Limerence II (17 page)

We stand toe to toe, me looking up and him looking down, his huge frame towering over me. It wasn’t long ago when I used to feel small and weak in front of him. But now? No, now I feel strong and powerful—perhaps more so than him, because I’ve embraced my darker side.

He looks down on the prone body with no emotion and then back to me, his eyes swimming in and out of focus. “What is this?” he scowls. “You drain humans now?”

I smile proudly, like a cat bringing a dead mouse to its owner. “This was my supper.” I gesture a lazy hand towards the body. “You missed the party.” I take a step forward, placing a hand on his muscular chest. “But we can start a new party, if you like.” I find it amusing how he continues to act like I am still Mia, that I am still weak and caring.

He huffs, his breathing hard, his muscles stretching beneath my palm. I lick my lips, my gaze following the crazy patterns around his body. I can smell his anger; it smells like sulphur, and is strangely intoxicating.

“Mia, this isn’t you.” He grips my shoulders harshly and I release a laugh and step back from him, letting his hands fall away.

“No, it’s not, because Mia is not here anymore. But I think that you’ll find me far more fun.” I palm my own breasts through the material of my dress, delighting in his response, his arousal showing in the colours surrounding him.

“Stop it.” He grips my wrists, his chest rumbling on his words. “Bring her back.”

I laugh and press my body to his, loving the feel of his hard chest against me. “She’s gone, Evan. So either come play, or stay away.”

“Never.”

I smile, slipping from his grip with ease, and step over the body of the man on the floor. I can still smell his blood, though his body is drained of it, but my senses are so alive with it—with him—that it makes me hungry all over again. The more I think about it, the more eager I am for more. My body begins to hum with want. I can feel the craving snaking up my spine, trembling through every nerve ending.

“Tick tock, time to decide.” I laugh as I back away slowly, watching his aura dance around him. He’s confused, unsure, eager, and still a little turned on, which amuses me even more. No matter how hard he tries to fight it—fight me—desire always wins. Our blood bond, made true as I was set free, is too hard for either of us to fight.

I reach the entrance of the alleyway and turn around, glancing back over my shoulder and hoping he will follow me. I want him by my side in this, but he is not necessary in my goal and he will not change what is to become. “Goodbye, Evan.”

I walk away, the clicking of my heels against the pavement the main sound against the thrumming of the world around me. I swallow and take a deep breath. The air feels alive inside me, filling me with a life I will never have again. My ears zero in on another sound, and I smile as Evan catches up, falling in step beside me.

“I am here to help Mia when she breaks free from you. I will be here waiting for her.” His voice rumbles.

I say nothing but continue to walk back towards the club I just left.

“So, where to?” he asks without looking at me, the sound of his knuckles cracking the only irritating thing about this moment. His face is set in to a hard scowl, his hard jaw with the shadow of a rough beard well on its way twitching with excess nervous energy.

“Dancing, of course!” I laugh.

I wake to a
groaning. It’s loud and yet far away all at the same time, but I can’t fathom where it is coming from. I turn on to my side and peek an eye open, wincing and closing my eyes rapidly against the blinding light that shines in my face.

“What is that?” I mumble against the soft fabric of a pillow, gesturing towards the bright light beaming down on me. My head pounds, making me grimace. “And what is wrong with me?” I grumble and clutch my head.

One of the things with being an all-powerful freaking vampire is that you don’t feel like this, ever. No headaches, no pain, nothing. So to feel pain like this, is…annoying, to say the least.

The air around me moves, and then Evan’s smell wraps around my body, alighting my senses. It’s both painful and delightful. I quirk an eye open again and stare up at his chiselled face. Even in this state, I can appreciate his appeal. I stretch with a purr, taking in his physique: broad shoulders, biceps that flex with strength, and taught stomach muscles.

“You stayed.” I smile.

“I stayed for her, not you. And that is a blood hangover.” His brow furrows. “I brought you water to help clear your system.”

I smile wider. “So you do care.” I pull myself up to sitting, my eyes going wide at the large jug of water he’s holding.

“I never said I didn’t care. Only that I care for Mia, not…” his words trail off, a look of distaste on his face.

“Me?” I add with a flutter of my thick eyelashes.

“Precisely,” he replies dryly.

“And that?” I gesture towards the jug with a scowl.

“This, my little imposter, is enough water to clear your head and stop the pounding in your skull.” He hands me a glass and deftly pours from the jug. “So, drink up, Buttercup.” He smirks, enjoying seeing me squirm.

I laugh, even though it pains me, to see him relaxing enough to call me something so affectionate leads me to believe that possibly he isn’t a lost cause after all. I drink the first glass quickly, not enjoying the bland taste on my tongue or feeling the sensations being doused inside of me. I hand him back the glass, which he deftly refills and hands me straight back. I roll my eyes and take it, swallowing the water down slower this time. I don’t like the way it numbs my senses. Though more alive and alert than they have been in a very long time, the water makes me feel muted.

I frown at it and then at him before handing it back over. I can’t deny that the pounding has stopped, but it also dulls the rest of my senses. I watch him carefully pouring the third glass, the jug only halfway empty.

“I need to drink all of that?” I curl my lip in disgust. The problem with water is that not only is it numbing my senses, but it also tastes like nothingness—like licking a stone on a beach but without the taste of salt or beach or…

“You do if you want to feel better.” His deep brown eyes bore into mine, his chiselled jaw twitching rapidly. “You drank a lot last night.” His words come easy to him, but I see the distaste he has for them.

I take the third glass and sip from it. “I only remember two, The enchanting man from the alleyway that tasted of anger, and the waitress from the bar who seemed quite grateful to be free of her burden.” I take another sip, watching him over the rim of the glass.

“There were six altogether, and you kept three as souvenirs.” His face stays hard and calm, waiting for my reaction.

“Six?” I question with a smirk. “I was a hungry girl.” I place the glass on the cabinet next to me and pull my covers back, revealing my scantily clad body. “And you undressed me.” I stand and smile, pressing myself against his hard chest. “Evan, did you take advantage of me?” My head still has a dull throb, but I ignore it as best I can.

Evan grips my arms, which are hanging around his neck, and pries me off him. “No, I did not.”

I laugh. “Oh, Evan, but we both know how you want me.” I delight as shame flushes his face. “How you crave me, and dream of me naked against you.” I step towards him again, and he steps back. I tut at him. “Naughty boy, did you think it wasn’t obvious? She knew, she always knew.”

I step forwards again. The carpet feels lush under my bare toes and I wriggle them, enjoying the sensations. I’m wearing only a black silk camisole and panties, and I can feel his eyes roving my body even as he backs away with a shake of his head. To refuse me—my body, goes against everything that he is, yet still he fights it. Fights himself.

“This could be your chance, Evan. This could be your time to get everything that you ever wanted.” I lick my lips, grip the bottom of my camisole, and pull it up and over my head, revealing my bare breasts to him. He stares with disgrace at me as I continue to back him in to a corner.

“You need to drink your water,” he mutters, his eyes still on my breasts. My hips. My curves.

“You need to wear less clothing,” I tease.

“This isn’t right.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His eyes finally look away from my body and rove the room, landing anywhere but on me.

“And yet it feels as if you’ve been waiting for me your whole life, does it not?”

His back is against the wall and I step up close, invading his personal space. My breasts press against his chest, and I reach up on tiptoes and place my arms around his neck, locking our bodies together tightly, enjoying watching him squirm. I lick my lips again, my fangs dropping down as heat builds in my belly.

A flurry of colour explodes above him, passionate colours made by a passionate man barely constraining himself.

“Don’t fight it, Evan,” I whisper, unbuttoning his shirt with slow, deliberate movements. I lean down and kiss the centre of his chest. “Not everything has to be a war between us. Let me show you how much fun we can have together.”

He swallows again but doesn’t speak, perhaps too afraid of his own response. For such a strong man, he seems so very weak right now, and it’s almost a turn-off. Almost.

I bite into him and my stomach flips in pleasure as he grunts out at the act of my fangs pricking his skin. Small drops of blood ooze from the two puncture holes I’ve made, and make lazy red trails down his hard chest and rippling abdomen. I let them slide down to the waistband of his jeans before dropping to my knees and lapping at them, groaning with a growing need. He shudders, gasping as my nails claw down his sides, I watch in glee as his jaw grinds with self-restraint.

“Let go, Evan,” I whisper against his stomach, watching as goose bumps break out on his skin and he groans deeper again, a deep rumbling coming from within his chest. I smile against him. “Let go of her.”

I kiss up his chest, my teeth grazing a path towards his throat. But when I look into his face, it’s gone. Whatever was there is gone, and in its place is a coldness staring back. He pushes me to one side and walks away.

“No.”

I spin on my heel, finally taking in the room, and laughing loudly—a cackle of sorts. My three ‘souvenirs’, as he put it, are still here, in disarray around the room. A blond man, shirtless, lies along the chaise lounge, one leg limply hanging to the floor. A woman with thick black hair hanging to her waist sits slumped in the corner. A thin trickle of blood has dried from neck to breasts. And finally, a brunette woman: long legs that go on for miles and clothes that give away her previous job experience.

Evan is watching me, his hands clasped in his hair in despair. I smile at him but he doesn’t return it—merely continues to stare.

“You need to finish your water,” he says darkly.

“It looks like I had fun last night.” I walk towards him, feeling my silken hair softly trailing down my back. “Tell me, Evan, did you have fun last night?”

He scowls at me and I laugh again. I pick up my glass and take another sip of it. My head is still sore, and I don’t like it. It makes me feel weak, and slow. The water douses the pain, but makes me feel numb to everything; the colours in the room are dampening as I swallow. I watch Evan while I drink, my eyes narrowing. I finish the glass and place it back on the table. Evan walks over to the jug and begins to pour me another. The water sloshes against the sides of the glass, like liquid glass it fills to the brim and I stare mesmerised as it overflows. Yet still Evan pours, unaware of the mess he is making. Unaware as the overflowing crystal water trails down his arm all the way to his elbow and drips a slow path to the carpet.

I swallow, my head spinning.

“Drink. You’ll feel better.” His voice invades my thoughts.

His voice seems slower, and when I look around, the entire room seems slower. A fly moves past me and I watch as its tiny wings beat rapidly, yet I see each flap, each beat of perfect wing. I look to my souvenirs, seeing their wretched faces. They will wake soon, and what will become of them then, I wonder?

“Drink, imposter.”

His voice again, darker, deeper, imploring my soul to freedom. I look up at him, making eye contact and keeping it, and for once he does not look away but stares deep into my eyes, locking me in his gaze. I attempt a smile but struggle to move my muscles. His hand reaches out, taut muscles straining against shirt, the smear of blood still on his chest. My own chest feels full and heavy as he tips the water to my lips and I swallow, the coldness worming its way down my oesophagus and into the pit of my overfull stomach.

Full of blood.

Human blood.

My eyes widen and I knock the glass away with a snarl. His lip rises in a grimace of its own, but I lash out across his face before he can say or do anything, sending him hard into the wall, dust falling down around him.

I stalk over to the brunette, grip the front of her T-shirt, and drag her up to standing. She stirs but does not fully rouse, and I turn so that Evan can watch as I bite into her throat, pulling away flesh as I gulp down her blood rapidly, feeling the fire stoke back alight inside me.

The room at once comes back into focus, my head—though still pounding—feels better than it did moments ago. I swallow her warm blood down messily, the blood splashing over my naked breasts and running rivers between my thighs, and when I am done I drop her body and turn to Evan with a smile.

“She is gone,” I snarl.

And we both know that I’m talking more about poor Little Mia than I am about this woman whose blood I just drank.

“Forever,” I say