Page 31 of Nocte
In resignation, I begin cleaning. I wipe the floors until they shine and return the books to their shelves. Then I dust and sweep and…
I nearly choke on a hard swallow. The back of my neck prickles—it has from the very second I entered this vast chamber. From the moment I sensed him, even if I didn’t want to. I’ve tried to ignore him. Pretend. Will him away.
He isn’t here. He is a figment of my imagination.
He is right behind me. The primal rasp of his inhalation teases the air. Inescapable. Was he here all night? Watching and waiting for me. Or perhaps he meant to prey on one of the other workers? No. Drinking from them would risk prison or worse.
But me…
No one would care if he hurt me.
I wait for him to make himself known. My heart races—he has to hear it. He must feel how my skin heats and catch the hitch in my breathing. Damn him, he knows.
He says nothing.
So I keep walking, moving deeper into the catacombs. The darkness shrouds me, a familiar friend, but it’s heavier than ever. The solitude descends, and too late do I realize my mistake.
No one comes here. No one…
Except for Day for a few brief hours a week.
Andhim. Caspian is behind me. Against me. Pressing his body into mine.
I can’t contain the sound that rips from my throat. A gasp. A whimper. A cry.
It’s a noise that strikes a match and sets him alight. His hand captures my mouth, sealing the lips shut. Then his body acts as a battering ram, shoving me into a shelf, as if he means to crush me into it. His free hand creeps over my body, grasping through my robes to grope the flesh beneath. My throat. My collarbone. My breasts. He grips one tight, so hard I lurch on tiptoe. It hurts, but in that pain lurks something else that shouldn’t be there. It makes my head feel lighter. Dizzy. It makes my lips part against his palm, and another broken noise slips out.
He groans then. For a second, I think I’ve hurt him. Bitten.
But I haven’t. Although his mouth finds the crook of my throat and suckles at my flesh, he hasn’t either. A sharpness rakes over my pulse point: teeth. Still, he doesn’t bite.
In spite of this, I’m bleeding, drained of something more vital than blood. The feeling makes my body go limp. It makes it easier for him to grind his hips into mine. Wrench me to face him. It is this overwhelming, draining emotion that makes my lips part in anticipation, even before his tongue plunges between them. He drives into me so hard it hurts. Stars dance before my eyes, and the blood rushes through my eardrums.
I can’t breathe. My hands fly to his chest, aiming to push him away. My grasping fingers snag the edges of his robes instead. Grips them for dear life. Holds on as he drains me dry.
And it is a tormenting, torturous, incredible way to die.
When I am kissed by him, I lose myself in the violent nature of it. The hunger betrayed by his grasping hands that roam my body. Tug. Grab. Knead. That ache within me returns, gathering in my abdomen. Then lower. Pressing my legs together isn’t enough to stifle it. I can’t…
Abruptly, he pulls back, but there isn’t a smile on those beautiful lips now. In contrast, he seems even more lovely, with a look of horror corrupting his features. The first time he kissed me was a taunt. The second, a game.
But this…
With a third kiss, he’s committed some horrific sin that rattles him to his very core. It guts him. Disgust fills his eyes as he looks at the fingers still grasping me. His upper lip pulls back from his teeth, exposing his fangs. He’ll bite me now, I know he will.
He kisses me instead. Harder than the last. Grasping my skull, his fingers tear through my hair. His chest presses against mine as if he is trying to crush my beating heart with force alone. Each brush of his lips feels sharper, tinged with fangs he doesn’t bother to restrain. My blood is a symphony humming through my veins, reaching a crescendo as his nails scrape at my scalp, locking me in place.
He breathes his darkness into me. Like a wildfire, the corruption spreads from my belly to my entire body. It steals my breath away, and I feel that foreign pressure building within me, pulsing. Unbearable. Only by rocking my hips and grinding my knees together can I smother it.
The vamryer notices, tearing his mouth from mine. His eyes blaze as he looks down, lips glistening—but he doesn’t move. Using his leg to push mine apart, he grinds his knee against the source of the ache instead.
And it is…
Violent. Searing. Fire.
A broken sound rips from my throat. My head rears back. I can’t find the strength to stop him or even remember if I should. I only need relief. Anything…
Then, too quickly to bear, he jerks back, out of reach. “Fuck him,” he hisses. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”