"Clara," I called the little Fae, beckoning her closer with a hand extended. "It's been far too long."
The Fae crossed the room, hands folded in front of her. She walked with an expert grace that spoke of her age. Her appearance may have looked like she was a child, but I knew from our previous meeting that she was at least four hundred years old, and one of the oldest in her Court. Never married, never defiled or broken by a vow of eternal chastity. It was why her blood remained one of the strongest items to cure any aliment that plagued an immortal.
"In my lifetime, the distance between our initial meeting and this moment is but a breath of air into my lungs," she said, smiling. She stood in front of me, taking one of my hands and bringing it up to her lips to kiss. "Why have you called me so soon?"
The bitter smile on my lips shined through, but I held back the urge to be my normal self to her. "I'm sure you know why. Your blood isn't your only talent."
"Oh, Caroline," she said, sighing softly. Her hand slipped free from mine and moved down along my side, hovering above the area where my dress hid the twisted wound. "What did you do to get yourself in such danger?"
The damned animal biting me was a big start, but instinct told me this was much more than just some immortal wanting a piece of the hybrid. Glancing over at Sam, I watched as he shook his head, echoing my thoughts. Telling Clara wasn't a good idea. Besides, I knew not to share my details. If she was involved, even if indirectly, it could be the tip off my hunter would need to finish the job. I wasn't looking to die, not yet. I hadn't tired of the endless sex yet. Not to mention my banging wardrobe and fashion connections.
"Can you fix it?" I asked, hopeful.
She kept her hand poised above the area of the wound, using her other hand to gently push me back. "Perhaps," she said. "But first, I must see the extent of your damages."
In other words, she wanted me naked. No problem. I fought against her pushing me down, sitting up and slipping the clingy fabric over my head. My matching crimson bra and laced panties provided a shock of color to the pale room.
Setting my dress on the top of the chair, I leaned back, moving my legs up onto the bottom of the seat, and raising my hands above my head. It felt bizarre, positioning myself in a way that only my partners engaged. It left me feeling, as much as I hated to admit it, vulnerable.
Clara waited patiently as I undressed and spread out on the chair, keeping her hands folded in front of her as she stood straight. Once I had stopped squirming, her hands moved back to the wound, and she bent forward, hovering her face above the wound. I snuck a peek of the damage again, only to wish I hadn't. The wound had grown, ripping further into my abdomen, dipping closer to my hip bone. I was like a damn doll whose stitches were unraveling before her black button eyes and no needle with thread in sight.
The Fae studied the wound for what felt like an eternity, brushing her fingertips along the edges of the wound where my ragged, torn flesh flapped uselessly. Her lips pulled down in a small frown as she touched a spot just inside the wound, a thick and white liquid covering her fingertip. "What did this to you?"
"I don't know," I replied, honest. The verdict was still out on what, or who, attacked me. All I knew was that I was growing more anxious by the minute, and if Clara didn't help me soon, I would be a pile of shredded immortal flesh on the floor, all grey and blue. "Will your blood heal it?"
"I cannot say for certain," she said with a sad look in her eyes. "But, we can try. You did, after all, turn in the chip."
Nodding, I moved slightly on the chair, wincing as pain fluttered across my side and into my feet. "Ready when you are."
Clara moved methodically, undoing the belt of her robe and letting it slide off of her shoulders to the floor in a soft whisper. Underneath, she was dressed in a gentle white gown, strapless and decorated in a line of gold rings across the top. She moved down onto one knee at a time, graceful with every move of her body, as if she were aware of every direction around her. Moving closer to the top of the chair, Clara moved her hair away from her neck, exposing the untouched and unblemished skin to my eyes.
"Drink," she said, speaking as soft as a lullaby. "Take into you what belongs to me, and heal."
I was never the type to indulge in my fangs. Being half-vampire tended to put a damper on my mood all the time. Blood never enticed me, never stirred something inside of me the way my monster did when a soul was craved for. But this time was different. Clara's blood sang to me through her veins, lured me up from the chair until I was forcing to twist myself in her direction, feeling my fangs slide out and ache with the dull pain I hated to remember.
Clara tilted her neck closer, breathing steady. The sharp smell of lilacs and fresh roses lingered on her skin like a perfume. I kissed her neck first, sucking gently on the skin, working the same space until I couldn't hold back long enough to engage in a more intense form of foreplay. My fangs felt heavy when I tilted my mouth open, placed it over her damp skin, and plunged into her veins.
Immediately, the Fae let out a tiny cry, but she didn't move from her place on the ground. Her breathing pitched faster as I sucked, pulling on the blood that flowed with an electric pulse in her. With each gulp, it was like someone was electrifying my insides, shocking my cold, still heart back to life if only for a moment.
My side began to ache less and less, the pain dulling to a distant throb before vanishing all together. It felt like an eternity by the time I stopped drinking from her neck. I detached with a gasp, blood sputtering from the force of my breath, splattering across her shoulder and neck like little red stars.
I collapsed back onto the chair, arms hanging uselessly at my sides. I was spent, and not in the way I was used to feeling when I finally got my desserts. The combination of blood sloshing in my insides, paired with the healing of the wound on my side, left me feeling almost lightheaded and euphoric, yet something still twisted at my senses. Something that I was missing.
Clara moved away slowly, careful to avoid dropping blood on her gown. She swiped a hand over the droplets, murmuring, and the blood sank back into her skin like a rubbed-in lotion. The puncture marks on her neck had already begun to heal, scabbing over and turning a faint white before vanishing completely. In a matter of seconds, it was as if I hadn't fed from her at all.
A minute passed where the room simply breathed before Clara broke the silence. "How are you feeling, Caroline?"
How was I feeling? Did I have feelings? I had emotions, but were they the same thing as feelings? My shoulders rose and fell in our immortal grace, and I smiled slyly. The blood had brought on a high I couldn't ignore. All I could do was ride it and hope I didn't do anything too stupid to fix in the morning. "Fucking fantastic."
Across the room, I heard Sam laugh under his breath. Clara glanced back at him as she stood, slipping the white robe back over her shoulders and tying it around her waist. "I'm glad. It appears the blood has helped the wound, but if it is permanent or temporary only time will tell."
Ah, yes. Even in our immortal lives, time governed all things that surrounded us. Sitting up, I ran my hands over my midsection, nothing but smooth and toned skin to greet my fingers. Not even a scar remained.
Picking my dress up from the floor, I gave Clara a soft tip of the head before slipping the sparkling gown over my body as I stood up. "Thank you, Clara. I do believe this makes us even."
"It does, at least for now." Clara smiled, but it looked fake on her face. "In time, I'm sure we will meet again for a different trade of sorts."
I raised my eyebrows, trying not to let the sarcasm swallow me whole. "Are you a prophet, too?"
She giggled, but it was far from pleasant. “Not exactly. One day, you will understand.”
And with that, she turned around and left, leaving Sam and I to stare at each other in extreme confusion.
WE MADE IT BACK to the safehouse, and were inside for all of two seconds before Sam began to unload on me.
"So that chip, what the hell was it for?"<
br />
"What?" I asked, glancing up from my phone.
"The chip." Sam asked again. "The one you gave to the Faerie at the club. What did you do to earn it?"
I shrugged, returning back to my phone and typing away. "What does it matter?"
Snatching the phone from my hands, Sam jammed it in his pocket. His other hand went to my chin, holding me in place to lock his eyes directly with mine. "Because, Caroline Gray, I have never seen you do a single thing that is selfless or kind for another being, mortal or immortal. How does someone of your cold-hearted state earn a promise of blood like that?"
"For your information, I am kind. Selfless, not really, but kind." Holding out my hand, I gave him a frosted glare. "Now, give me the phone back, or I swear on every immortal you've ever arrested, you will wish you never met me."
He didn't say anything for a moment, but handed me the phone with a small grumble. "I already have."
Good, nothing said a healthy relationship between two ex-lovers quite like a little bitch fit of a fight after a near-death experience. I pushed him back against the wall, swearing. “You’re un-fucking-belivable, Sam. You can treat your little doe at home like this, but you don’t treat me that way, not after all the shit we’ve been through.”
Silence stretched between us, the kind that felt as if it could snap at any given moment. The kind that came with two people warring to scream at each other until they were blue in the face, and yet no one would say a word. I moved to go over to the spare bedroom, when Sam’s words made me stop dead in my tracks.
"Do you remember the night we met?"
It was a trick, a cruel fucking joke. He knew as well as I did about that night. The lights, the shivers, the touch of his hands on my body. It was the first memory of us, the connection that pulled him to me and bound us forever.
Picking at the ugly flowers in front me, I schooled my face into a mask of indifference. "I distinctly recall you putting three bullets in my back."
Sam made an impassive noise. "It wasn't intentional," he replied offensively.
"No?" I turned around to face him. "One bullet, maybe. Three is murder."
"What the hell was I supposed to do, Caroline?" He moved his arms around, bitter. "I didn't expect to see someone there, naked and covered in blood."
My mind replayed the night seamlessly. It may not have been my favorite memory, but it was me, and I had accepted that the night I stumbled into Sam and my fucked up life.
The highway was an abandoned route, just outside the city. There had been a rush of brush fires spreading off the road, inching closer to town and inciting fear, which was where Coulson and his co-worker came into play. They had closed off the abandoned patch of highway from any idiots daring to get close. It was then, taping off the road, that they saw the body.
It was pale, perfect even death. Face down in the ground, smeared with drying blood and dirt. A viscous, sticky liquid like honey clung to her legs and lower torso. Sam had made a remark about how pretty the girl must have been- her raven hair was cut in a short trendy bob, fingers and toes done in an exquisite French manicure without a single chip. Someone had loved her, cared for her deeply.
Sam had radioed in the corpse for pick-up, quietly saying a prayer as his partner turned over the body to get a better look at the face.
That was when I opened my eyes.
"I said I was sorry," I offered, biting my tongue. "You swore you'd never forgive me."
"I still haven't."
"Will you ever?"
He was silent.
When they realized I was very much alive, it all happened fast. I hadn't had time to think, the twisting in my chest had demanded the soul in front of me. Before anyone could stop me, I had drank the life away from Sam's little Fae partner, and dropped her corpse onto the ground like a sack of potatoes. That was when he fired the first shot. It had struck my abdomen, pain and heat scalding me as the bullet tore through me. I learned later it was laced with a potent cocktail to take down any major supernatural, but not a succubus.
They never knew what to do with us.
When my fangs popped out after the first bullet, I had drained the copy little frame. It turned out Fae blood was incredibly intoxicating. It acted like the tallest bottle of whiskey known to mankind, hold the ice. And I had taken it all.
That was when Sam fired the next two bullets.
I spread out my hands in front of him, a pity peace offering. I didn't even know why I was trying to appeal to him. When did I give a fuck about what people thought of me?
"It's been years, Sam. Are you really going to let this be the one thing between us that sinks the ship?"
His eyes were dark as he watched me from across the room. The ice in his glass clinked, floating in the caramel colored drink.
"The ship was already taking on water when you came around," he said quietly, keeping his teal gaze locked with mine. He swallowed the rest of his drink in a single swig, tossing the glass to the ground with a satisfying shatter of crystal. "You were just the anchor that pulled it down faster."
"That's not fair," I snapped. "I never made you do anything. I didn't put a gun to your head and make you fall into those dark places. That's all you. Own it, you selfish little prick. Man up to your mistakes and embrace the fact that you're far from fucking perfect."
"I will when you will." He crossed the room, shoving aside the pair of barstools and pressing me up against the marble countertop. Flowers brushed against my exposed back. His hands planted on either side of me, caging my body.
Instinct overcame me in a flash, and the vixen with a forked tongue roared to life. "My oh my, little Sammy taking control. Well, this is a pleasant change of tone."
He moved a hand along my back, running along my spine and knotting his fingers through my hair. Her jerked hard, forcing my head up to the ceiling. Lips trailed over my neck, nipping at the tender skin and igniting a rush of fire that would consume us both if he didn't control himself, fast.
"I think you misunderstood," he murmured against my neck, biting harder. I moaned. "I never wanted to save that sinking ship."
His words were making sense, finally, but it wasn't enough to keep me at bay. The twisting in my chest demanded life, a rush of feelings and memories to stave off the cold chill of a coma. My hands moved on their own, clawing at his arms, moving to his back and dipping into the waistband of his pants.
"There's no heaven where you're headed, Coulson." It was a last-chance ditch to back away from me, to protect his pretty life with the picket fence and his trophy wife. I never offered anyone the chance to back out, but it felt right to offer it to the only man who had ever tamed a corner of my ravenous heart. "I can only promise you fire."
He tugged on my hair harder, his other hand guiding up to my chest to grab at my breasts. Firm hands found my nipples, and he teased one through the sheer fabric of my top, twisting it just enough to create a pitch in my breathing. His breath trailed up my neck and ears, moving closer to my mouth until he hovered above me, our breaths mingling as one.
Sam's lips curved into a cold, twisted smile that promised a night of sheer delight. "Maybe I like being burned."
Fuck it.
I pressed against him, grinding my hips against his. The need to have him inside of me was overpowering every thought. My hands made quick work of his shirt, tearing at the front and popping buttons with a single jerk of the fabric. Firm abs, cold and pale like the rest of him, waited for me to explore. My fingers skimmed over the soft skin, trailing lower. I watched him with a keen stare, relishing as his chest rose and fell with a rush of short breaths.
He groaned out my name when my fingers dipped under his waistband, palming his firmness. His hips tilted toward me, practically begging for a quick release. He would have to wait. By the time he'd get his rock off, he'd be desperate. And that's just how I wanted him.
I guided him back a few steps from the island, but he pushed me back, pressing me against the cold marble for the second time
. His eyes said it all; he wanted to play dirty in the kitchen. How delicious.
I slipped up onto the counter, keeping our eyes locked. It was the calm before the storm, a touch of flourish before it would begin. But it all had to start with one little part.
"Kiss me," I demanded.
Sam placed his hands against my hips, pressing himself against me as his lips found mine. He kissed me hungrily, all teeth and tongue, sweeping over my lips and biting them with painful little nips. I tugged off the rest of his shirt, abandoning his pants for one brief moment. I wasn't waiting for him to undress me. My hands undid the tiny zipper at the front of my blouse, exposing black lace and a tiny crystal necklace nestled between my breasts.
He arched me back, cupping my head and holding my back. Kisses trailed along my jaw, my neck, down and deep between my chest until they found my chest. He tore through the thin lace connecting the cups, and I felt the sweet release of my tender breasts as cold air tensed my already tight nipples. He ran a tongue along one, pulling it into his mouth and sucking on it. The pressure was like a rush of adrenaline to the rest of my body, and I leaned up into him with a soft whimper.
My hands moved back to his pants, tugging open the belt and unbuttoning his pants. They slid off his thin hips with little effort, leaving him in nothing but a pair of black boxer-briefs. I smirked. He had worn the same pair the last time I had taken every inch of him without a single ounce of regret.
Moving up to kiss my mouth again, Sam stopped long enough to growl out the words, "Skirt off."
I felt for the zipper along the side of my hip, yanking it down to expose the top of my thighs. Sam's hands quickly found the untouched skin, grabbing and tugging me even closer. His free hand pulled away from my back to pull down his briefs, revealing every inch of his standing self. I wrapped a hand around his thickness again, guiding him closer, pressing the tip of his dick against my underwear. A tease, having him so close, yet not close enough.
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