I want him to kiss me again. I want more than that, but I’ll probably never see him again. I tell myself that that is a good thing; he’s dangerous and I don’t want him.
But as I settle down in my bed, my fingers brush along the place where he kissed me. The touch makes me shiver as I remember how I reacted to him.
Closing my eyes, I try to ignore the aching heat between my legs. Yeah, I really don’t want him at all.
Chapter Four
Everette
I sit on Farah’s bedroom windowsill as she sleeps. She really shouldn’t have left her window open. Who knows what sort of evil creature is lurking out there? Then again, none could be as depraved as me. That thought brings a smirk to my face.
The poor girl accidentally ran across the devil and here I am thinking that she needs to close her bloody window.
It’s amusing, watching her toss and turn, knowing that I’m the reason for her restless night. I don’t need to be able to read her mind to know that she’s dreaming about me.
The air is thick with her arousal as she wraps her legs in the sheets, until she’s tangled up beyond belief. The sight is alluring, and I almost get to my feet so that I can close the distance between myself and the sleeping girl.
Leaning back, I twirl my signet ring on my finger as I consider how best to enjoy her.
The possibilities seem infinite. I could invade her dreams, have her pining for my bite, even yearning for her own death, but then I wouldn’t get to taste the fear in her blood, something I crave almost as much as the blood itself.
I could wake her now with a surprise attack to her neck. She’d struggle, of course. She’d probably even scream. She’d definitely die though and that would be a waste. I won’t be satisfied with only one bite, even if that bite does bleed her dry.
I could lay my claim, take just one bite and leave, only to return tomorrow and the next day, and the day after that. Except I’m not convinced that I could. All the self-control in the world would not be enough to have me leaving this room after biting her.
It’s almost laughable. I’ve never put so much thought into how to eat my prey before.
Climbing down from the sill, I cross the threshold, the last barrier between us, as I enter her room. The humans would never be able to get a decent night’s sleep if they knew that the monsters they fear aren’t restricted from entering their homes. Stupid humans and their myths designed specifically to make them let their guards down.
I make my way towards her bed, before perching down on the edge next to the sleeping girl. Taking her wrist in my hand, I feel her pulse with my fingers. In her sleep, she foolishly, curls her body towards me, now at ease.
Humans are the only prey on the planet that fail to recognise their predator. It’s as if they are drawn to danger. Perhaps it’s simply evolution. I am everything she probably wants in a mate, except like the female praying mantis, I’ll be her destruction.
She moves again, wrapping an arm around my waist. Farah has me surrounded by her body, her head next to my thigh on one side and her knees on my other side. She looks so innocent, curled in the foetal position, completely unaware that her life is at risk at this very moment. Silly child.
I stay longer than I should, watching her sleep, all the while keeping my fingers trained on her pulse. I don’t move. I sit as still as a statue, until I can’t take it anymore.
It’s almost sunrise when I release her wrist and go to leave, but the still sleeping girl, reaches out to me and grabs my arm, whimpering under her breath.
It would be all too easy to stay. It would be even easier to put her in my car and take her to my house. People would worry about her for all of a week or two. They’d cry when her corpse is found, but it would all be forgotten quickly.
Everyone is forgotten eventually.
But that’s not a fate I think I want for her. The idea of her being forgotten feels unsettling, wrong somehow, although I can’t explain why.
I take one last look at the still sleeping girl and climb back onto the window sill, escaping through the open window, into the night, before jumping down to the shrubbery below.
Chapter Five
Farah
I wake with a start, shivering from the cold. Pulling the covers around me, I burrow my head into my pillow, not yet ready to get up. The sun still hasn’t fully risen and so I don’t even bother to check the time, as I close my eyes again.
I feel strangely alone as if someone else should be beside me and my mind returns to the strange man that I’d met the day before.
I’ll probably never see him again. I should be relieved. I’d gotten the distinct impression that his intentions were of a sinister nature. I’d certainly not felt safe. He had definitely given off serial killer vibes. And yet, I’d felt strangely drawn to him. More than that, I’d wanted him.
I’d wanted him to kiss me. I’d waited there stupidly, staring up at him and all I could think about is how much I wanted him to kiss me.
Sighing, I roll over onto my back and stare at the ceiling above. I’m probably not going to be able to fall back asleep, not when my mind is full of unhelpful thoughts about some nameless stalker.
The fact that I’m giving him even a moment’s thought is ridiculous. I should be considering calling the police, not thinking about kissing him.
He stole my book only to wait outside in the pouring bloody rain, just to give it back to me. I might not know his name but there’s one thing I know for sure. He’s not normal.
Everette
Sitting here is tedious. I’m in the same café from yesterday and as much as Farah’s blood sings to me, there’s only so many times I can watch her make an Americano.
This morning when I left her room, I didn’t go far. I waited in my car, just up the street out of sight, for her to wake and go about her business.
I’d been impatient, anticipating the moment when I’d be able to talk to her again. The moment when I’d be able to create a coincidence or blatantly walk up to her. Either would work. But neither was possible while she remained in her apartment.
I was frustrated when she didn’t leave her home until well after lunch, seriously considering re-entering her apartment and outright kidnapping the girl.
When she finally left, it was only to return to the café. I didn’t rush to follow her in, instead taking my time parking my car. As true as it might be, I wasn’t ready for her to know that I was following her.
Entering, after what felt like an age, I had approached the counter to place my order. A smiling waitress had offered to take my order at the table but I refused her, looking for an excuse to talk to Farah.
Talking to her was something I had been anticipating since the night before and there was no way I was going to give up this chance. Farah’s eyes locked with mine when she heard my voice, causing her to spill the coffee she was pouring, scolding her hand in the process.
I had to stop myself from rushing to her side. I wanted to check her hand and treat the burn. Not that I knew why.
It’s not like the burn would taint the taste of her blood.
As I kept my feet planted, I felt my lips twitch upwards. I was pleased to see she was nervous.
I was displeased when she just brushed off her colleagues’ help and continued as if she wasn’t hurt. Her hand was bright red and would no doubt blister.
I waited with more patience than the others in the queue. Although I enjoyed making her nervous, I didn’t want to see her hurt.
When it was finally my turn to order, I gave her a wide smile, doing my best to ignore the glare that I receive back.
“Hello Farah,” I said seductively.
The other women in the queue were busy whispering about me but I pretended not to hear them. Those sorts of whispers follow us Vampires around everywhere we go.
Apparently, the humans find us fascinating.
She didn’t respond to my greeting, instead rudely asking what I wanted. Chuckling slightly, I refrained myself
from answering honestly.
“An Americano will do for now,” I told her, lacing my words with more meaning than her silly little human brain would probably pick up. Her eyes widened and I wondered for a brief second, if perhaps her puny brain wasn’t that small after all.
Now hours later, I’m sat in the same corner as the day before. The only difference is that today she’s watching me too.
Chapter Six
Everette
Farah is doing her best to pretend my being here, doesn’t bother her. But she’s flustered, a pink blush rising up her neck and reaching her cheeks.
After another day of just watching her, my patience is wearing thin and I can feel my self-control begin to waver. The rest of the café’s staff watch me, intrigued as to why I’ve spent my whole day in their little café.
Unlike many of the people around me, I haven’t brought a book or a laptop to keep myself busy. My whole focus has been on Farah. All day.
There are things I should be doing; emails I could be replying too. Just because I’m a Vampire doesn’t mean I don’t work. It just means I do it more efficiently than most humans. I could check the stream of emails that has caused my phone to buzz on and off all day, but that would mean looking away.
I won’t look away. Not until I’ve marked her and maybe not even then.
One of the other baristas approaches my table, a wide smile brimming her face. “We’re closing now, Sir.” Her voice squeaks nervously.
Nodding my head, I pull out my credit card to pay my tab, all without taking my eyes off Farah.
She’s pulling on her coat. Apparently, she’s not closing tonight. A mental picture of walking her home flits through my mind but I refuse to entertain it. I don’t want to date her. I want to kill her.
Farah glances my way hesitantly before grabbing her bag and making a dart for the door, eager to escape while I’m tied up paying.
Chuckling to myself, I let her go. It’s not like she’ll get far. I’m a lot quicker than her.
Farah
I bolted out of there so quickly that now I’m two streets away and struggling to breathe. I don’t know why I bothered to run away. I should have just reported him to the police. Except he technically hasn’t really done anything wrong. At least nothing serious enough to actually get him in trouble.
I can hardly report him for stealing my book.
Stalking, however… If he keeps it up, I’ll definitely report him for that shit.
“The police won’t help you,” a voice says from behind me. It’s a voice I would recognise anywhere, a voice I dreamt about all last night and anticipated hearing most of the day. It’s a voice that scares the fucking bejesus out of me.
My heart plummets and I spin around to face him, only to realise that he’s far too close for comfort.
His eyes are molten silver and inhumanly beautiful. Instead of doing the sensible thing and stepping away from him, I lean forward, drawn to those eyes.
I’m not even sure that I’m actually breathing until he looks away momentarily, breaking whatever spell his eyes have me under.
Looking back, he asks, “can I offer you a lift home, Farah?”
My eyes automatically follow the hand he is holding up, gesturing towards an expensive car.
Shaking my head, I don’t speak. I’m not convinced I even know how to speak anymore. I avoid looking at him. I don’t want to be pulled in by those eyes or distracted by his chiselled jawline.
Up close, he’s as close to perfect as any man can be.
“I promise I won’t bite,” he says so lowly that I can barely hear him over the sounds of the traffic, “unless you ask me too, of course.”
I want to tell him that I’d never in a million years ask him to bite me, but then my mind wanders off to a world of its own, one right out of my fucking book and I’m picturing myself begging him to do just that.
Pinching myself, I try to organise my thoughts long enough for me to form an actual sentence.
“I don’t need a ride,” I tell him, surprised by how resolute I sound.
My instincts, common sense and every other possible intuition I possess is telling me to get the hell away from him, but my body seems to be on shut down and no longer listening to me.
I stand there unmoving, my lip held between my teeth, my mind coming up blank for all those reasons that only moments ago had made it seem so pertinent that I escape him.
“Would you like me to bite you, Farah?” The seductive tenor of his voice sends a jolt of electricity through me, making my insides clench needily.
“N-no,” I manage to stutter out. It’s a lie and the pleased look on his face, tells me he knows it.
He chuckles dryly before leaning forward slightly. This time I hold my ground. Why should I always be the one on the retreat? Holding out his hand, he says, “I haven’t introduced myself.”
He says it with such condescension that it’s hard to believe he’s as young as he looks. He looks no older than thirty-five and yet there are times, brief though they might be, where I wonder if he’s not actually just really good looking for his age. He talks more like someone inching towards sixty.
“How old are you?” I blurt out. I couldn’t care less what his name is. It’s not like I plan to see him ever again, but his age is something bizarrely fascinating.
“Old enough that you won’t be able to guess,” he replies with a smirk. His hand still outstretched; he looks down at it meaningfully.
“Er…” I look down at his hand too. The last thing I want to do is touch him. I’m scared as to what feelings that small, inconsequential touch might inspire.
I take it anyway. The words that I should say, that I will call the police if he doesn’t leave me alone, remain unsaid, as I stand there holding hands with him. He doesn’t shake it. This isn’t the greeting I’d been anticipating. Instead, he raises it to his mouth, kissing my palm gently. That small kiss sends tingles coursing over the surface of my skin and up my arm, until they reach my chest, where my heart begins to pound haphazardly against my ribcage.
“You didn’t answer my question, Farah.” His words sound like a censure. “Do you want me to bite you?”
He waits with a benign smile on his face, my hand still against his lips.
“You didn’t answer mine either,” I reply. “How old are you?”
“In some ways, I’m not much older than you and in others, its as if I’ve lived long enough to have done and seen everything.”
“You avoided the question,” I whisper.
Bemused, he nods his head. “At least I gave you an answer. Now, I’ll ask one last time, Farah. Do you want me to bite you?”
Chapter Seven
Farah
I am so close to telling him that I’d like him to bite me and yet I can’t understand why. In an attempt to stop myself from saying anything as stupid as ‘yes please’ I keep my mouth firmly clamped shut.
He steps towards me and I stumble backwards but he grabs me by the waist, pulling me against himself. My heart is pounding in my chest as I struggle to get free.
“Let me go,” I demand, lacking sincerity or the confidence to pull away.
“I don’t want to,” he tells me.
One hand on my waist, he lifts the other to my neck and leans down so he can kiss me. I try to push against his chest, but he’s too strong. My hands meet a wall of hard, unmovable muscle.
His lips on mine begin to move, his tongue licking a path along my lips. I exhale in surprise and he takes that as permission to thrust his tongue into my mouth. His hand at my neck, quickly fists in my hair, pulling harshly.
Nothing about this kiss is gentle. It’s forceful and demanding and I hate it but I equally love it.
I want to tell him to get the hell off me but I also want to beg him to kiss me more.
He steps towards me until my back meets the cold metal of his car door. Pushing me against it, he bites down softly on my lip and I taste the coppery tang of blood.
/> Gasping, I whimper. I’m scared by my own reaction to him. I kiss him back then, grabbing a hold of his shirt so that I can pull him closer still.
He chuckles into my mouth, before beginning to pull away.
“No,” I practically cry out, abandoning the self-control that I’ve been clinging to.
He lifts me with surprising ease and moves me about two foot to the side so that he can open the car door.
Holding it open, he smiles down at me. I’m leaning against the back door, trying without much success to get my breath back.
“Get in,” he demands and this time I don’t hesitate.
Everette
What the hell am I playing at?
I shouldn’t have kissed her. There’s a human saying that fits this situation perfectly; ‘don’t play with your food.’ I can still taste her blood on my lips, but more than that I can still taste her saliva on my tongue.
I want to kiss her again.
The urge to bite her and my new desire to kiss her are equally compelling as I force myself to ignore the girl who is sat beside me in the car. My hands are strained against the steering wheel, as I try to focus all my attention on driving even though it usually takes less than a fifth of my mental capacity.
She’s quiet and I wonder if I should say something. Except, I don’t usually talk to my food either. My ears are full of the sound of her heart pounding against her ribcage.
I’m silently chastising myself that I should have just bitten her the very first time I smelt her blood, several weeks back, instead of allowing myself to become so completely infatuated with the scent, exposing myself to it, day in and day out, for weeks on end.
I’d been scared to waste it. She smelt too good to drain in one go, but now weeks later, even the idea of spilling any of her essence feels wasteful.
When we pull up in front of her apartment block, I do my best not to look at her. I’m scared that if I look at her, I’ll kiss her. If I kiss her, I’ll want to do more.
I can’t afford to forget that she’s human.
INSTINCT (The Elite Book 1) Page 2