Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
He’s out of control.
I’m out of control.
The desire is unbearable, but this time Katya does not tell us to stop. Instead she kneels beside me and cuts her own wrist with that long nail, the blood welling up dark and rich. She holds it above my mouth—a sacrament—and I drink greedily, pulling her down to me like she’s the only thing I’ll ever need to survive.
Her blood is thick as honey, sweet as sin. It rushes through me like wildfire, fusing with Victor’s need until it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.
There is only blood and sex—blood and lust—blood and abandon.
The sounds we make would shame even the most decadent of mortals: moans that spiral higher, echoing into madness; ragged gasps as Callahan thrusts deeper than ever; cries wrenched from both of us when he finally lets himself go completely at last. He rattles and shakes like a man possessed.
Tatiana joins us on the chaise now, her lips everywhere at once, blue eyes blazing in triumph as she draws fresh lines across my skin for Victor to follow with ravenous devotion.
“Yes,” Katya breathes against my ear. “This is what you are. What makes you special.”
I feel a rush of power—not just from vampire blood but from something more primal—that surges through body and mind alike.
Victor sinks his teeth into my shoulder with desperate yearning, not quite breaking the skin but almost. I wrap my legs around him tighter still, driving him deeper inside me.
It’s too much—it should be too much—but instead it takes us somewhere beyond anything we’ve ever known before.
Then, a frenzied release. It plows through me like a train, shatters all sense of time or space—shatters everything except the wild certainty that I was made for this moment—made for him—and nothing can ever be the same now that we’ve crossed this line together.
When it’s over—or when it changes into something less consuming—we lie half on, half off the lounger, tangled in each other’s limbs, covered in blood and sweat and whatever remains of our sanity.
Tatiana reclines on the floor beside us like a satisfied lioness after the kill; Katya strokes my hair with unexpected tenderness while they both watch Victor expectantly—as if waiting for something that has yet to happen but soon will because nothing else could possibly follow what just did except more chaos…
I am lost beneath him but also found—in this moment where nothing matters except his body against mine and the pulse of my own heart pounding its reckless rhythm into every corner of my being.
Tatiana’s laughter swells around us like music rising toward crescendo just as I feel myself start to drift off to sleep.
“Rest now, Lena,” Katya says, sounding so far away. “The both of you need to rest.”
23
CALLAHAN
Iwake to the taste of blood and perfume.
Consciousness filters back slowly, like light through murky water. First comes awareness of my body—limbs heavy, mouth dry, head pounding with a ferocious hangover unlike any I’ve experienced before. Then sensations: cool sheets against my skin, the distant hum of traffic, the smell of unfamiliar soap.
And Lena.
Her scent is unmistakable even through the lingering miasma of whatever was in my system. I feel her presence like a physical touch.
When I finally force my eyes open, I’m greeted by an unfamiliar ceiling. Cracked plaster, water stains in the corner, a light fixture that’s seen better days. A cheap hotel room.
How the fuck did I get here?
“Welcome back,” Lena’s voice comes from somewhere to my right.
I turn my head to find her sitting in a threadbare armchair by the window, a cigarette burning between her fingers. Light filters through yellowed curtains, casting her in golden silhouette. She’s wearing a man’s shirt—my shirt, I realize—and nothing else. Her red hair tumbles loose around her shoulders, and her face is scrubbed clean of makeup.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,
And sexy as hell.
“Where are we?” My voice comes out as a rasp.
“The Palmetto Hotel. Downtown.” She takes a drag from her cigarette, watching me with dark eyes that reveal nothing. “You don’t remember getting here, do you?”
Fuck. More memories lost? I push myself up against the headboard, wincing as my muscles protest. Fragments flash through my mind—a mansion in the hills, a pool gleaming under moonlight, people watching us with hungry eyes. And Lena…Christ, Lena and those women…
“I remember some things,” I admit, something like shame washing over me. “Not how we left. Not coming here.”
She nods as if this confirms a theory. “They let us go later. I drove us in your car. You were not yourself.”
“What happened?” I ask, though part of me doesn’t want to know. “Was I…did I transform?”
“No,” she says, and I exhale loudly. “Almost, but no.” She stubs out her cigarette and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, careful to maintain distance between us. “What do you remember?”