by Liza James
So, I inch my touch up even higher, moving incredibly slow in order to allow her the space to stop me if needed. I don’t know why I want this from her, but I do. Maybe claim one thing for myself before she’s owned by another in their Fated bond. My fingertips graze the single tie which holds her hair up into that familiar knot. Na’amah’s eyes shut, her long lighter lashes splaying over her cheeks as her chest suddenly rises in a single breath.
The air cools again, turning almost frigid and I feel my body begin trembling in the space she’s pinning me in. But her hand moves to my waist and drags me even closer, somehow melding us together while she allows me the time to work the tie free of her hair. I settle considerably, allowing the blend of my heat and her ice to join in a comfortable energy moving easily through us. I’ve never felt this before between us, and I’m falling so deeply into the presence of this peace I don’t want to let go of.
Bit by bit, her hair frees itself just slightly. I press my fingertips to it, working it loose until it cascades down and around her face. Her eyes continue remaining closed, but I gasp slightly at the sight before me when she finally opens her eyes and meets mine.
There’s something on fire within her, licking through her irises and sparking against my body. I feel it, this sudden burst of something powerful between us, and as I slide my fingers through the short strands framing the right side of her face—I’m awe struck.
She’s stunning. In ways that are both powerful and passionate. She’s this enticing, magnetic blend of what’s beauty and fight. Strength and compassion. So many aspects she’s never shared with me before.
Her hair is straight, white blonde over her creamy skin and such a stark contrast to her bright blue eyes. It’s short, but falls down to almost her jawline when not tucked neatly on top of her head.
“I love it,” I whisper, feeling the soft strands slip against my fingers as I continue touching it and watching her.
But she’s watching me silently and when I finally look to her eyes again, I’m struck in what feels like absolute possession by her.
“Tell me this is different,” she finally speaks, taking my hand in hers and halting my touch. “Tell me you haven’t ever felt this before. Not with any of those girls you’ve wasted time with in the past.” Her gaze searches mine, and features sharp and alert as she demands this. “I know about them. I can feel your past when I touch you. Even when you’re slick with arousal, when I know all you can do is think about me being inside of you. I still know you’ve experienced something painful and yet powerful with someone else.”
“I can’t let this be different, I can’t acknowledge that.” I admit, feeling the sting of my own rejection working through me. Especially now that I know there is a chance I could lose her to her Fated. “And now that I know there is a chance you could be Fated to someone else?” Shaking my head, I try to pull my hand free of her grip. “Never. I will never let myself completely surrender to this.”
“I’ve already found my Fated,” she replies, tightening her hold as she lifts my inner wrist to her lips. She pulls back just slightly, enough to let me watch as her fangs descend and her tongue slides over the tips of them. Everything inside of me turns hot, sticky and slick as my core pounds while I watch her. It’s overwhelming how quickly my body reacts to her so naturally, even her vampirism, as if that is already built into my DNA as my addiction. “You would never lose me to someone else, Kitten.”
She drags her fangs along the sensitive skin of my inner wrist, her tongue pressing over my rapidly increasing pulse. Her other hand slides between my legs, her knuckles dragging over my jeans as disappointment floods me in being able to be touched by her like I’m envisioning now. But she already knows, and her fingers are unzipping me before sliding under the waistband and over my clit. She groans against my skin as she bites me gently, her nose brushing the same place as she breathes in. “Do you know why?” she asks, and the quiet, terrified answer reveals itself at the back of my mind.
But it’s impossible.
There’s no way. I’m not a Fallen Angel. I’m an average, normal girl from the city. I’m a stripper. I come from a shit family, and a shit line of ancestors.
There’s nothing special. If I know anything for sure, it’s that.
“No,” I reply, not wanting to even give myself to the potential hope of what this could be.
“Yes you do,” she responds, her tone sharp and husky over my skin. Her fingers slide lower through my pussy, circling my opening as I widen my stance and my hips roll forward uncontrollably. I want more of her touch, her fangs, her Bite. I want all of it, coursing through me until she’s become every bit a part of me as I want to be of her.
“That’s not possible,” I whisper as she pushes inside and my fingers quickly grip the back of her neck while I steady myself.
“You have some sort of celestial blood in your history, whether it’s Angel or Demon blood, I’m not sure. But I knew it the moment I met you, it’s why I came back to steal you when I shouldn’t have.” She sinks inside my pussy, going deep and slow before pulling out and thrusting inside again. I’m already losing my strength to feel of her fucking me, to the way her eyes are devouring my body as she claims me.
I’m moaning, small whimpers escaping my lips as my hands fight to roam over her body. I want to touch her, to feel her just as she’s feeling me in this moment. I drop down to her waist, struggling to keep my focus as she pumps in and out of me in a slow, languid rhythm. She’s fucking teasing me, because I know how she can fuck me and she knows how badly I need it from her.
But in the next instant her other hand is yanking my jeans down over my ass and thighs, her heavy boot stomps between my legs, shoving them down around my ankles so she can move quicker in side of me.
Fuck, she feels so good, and I’m desperate to know how this is affecting her now as well.
I don’t ask, but I meet her eyes head on as I slowly unbutton the top of her jeans. She watches me, not speaking a word of refusal as she slides through my arousal and coats my clit with my own cum. I unfasten her jeans and slide my hand incrementally lower, feeling the sweet softness of her skin. I’m craving it, suddenly eager and filled with my own desperate desire to go further.
But it’s then that grips my wrist and stops my movement, leaning her face even closer to my own, her lips brushing against mine as she whispers heated words. “I haven’t let anyone touch me in years. I control every aspect of every encounter. I don’t give anyone these pieces of me.” And then her hold changes drastically, shifting from restraint to encouraging my touch. She pushes my hand down the front of her jeans, surrendering to this just as I am.
If there is anything that has proven exactly how this connection is different, it’s these moments right now. “I know,” I reply, sliding down until my finger meets her clit and she breathes out over my skin. I whimper at my own touch, needy for more as she begins fucking me faster and harder. I want to be naked, stripped of every barrier between us so that we can connect.
“Tell me what this is then,” I say frantically, consumed by wild energy whipping around us. I move lower, feeling just at slick and wet she is between her thighs. I move through her pussy, imagining the way my fingers will feel as they slide inside of her and she stretches around me. “Tell me what I am to you.”
Her hips roll forward as I move over her opening, and she fucks herself on my hand as a deep moan falls from her mouth. I swallow it, every sound she’s giving me because I want everything I can possibly take from her now. I want to fuck her, get her on her back like she’s done with me, feel her come on my touch while she writhes beneath me.
I want her to break. After everything she’s done to me, I want the same from her.
“You’re my Fated,” she replies softly, saying the word with such passion I haven’t heard from her before. Her other hand suddenly grips my throat, holding me against the dresser as an orgasm builds inside of me. She drops her fangs to my throat and for a moment, I thi
nk she may Bite me, give every single aspect I could ever want all at once. “My other half. The connection my soul has always longed for.”
I can hardly believe it, but her words rip through me as I work higher and higher to my own release. I pull out of her and pump inside, watching her tits shift with every thrust and listening to the breathy words she satisfies me with.
“Fuck, you feel so good, Skilla.” She says, her tongue licking along my collarbone before gripping the neckline of my shirt and yanking it downwards. “The way you fuck me, the sounds you make while I’m deep inside of you. Everything is different.”
I want to respond, but when I open my mouth everything changes.
All at once. In a wild, chaotic storm that shatters the safe space around us.
Before I even know what’s happening, my hand is ripped from Na’amah and she’s throwing me back so roughly that my head smashes against the hard surface of the wall and my vision goes black for a moment. When I come to, I frantically yank my jeans back up my legs before catching sight of Rowan, holding a gun in front of himself as he points it at Na’amah’s chest. She’s standing ahead of him, her hand splayed out in front of her, her spine straight and her shoulders wide with her attention focused purely on him. Her jeans are still undone, open at her waist but without a single ounce of care in her demeanor.
“You stole my little sister,” Rowan speaks, his head tilted to the side as if he’s simply curious of her. “My little pet.”
My skin pulls tight at his sadistic tone, and I cringe over his words at the same time that a predatorial hiss spills from N’amah’s mouth. “Do you have any semblance of self-preservation, Rowan?” She asks him, her own head matching his tilt, her steps inching forward subtly.
He scoffs, and I already know he thinks he has the power here. If it were just him against her, I’d feel confident Na’amah was safe. But the fact that his gun sits in his trembling hands has me terrified of the outcome in this situation. “There’s something different about you, I can tell. Something sick and twisted. It doesn’t surprise me that you were drawn to her.” He nods my direction without meeting my gaze. “She’s a little fucked up; a stupid little whore. But she does as she’s told.”
His words hardly affect me now, so familiar and comfortable I am when I hear them from him. But it’s the way venomous Na’amah growls so fiercely in his direction that suddenly frightens me. Not for his safety, not at all, but for hers against that fucking gun. One moment and he’d pull that trigger. She isn’t fast or strong enough to outrun a bullet.
Rowan’s face suddenly changes at the sound of her growl, his eyes widening at the sight before he stumbles back just briefly. “What the fuck?” He stammers, and I glance back to her to see her fangs have descended fully as she steps closer once again.
“You’re pathetic, weak nature has you raping and abusing your step-sister. Why is that, Rowan? How vile, how sick must you be to sleep at night so soundly, knowing every touch you steal from her is taken, never given.” She moves again, and his eyes remain glued to her fangs as she does. “You do know that, don’t you? She doesn’t love you.” Na’amah’s voice drops low and hushed, her hand stilling in front of her as Rowan’s hand grows even shakier. “She’ll never want you. No one will. You’ll grow up alone, imprisoned in your own mind of terrors and darkness. Because that’s just it at the end of the day, isn’t it? You’ll never be wanted by anyone.”
Rowan’s lips part on a strangled cry of anger and rage. He’s breathing heavily, and I can see the pure terror wracking his body as Na’amah nears him. I already know things are spiraling far too out of control, Na’amah is pushing him too far with a loaded gun waving directly in her face.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I open my mouth to speak, desperate to come between them when I shift up onto my knees and move forward. But I’m not quick enough, and when the loud explosion from the gun suddenly rips through the air, I can only watch as Na’amah snaps into action. In an instant, that ice I know she carries detonates from her hand, rushing forward in a tumultuous burst that suddenly overtakes Rowan completely. From head to toe, it grows in icy spires at his feet, surrounding him in a cage of ice that locks him completely in place.
I cry out at the same time, watching as Na’amah stumbles back on her feet and clutches her chest. She’s gasping, in a way that scares me to my very core. Quickly, she falls back on the floor, and I immediately crawl to her, coming over her slender frame as she falls back against the side of my bed.
“Na’amah,” I cry out, my eyes rushing over her body and inspecting for any injuries. I’m quick to find her hand clutching her stomach, her fingers caked in blood that seeps from her clear wound. “No, no. This can’t be happening. Tell me what to do, how can I fix this?” I frantically say, looking to her eyes as she watches me in silence. God, she seems calm, so completely focused on me while blood dangerously flows from her wound.
“I need blood,” she replies, her words spill in jagged syllables and her breathes come in rapid strokes. “From one of the other girls.”
“No, you can use me,” I say, offering my wrist and lifting it quickly to her lips. But she yanks her head away from me, hissing as her fangs scrape over her lower lip. “Please, Na’amah. I can’t get one of the other girls for you here.”
“No,” she growls out, her tone so loud and strangled it vibrates through my bones and startles me. “My sisters will know; they’ll be here soon. They’ll feel this.”
“You’re kidding me, right? Let me give this to you, please. I’m begging you. Use me to heal yourself, Na’amah.” I launch forward again, lifting my wrist back toward her when she uses her free hand to shove me back. God, she’s still so strong when she’s like this, and a furious rage washes over me at that fact. “For fuck’s sake, Na’amah! Give me this!” I have the sudden idea to find something I can use around my room. I quickly glance to the left and right, scanning the ground for something sharp.
My eyes catch the edge of something shoved underneath my dresser. I drop to my stomach and slide my hand toward it, patting around until I feel the narrow object under my fingers. I yank it out, gripping the pen tightly as I sit back on my heels and quickly unscrew the tip. I drop the pieces out of it—the ink cartridge, the spring, and leave the tip off. Na’amah’s breaths are becoming heavier, thick with something sounding wet and sticky while she watches me.
“What the hell are you doing, Skilla?” She asks, moving to sit up slightly but immediately flinching in pain.
I don’t answer her, instead, I tightly grip both ends of the pen and bend harshly until it snaps. Sharp, jagged edges of plastic are formed on either side. My lips rise in a knowing grin, accomplishing exactly what I was intending to. It’s in that next moment I lift my wrist take one half of the pen in order to press it against the thin, sensitive skin there. Before Na’amah can ask what’s happening, I dig the sharp edge into my flesh, dragging it horizontally until bright red blood seeps from the wound and spill across my arm.
Another catastrophic shift in our dynamic alters the already disastrous space between us, and my eyes snap up when I hear the sudden excruciating groan from Na’amah. Her lips pull back in a fierce growl, the sound practically shaking the space around us as her eyes go wide and black veins hastily erupt over her eyes and down her cheeks.
“Na’amah—” I shout, lifting my arm at the same time she lunges forward from the bed and throws her fist forward. A wall of ice envelopes me, throwing me backwards so powerfully that I slam against the wall once again. I try to move, but I’m pinned still, sharp tines of ice covering my chest and arms as they secure me tightly to the wall at my back. Everything is frozen, so incredibly cold as I’m held tightly in place and that blood dries over the flesh of my wrist. “Let me go,” I snap, as my eyes meet Na’amah’s on the other side of the room.
Hers are different. Wildly so. Black orbs of complete and total ravenous hunger radiate outwards.
Her chest is heaving with every
agonizing breath. The sounds she now releases are strangled and her teeth grind behind her fangs as she fights to hold herself back.
I can see the war raging around her, practically feel it billowing between us. A rage I’ve never known overtakes her and spills into the atmosphere around me. We’re both livid, fighting for opposing ends of the same spectrum.
“Do not move. Do not breathe. Don’t fucking speak.” Her voice is dripping with poison, an animalistic sound that terrifies me. My lips slip shut and my own words are halted in my throat. I can only sit in this space of chaos, watching this woman, this Vampire, that has become everything to me, bleed away and die.
“You cannot let me watch this,” I breathe out quietly. Trying to remain as still as possible as Na’amah cries out once again. “I can’t watch you die. Do you understand me?”
“Stop talking,” she says, and her teeth grit together as her back arches off the bed and she cries out.
An all-consuming pain rips through me, as if I can feel my insides splintering apart inside of me. I don’t understand it, but I feel it all the same, wracking through my blood and screaming to be near her. In my heart, I feel it’s the only possible way to fix this, and yet it’s Na’amah herself that forces me away from her.
With every passing moment, the pain intensifies. It lingers, growing in waves of decimation in my body. Her eyes grow impossibly darker, her skin turning pale with those stark contrasting veins devouring more and more of her body as she remains away from me. My heart feels as though it will collapse, beating so quickly in my chest I wonder if that alone will kill me.
I’m not sure how long I’ll survive this, my eyes fighting a war in itself to remain open and on the woman across from me. Deeper, more complex emotions and realizations work through me at the end, forcing me to face ideas and desires I wouldn’t have before.