by Maya Daniels
What’s it like to be a Daywalker?
Even though I’ll never admit it out loud, I’ve always wondered.
I wished…
Wishing for what you can’t have is one way to get killed in our world. And now, knowing what I know, I can’t help but ponder if it’s worth it. If all these people would still risk their lives and be here if they knew they are going to die for certain. What would push them to the point that death would be worth tempting so you could walk the day? Am I missing something? What do all of them know that I don’t? Life is not bad in Sienna, and I’m saying that as a half blood. It’s even better for a pure blood. You can have the life you want, with any carrier that you want to build.
And live in darkness.
If I was a pure blood, would I have been willing to face death and trade my immortality for the bright skies and warm sun? Isn’t that what you are doing now even with inadequate genes? I push that snarky thought away, but the answer is still there, nonetheless.
Probably.
Lost in thought, my body stiffens when I feel the electric charge in the air around me. My skin prickles like a million tiny needles stabbing my every pore. With the small hairs standing on end at the back of my neck, I take a deep breath, praying for a miracle, squeezing my eyes shut tight. Maybe if I was a half mage, I could wish him away. But I’m not, and he is getting closer by the second. My whole body tunes into his presence, soaking it up like a dried-up sponge. There is no need to see him to know who he is. My body recognizes him from a mile away, perking up like a stupid fool unaware of what he represents to me.
Certain death.
You don’t get to lay with a beast that can’t be tamed and expect to survive it. If your physical body does not die, your soul will be crushed and ripped to pieces, leaving you begging to meet your end. And I know he will do that to me, yet my foolish heart sputters like the wings of a dying butterfly when I feel his gaze on the crown of my head.
“You shouldn’t have come.” My words are barely above a whisper.
He says nothing, just as I expected.
Lifting my head up, I finally open my eyes to look at him.
Zoltan.
Leaning his shoulder on the edge of the window, his deep blue eyes look black in the candlelight. Shadows dance across his handsome face, making my fingers twitch with the need to reach up and trace them across his high cheekbones and full lips. He doesn’t move or say anything. Those eyes of his just stare to the very depths of my soul, as if daring me to run. Or worse, to answer the call that I felt the moment my gaze connected with his. Hell, even sooner than that. The moment I saw the outline of him in the middle of the dirty street in Sienna when Daywalker Academy was just a stone building in the distance looming over our lives.
“You shouldn’t have come.” Repeating the words, my mouth dries out, making it difficult to speak.
“I know.” His nostrils flare, and his jaw sets with determination.
Chapter 21
“What are you doing?”
Panic makes me sound like a scared little girl when he pushes off the wall and steps closer. Heart jackhammering in my chest, stomach rolling with frenzied butterflies, I stare at him wide-eyed. My mind screams at me to push him away, to run and hide, or even break the window and jump headfirst from the third floor. Anything but allowing him to close the distance.
Yet, I stay frozen, like a deer in headlights, paralyzed by his smoldering gaze. Dizziness makes me lightheaded, and when his hand lifts up, cupping my face, my body sways towards him, pressing his palm firmer against my skin. A current passes from his hand through my entire body, sinking its claws inside me. I want to yell at him, accuse him of messing with my head, but I know it to be a lie. He is not using his powers or gifts on me right now. No. My reaction is entirely my own fault, and probably a result of my idiocy.
I don’t value my life.
“You are afraid of me.” Zoltan’s rough thumb scrapes the skin on my cheekbone while he strokes it gently, his gaze searching mine.
“Shouldn’t I be?” Sounding breathless is better than being unable to speak.
Nodding slightly, he doesn’t release me from his hold. “If you are smart, you should be.”
“I’m not.” Blurting the words out without thinking, all I can do is blink at his raised eyebrow.
“You do not fear me?” A look passes through his eyes too fast for my mentally distressed brain to catch.
“I’m not smart.” Swallowing the lump the size of a fist in my throat, I give him a sheepish look. “I still fear you.”
“You should give yourself more credit, Francesca Drake.” His lips quirk at the corners, and I shiver from the way my name rolls off his tongue.
He is standing too close, his large warm palm cradling my cheek, and that damn thumb keeps gliding, the roughness of it catching slightly on my skin with each stroke. I feel it in all the inappropriate places, so much so it feels like he is touching me there and not innocently petting my face. The heat of his body burns my skin, goosebumps covering my arms and legs while ants are crawling up my spine. He knows exactly what he is doing to me, and his barely contained smirk gives that fact away.
I should slap him.
“I’ll do it.”
The words coming out of my mouth shock me more than they do him. Blinking rapidly, I want to take them back, but my mouth refuses to open. His thumb stops moving over my cheekbone, his fingers tighten around my face, and his eyes begin to glow. I’m not sure if I made the decision subconsciously while wandering aimlessly through the place, or I just wanted to break the enchantment that his nearness casts over me.
“You don’t have to. I came here to tell you that I will help you leave.” His deep voice sounds like a distant boom of thunder rumbling in his chest.
It’s a beautiful thing to hear, even though it’s bullshit and we both know it. I went outside these walls. I felt the pull the magic that has taken ownership of this place has on me. There is no leaving for me, not right now at least. But there is one crucial thing that I need to know.
“Why did you agree for me to be lured here?” Rubbing the center of my chest to lessen the pain my fast beating heart is inflicting in hopes of escaping my ribcage, I don’t shy away from his penetrating gaze.
His attention drops from my eyes to the hand pressed between my breasts, his chest bumping my still curled-up legs when he steps even closer. Zoltan, intentionally or not, has me caged between the window and his body, leaving me surprised that I don’t panic or start swinging at his head. Wetness dampens my panties, my core pulsing with the beat of my heart. In reaction, his nostrils flare more, and his gaze snaps back to my face.
“The only way I can protect you is if you are close to me.” It sounds like gibberish to me, and after a long moment of staring at the hunger on his face, the words begin to make sense.
“Why in the world would you care?” When his lips press in a thin line, I laugh humorlessly. “You don’t know me from Adam, Zoltan. Why the fuck would you care what happens to me?”
“Such crude words from such a pretty mouth.” One side of his mouth tilts up, and although my nipples tighten and my girly bits start tingling happily, I see it for what it is.
“Why?” I don’t let him sidetrack me.
“I knew Adam, and he wasn’t all that important.” The offhanded comment sends my head spinning, trying to calculate just how old he is. Lucky that I’m sitting down because I might’ve dropped on my ass, his next words save me from attacking him with questions. “There is something about you, Francesca. And I have every intention of staying close until I figure out what that is.”
The comment sounds so close to what Roberti said to me what feels like a lifetime ago. That night when he found me bathed in blood from head to toe, barely resembling a sentient being, with bodies scattered around the room. The night I signed my fate of becoming an agent, which in return lead me here. My mouth hangs open while I stare mutely at the vampire.
“That is something every girl loves to hear, but”—Lifting a finger in his face, I snatch it back when the tips of his fangs make an appearance—“there is nothing special about me. I’m a half blood that should be grateful I survived this long.”
“We will agree to disagree on this, fledgling.” Chuckling, he looks pointedly where I’m hugging the finger that was in his face a second ago.
“Nowhere near a fledgling.” Saying it slowly as if he’s stupid, I point at myself, “Half blood. That’s all I am.”
“And that’s where you are wrong, Miss Drake.” His hand tilts my face up. “You are so much more than that, and I will find all your secrets.”
His face is close enough for me to still hold his gaze without crossing my eyes. It’s difficult to breathe while I watch his eyes turn, the pupils spreading like tiny suns through his irises. The silver glow of the moon turns the blue color into melted steel, allowing me to see my reflection staring back at me with parted lips. My tongue pokes out, wetting them, and Zoltan groans deep in his throat, pulling slightly away. I hate it when he is so close, but I miss him when he isn’t. Conflicting emotions rage a war inside me, and some of it must’ve shown on my face. His eyes soften, no less smoldering than they usually are, but it’s easier to breathe.
“You will survive this, Francesca. I’ll make sure of it.” It sounds more like an oath than a promise, sending a tremor through my limbs. “Drink now.”
“Huh?” Not a very articulate reaction, but there you have it.
“I said drink.” Moving his hand slightly, his wrist presses on my lips. “You need it. This land has not fully accepted you yet. It’s draining you slowly, and you’ll need all the strength you can get.”
If I were standing, I would’ve fallen with the push of a finger. Offering blood was not something supernaturals do lightly. Something Fenrir learned the hard way, I think. A vampire offering his blood, Daywalker at that, is unheard of. They are well known for taking, not for their giving nature. And the most stupefying thing is not even that. It’s the fact that I want to push his wrist away and sink my fangs in his neck.
Another pained groan comes from Zoltan, and I realize I’m staring at the pulsing vein on his neck like I’m in bloodlust. Embarrassment makes me drop my gaze, and I squeeze my eyes shut, unwilling to see the gloating look on his face. I really am pathetic.
“Look at me.” His voice is rough, his words husky and low. “Look at me, Francesca.”
Steeling my spine, I allow him to lift my head. My breath catches in my throat at the intensity on his face. He looks like he is a hairsbreadth away from pouncing on me, his entire body rigid as he fights to stay in control.
“I want nothing more than to have your mouth on me and your fangs deep in my neck.” If he keeps talking, I wonder if an immortal can die from a heart attack. By the sound of my heart hammering away, I think I’m willing to try. “But I cannot promise I will be able to hold back and not sink mine into you. Right now, my control is holding by a thread after the last two days, and I don’t trust myself to stop when it’s needed. So, take the wrist tonight and stop looking at me that way. Do not push me, woman, for I am not that strong.”
With my heart in my throat, and my whole body quaking from his words, my trembling fingers wrap around his wrist. Holding him like a cup, I let my lips graze his skin before the sharp tips of my fangs pierce him. A deep moan could not be stopped when his precious blood fills my mouth and slides down my throat. Closing my eyes so I don’t watch the hunger on his face, I drink greedily even though I don’t need to feed right now. His fingers wrap my braid around his hand, and he presses me harder to his wrist as if I’m trying to escape. He must be insane because I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop before I drain him dry.
Too soon, my head is wrenched back, Zoltan yanking on my braid and tearing the skin on his wrist when I don’t unfuse my mouth fast enough. My eyes fly open just in time to see him descending on me with a feral look twisting his handsome features. Crushing his lips to mine in a bruising kiss, his blood that I didn’t manage to swallow fills both our mouths. My hands fly to his shoulders, clawing at him, trying to bring him closer. His arms wrap around me like a steel vice pressing me to his chest, and his tongue invades my mouth, twisting and curling around mine.
Shifting on the windowsill, I turn to face him, wrapping my legs around his hips, pulling him as close as I can. Zoltan’s hand still has my braid wrapped around it, and he uses it to move me how he wants so he can deepen the kiss. This doesn’t feel like an urge, or even a lust-fueled instinct. He holds me trapped, not that I’m trying to escape, devouring me with his lips alone. It feels monumental.
A claiming.
His thick erection hits the right spot between my legs, and all thoughts disappear from my head. Like horny teenagers, we grind against each other, my wetness without a doubt drenching both our clothing. My greedy fingers sink into his hair, pulling on the silky strands just like I wanted to do from the moment I saw him. Tugging on my braid, he sucks on my tongue, his other hand trailing down my back before grabbing my ass and pressing me harder against his cock.
Stars burst behind my eyes, and I spasm in his arms, my body shaking and almost dislodging him from me. Zoltan grips me harder, his loud growl mixing with my moans and mewls. An eternity later, I finally sag against his chest, his lips trailing kisses over my face and neck. Pressing my face at his throat, I hide my embarrassment for my behavior, but this is Zoltan we are talking about. He will not let me hide from anything—not even myself.
Pulling back, he looks down at me, his face relaxed for the first time since I met him. Crinkles form at the corners of his eyes before he places a tiny peck on the tip of my nose. I know I’m staring, but I can’t help myself. He looks so normal. Well, as normal as a very old and powerful Daywalker can look at any rate.
“That should be enough for now.”
Kissing my forehead, he rearranges me back on the windowsill. I allow it, too stunned to speak until I realize he is talking about the blood, not the orgasm he just gave me. Speaking of which, I can feel my face turning all shades of red and getting hot enough to burn anyone who touches it. As subtle as I can be, I glance at his crotch to see if I have made a patch on his pants. Another thing to add to the deprived actions of Francesca Drake for the night.
My jaw hits my chest when my eyes land between his legs. I know I was wet as hell, and I can feel my pants sticking to my thighs, but no way in hell I made that much mess on my own. My eyes snap to Zoltan’s face, and if I expected embarrassment to match mine, I was sorely disappointed. Hunger still lurks in his gaze, but there is something else there too. Something I will do everything to ignore right now.
Zoltan leans closer, his lips pressing on mine too fast to count before he pulls back. Intentionally, his hand goes to the large wet patch on his pants, and he adjusts himself before pulling his shirt out of the waistband and letting it drop over it. I watch stunned, still gaping like a fish when he smirks and winks before walking away.
“I will see you in the morning, Miss Drake. Meet me at the weapons room, as you call it.” Speaking without turning back, he saunters away from me. “And, Francesca…don't make me come looking for you.”
I stare at the last trace of his back before he rounds a corner. The fact that I let Zoltan grope me out in the open is shocking. The fact he looked smug for cumming in his pants is as crazed as it is exuberating.
Chapter 22
“I hate you!” Glaring at the asshole vampire, I push up on my forearms so he can see my face better.
In case he didn’t hear me yelling at him.
I stupidly listen to Zoltan and show up at the weapons room. That was yesterday morning. It’s been over twenty-four hours, and I haven’t slept, rested, or left this cursed room since. Apparently, the crazy man thinks he can teach me how to resist a mind fuck by the time of the party. I started referring to it as the funeral. I have no delusions of how slim my chances of survival are.
Unlike Zoltan.
He lives in a world of his own where unicorns are skipping rainbows, and everyone lives happily ever after. Well, not really. Unless the unicorns are some scary man-eating beasts that will stab everyone on their barb wired horns, but you get my point.
He thinks I’ll live.
I strongly disagree.
“Stop wasting time, Miss Drake.” Barking at me, he kicks my foot. “Get your ass up.”
If I expect things to be awkward when we see each other next, or fates forbid for the jerk to show a sweet or a soft side, I would be disappointed. It isn’t awkward because overnight he turns from a scary beast into a drill Sargent. Humping might not have been something he is familiar with because I have strong suspicions that it short-circuited his brain. As I’m watching his frown from my sprawled position on the floor where I spend the majority of my time since I enter this room, I can’t decide which Zoltan I like better. The arrogant beast, or the frustrating jerk.
“I still think you are trying to punish me for something.” Grumbling, I push off the floor. “This is absolutely unnecessary, and it looks more like wasting time than doing something productive. Like trying to get into the archives.”
“The archives will be there after the party. If you can’t block out mind control, you may not be.” The ever-helpful Fenrir chirps from his corner where he’s been sitting and enjoying my torment for hours.
“I should’ve drained your ass when I had the chance.” Fenrir frowns uneasily, but it’s Zoltan’s reaction I was going for.
And…there it is.
Jaw clenching, I can hear his teeth grinding all the way where I’m finally standing on my throbbing feet. Grinning at him like an idiot, I lift an eyebrow, daring him to open his mouth. If he wants to pretend he didn’t mess me up for the rest of my life with just a kiss, I can piss him off as much as I want. I’m mature like that.