’t know. My nose caught the notes of iron and something sharper.
My chest expanded. My breaths came faster.
And then I struck, both hands wrapping around his forearm and palm, bringing his wrist to my mouth.
My jaw opened over the wound before I latched on.
Oh, God! I moaned. The flavor of him exploded on my tongue, just as tantalizing as my memory said it would be.
I sucked, pulling liquid into my mouth. Warm, iron rich, with notes of spice and bitterness, almost like wine.
Each swallow sent heat racing through my veins, filling the hollow ache that had been consuming me.
Memories flooded my thoughts like flickering movies. I ignored them, letting them drift past. They’d be there in my mind, waiting, if only I had the courage to look. Instead, I focused on the taste of him.
A hard body aligned with my back. I didn’t acknowledge it. I barely even noticed it. A small, low groan sounded. Not mine. I kept pulling, dragging in the warm liquid that quenched my thirst, sated my hunger, relieved my burning need the way nothing else had. Swallow after swallow.
I felt the throb of something through my body. My own pulse. It beat a rhythm in my throat, my chest, between my legs. I whimpered, drinking more, licking and lapping at his wound. A ravenous creature, entirely shameless.
As my awareness returned, I found that I was only licking. Fussing at his wrist like a desperate kitten. Licking him clean. Trying to lap up every drop, because his wound had closed.
When I caught sight of the smooth flesh, I made a sound in the back of my throat. I was dismayed. Irritated.
“More, little flower? So needy for me already?” His lips moved against the shell of my ear, feather light. The rumble of his voice sent something shooting down my spine. Sent goosebumps rolling over my skin.
I shivered.
Another whimper rose in my throat. I was lost to my senses. I bit down on his wrist with demanding force, but not hard enough to break the skin. Then I made another sound, angrier this time.
He clicked his tongue.
A hand splayed across my stomach, pressing me against—
I sucked in a sharp breath and broke free, stepping away.
He’d… He’d… He’d touched me, held me against him in an intimate embrace.
My nostrils flared, looking him over, taking in his firm body.
Lingering over his jeans because I’d thought I’d felt a rigid bulge there. No. It had only been my imagination.
“That should satisfy you for you tonight,” he said, eyeing me carefully.
His expression was guarded, but not cold.
“What did you do to me?” I managed, finding my voice.
“Nothing at all. Nothing beyond giving you what you wanted.”
Wanted. Not needed.
I looked at his hands, as if they were to blame for the heat coursing through me. For the desire. The additional craving. The wetness pooling between my thighs. Wetness he could probably smell. As if on cue, he inhaled, his nostrils flaring.
I flushed.
His gaze dropped to the place in question. I could feel it like a caress on my skin and I fought the urge to rub my thighs together. Then I remembered what I was wearing. Nothing but a bathrobe—
“Return to your room,” he said. The order sounded more like a warning. I didn’t argue. The weight of what had just happened—what I’d done, what I’d felt—crashed over me. I gave a sharp nod and fled.
I slammed my bedroom door closed and climbed into bed, where I splayed myself beneath the blankets.
The pulse between my legs throbbed. An ache I couldn’t ignore.
I put my fingers between my slick folds, gasping and desperate as they slipped in.
I wasn’t surprised by what I found, by how ready I was.
Laurent’s face flickered through my mind.
I tried to push him away but he went nowhere as I relieved the ache that had built. The ache he’d created.
He’d said his blood would fix it.
That liar.
Except…
It had.
This was…something else. Something additional.
A memory flooded my mind, as if triggered by my need. It was new. One I’d just obtained from his blood. I slipped into it.