Limerence II (11 page)

My eyes roam the room as I drink, my synapses firing shots at one another and I begin to swallow more slowly, attempting to savour the warmth this human gives me in the pit of my stomach. I feel like I have been hungry since I was born, feeding and feeding and never being filled, never truly being satisfied, even when I have drank one of Donny’s crazy concoctions. Yet this human is filling some sort of void within me, the warmth reaching all the spots inside that have been left cold for so long. I can feel myself getting lost in the oblivion, being dragged down into my own annihilation, yet loving and hating that it is controlling me all at the same time.

I close my eyes, my fingers wrapping tighter around the man’s wrist, my nails digging into the thin flesh, and I know that I am hurting him—or I would be, if he had any awareness of what was happening to him. When I open my eyes, they come to rest on Evan. He’s there in the background, handsome and rugged and leaning against the wall talking to an extremely attractive vampire with deep auburn hair and thigh-high boots. He looks different than he normally does: more at ease and relaxed than he ever does with me. His smile is more peaceful, less forced, and his stance is less rigid. He wears a black shirt with the collar open, and small brown beads hang around his neck. His jeans are light blue and hang low on his defined hips, and his hair is down and dishevelled around his broad shoulders.

The thought of him seeing me like this, so lost in my own temptations, is mortifying. After all the lessons on self-control, the trust he says he has in me—to not let
her
take me to the dark place that my body yearns for—floods me with embarrassment and makes me stop. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand in shame and swallow down my hunger, ignoring
her
inside me, mewling for more blood.

I stand back up, feeling hazy and intoxicated, yet back in control and feeling confident—a confidence I haven’t had up until now. I straighten myself out, running fingers through my long hair, and head in Evan’s direction. Lora smirks up at me, and I am vaguely aware of her hand skimming my legs as I pass her, her voice calling to me and asking me to join her and her partner, but I ignore them both in favour of Evan.

He sees me as I near, his eyes widening a fraction, and looks me over. I want it to be because he’s happy to see me, because he finds me sexy and alluring, but I feel it’s more shock that I am here.

I stand by him, looking from the brunette to Evan and back again. She smiles at me; her lips are painted a deep plum with a thick lipstick, making her teeth seem unnaturally white against the colour. Jealousy creeps in without my knowing, and I find myself scowling at her.

Before either of us can speak, Evan’s hand clasps the top of my arm as he attempts to pull me away. He nods to the female, who only cocks an eyebrow and offers him a lazy smile, her eyes widening as she sees the strength of his hold on me. I glower at her as he pulls me away, and when I look up to him I see that he’s not smiling anymore. Long gone is his cool, calm composure, and back is the Evan I know—stubborn, moody, and frowning!—and it stirs a deep-rooted anger in me that I hadn’t even realised was there, but I control myself, refusing to give in to the irritation. I slip from his grasp and stand firm in front of him.

“What is your problem?” I compose myself, straightening out my clothing. “You can’t go all caveman on me and start dragging me around.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says stonily. The man I saw so calm and casual and happily flirting with someone not five minutes ago has completely vanished, and I’m left with his grumpy alter ego.

“But you can?” I step out of his way, almost ducking under his arm as he reaches for me again.

“I am a warrior, and as such I have to make sure that these,” he gestures around us, “vampires don’t lose control completely. Or take advantage of any young vampires, like you,” he snipes, and I know that he’s thinking back to the first time I ever came down here. “I don’t have to do this, I choose to. Young vampires make mistakes.”

I want to slap him hard for his snipe at me, but I don’t. I restrain, barely. “Yes, we make mistakes, but we don’t all need rescuing, Evan.” It’s my turn to look around at the writhing bodies. “So you’re telling me that you don’t like being here.” I cock an eyebrow at him. “I’m under complete control, Evan. I don’t need babysitting all the time. Certainly not from you.”

He frowns hard at me, his brows meeting in the middle as they furrow together and his jaw gives way to its usual tick that indicates he’s irritated with me—and there he goes cracking his knuckles again. The noise is irritating to both me and
her
. Funny how I used to like that little quirk of his.

I place a hand over the top of his, relishing the feel of his skin under mine. The extra blood I have taken—fresh, hot, and straight from the source—has heightened all my sensations, and it takes a lot of self-restraint to not stroke up his arm, along his bicep, and up to his hair. I know the texture will be delicious, soft and supple beneath my fingertips, and I shiver at the mere thought. Or perhaps it was he that shivered.

“Total control, you say?” he rumbles with a snarl. “I can’t control you like this. You need to go.” His knuckle-cracking reaches a new crescendo, and the male vampire next to us looks over with a sexy grin and reaches over to stroke a hand across Evan’s shoulder; but Evan turns to him and hisses with a flash of fang and a hard shove that sends the poor vampire stumbling backwards.

I flinch, not used to violence like this from Evan. Sure, I’ve seen him fight—he is my trainer, after all—but there was never any maleficent intent. The male vampire looks shocked and snarls, but Evan continues to glower at him until he cowers and walks off like a stroppy teenager. I laugh loudly, finding the situation both frightening and amusing all at the same time. What is it about Evan that makes my emotions go so out of control?

“You need to calm down, and relax more,” I sneer, but even as I say it, I wonder where the words are coming from. I place a hand on his firm chest, feeling electricity that can’t be explained between us—something that drags me closer to him, even while he continuously pulls away. Yet I know it, I can feel that he doesn’t want to, and I step closer to him, pushing him past his barrier of self-control. Though I know he wants to step back from me, this time he doesn’t. He continues to stare down at me, his deep brown eyes burning intensely into mine as my hand touches the cool skin on his chest, working my fingers on the buttons until there is more flesh on display and I can place a full palm on him.

“And you need to go,” he says again, his voice deep and gravelly.

He grabs my hand and pulls it away from him. I feel offended by his dismissal, and I return his moody stare with a scowl of my own. “I have just as much right to be here as you. So if you can’t stand to be near me, unless for training, then stay away from me,” I snap, feeling anger rising to the surface.

“I will not allow you to be here. You know how I feel about this—now go, and I will see you tomorrow. In training,” he says, finally stepping back from me and dismissing me.

“Why are you being like this with me? Here of all places. I mean, your precious queen isn’t even at the coven, so why?”

He doesn’t respond, but stares at me blankly.

“You want me, I know you do. All I’m asking for is one kiss, just confirm that I’m not going crazy and that you want me.” Tears blur my vision, but it’s not just sadness but anger as he still says nothing, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

I want to lash out at him, but I don’t; he just confirmed what I needed to hear, and I turn and start to stomp away, unsure where I’m actually going, because I realise that he’s right, I shouldn’t be here. But underneath all of that is a sharp pain to my dead heart, a knife that he has struck deep inside me. He doesn’t want me here—near him. He only trains me because that’s his job, that’s what he’s told to do. The rest—the pretence that he plays that he feels something more for me—is just that, a pretence, and I am a fool. I am still as pathetic as the vampire that arrived here nearly a year ago. I clutch at my throat, feeling suddenly thirsty beyond comparison and needing to get out of here before I break down and lose control of my emotions, my inhibitions, and pretty much any other faculty that I still have.

I glance at the clock on the wall, realising shamefully that I haven’t even lasted an hour here, as I charge back through the door and into the dark hallway. I don’t see Lora on my way out—not that it matters; she won’t be leaving with me. I pass the two male vampires that are now wrapped in each other’s arms along the length of a sofa, their kisses more frantic, and their clothes all but gone. I look away, feeling flustered and hot, as the exit into the main coven beckons me. I hurry my steps to get there before I change my mind.

“Mia, wait.” Evan’s voice yells out loudly behind me, and with my name on his lips I shiver involuntarily and I hate him all the more for still having this effect on me.

I slow, but don’t stop until his firm hand touches my shoulder and he turns me to him, burying my face into his chest.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you.” His voice is softer now—now that we are away from others, away from prying eyes, and I can’t help but be even more offended by that.

I fight against him even as he pulls me closer, pressing my face harder against his chest so that I have to breathe in his scent. He smells as he always does: a mixture of rugged manliness, sweat and musk, vanilla, and of course blood. He smells of Evan—my Evan—and it breaks my heart being this close to him.

I push to get away from him, but when his lips come into contact with my hair, where he deftly plants a firm kiss, I stop fighting and cling to him. A sob works its way up my throat, and I try to control it the best I can, not wanting to embarrass myself further.

His arms embrace my body tightly, keeping me close to him, the smell of his masculinity wrapping around me—a scent that I’m slowly becoming accustomed to, memorising. My hands cling to his shirt, and I know that I’m possibly creasing it, but I don’t care. In fact, I’m glad: I don’t want him looking good for that auburn haired bitch vampire. I cling to him tighter, scrunching his shirt in my palms in spite. I hear his chest rumble with a deep laugh, and pull away just far enough to look up at him.

Tears line my eyes, and as I look up they trickle out and down my cheeks. He stops laughing and reaches with his hand, using his thumb to wipe them away.

“So pretty.” He smiles at me and I feel myself melt against him.

“Stop it. You can’t keep doing this to me. It’s not fair!” I sob. “I’m not your toy, yet you play with me as if I am.”

He looks ashamed but does not stop, as if possibly unable to stop himself. And I can understand that: to fight yourself is harder than to fight another.

How does he have this effect on me? After all this time of fighting my feelings and putting up walls, he is slowly bringing them down, and he doesn’t even want me. It’s a wasted effort, and one that is sure to hurt me in the long run, but I’m unable to stop myself falling for him.

His face becomes more serious as he moves his hands to my hair, cupping the back of my head and tilting my face up to meet his. My throat closes up, my fangs tingling for release, and if I were human I would take a deep, huge, shuddering breath, because the way he stares at me is breath taking.

He lowers his head, slowly, torturously slow. His hands fist my hair and then his lips are on mine and I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t do anything. I’m frozen to the spot. An electrical current runs from me to him, wrapping itself around us. It keeps my mouth frozen to his, my body melting against him. His tongue runs along my lips and I open up to him, tasting him—all of him—as his skilful mouth presses deeper to mine. His tongue invades me, finding my secrets, tasting them and making them his, and I can’t stop it from happening. I moan against him, wanting more, needing more.

“I’m so sorry, Mia,” he mumbles between frantic kisses.

He pushes against me until I bump into the wall behind, and then he kisses me harder, his tongue dancing with my own, and he bruises my lips with his force. His chest rumbles with yearning, his body close to mine, murderously close to mine. I grab his hips and pull him against me, feeling the hard length full of desire for me, and I want to cry out in frustration that we are here and not somewhere else.

His mouth leaves mine as it traces hot kisses down my throat, and I tilt my face up to the ceiling, inviting more of him, begging to be stolen away by his kisses. His hands leave my hair, gripping my waist tightly, his fingers pinching at the skin and making me gasp.

“Mia,” he mumbles between kisses.

“Yes, Evan,” I reply heatedly.

Not since that night that we spoke—the night he told me how and who made him the vampire he is—have I felt this close to him. I feel him giving in to me, allowing himself something that he has denied himself for too long, and I feel almost euphoric at the thought. He picks me up and I hook my legs around his waist in a tight grasp. He presses against me, presses hungry kisses over my mouth and throat.

His hand fumbles with the button on my jeans and I don’t care that anyone could walk past us right now, because in this moment there is just me and Evan, and we are all that matters in this cold, cruel world.

A door at the end of the hallway opens and closes, the music from inside the room getting loud and then quieting again, but the footsteps closing in on us make us pause.