Page 38 of Blood Match

What the fuck is it?

My fingers twitch, longing to reach out across the mental link we share. But I resist. She’s made it clear she wants nothing to do with me. And yet…

The hunger surges again, stronger this time.

What is happening to me?

Is it the Bloodbane? Is it some sort of side effect? I know that witch blood can ease the symptoms. Is that why I’m drawn to her?

But why her specifically?

I close my eyes, trying to center myself. But all I can see is her face, flushed with anger and something else. Something that mirrored the desire I felt flooding me too.

I give a low growl of frustration. This is dangerous territory. She’s a witch, for fuck’s sake. Our kinds have been at war for as long as I can remember. But I can’t deny the pull I feel towards her.

The thirst intensifies, a burning sensation that seems to consume me from the inside out. I’ve never felt anything like this before. It’s not just a physical need – it’s as if my very soul is crying out for something only she can provide.

I need to feed. Now.

But the thought of drinking from anyone else feels…wrong.

Which is bullshit.

I need to put a stop to this. I’ve faced tougher challenges. That’s all this is. Just another challenge. I have to confront it and put it behind me.

My fangs ache, desperate for release. With a surge of determination, I reach for the house phone on my desk. “Bring me blood. Now,” I growl; my voice is dangerously guttural.

Minutes crawl by like hours. Finally, a servant arrives, a trembling human who watches me with wary eyes, immediately sensing that I’m in a mood. I snatch the crystal decanter from his hands before he can even cross the threshold. I don’t bother with niceties – I’m beyond that now.

The stench hits me first. It should be enticing, but my stomach clenches as I take it in. It feels…off. Wrong. Not what I truly crave. I push the thought aside. This is what I need. What I’ve always needed.

I force myself to pour a glass, watching the crimson liquid swirl. My body screams in protest, but I raise it to my lips.

Just drink, dammit.

I tip it back, fighting away my gag reflex as I let the blood flow down my throat.

For a split second, there’s relief.

Then…agony.

My insides feel like they’re being shredded. I double over, the glass shattering as it hits the floor. My vision blurs, and I taste bile rising in my throat.

No, goddammit!

As I retch and gasp, one thought burns through the haze of pain:

Her. I need her.

That’s bullshit. I don’t need anything.

The taste of human blood lingers on my tongue, acrid and wrong. As I fight to regain control, memories flood my mind, sharp and vivid.

The grove. Moonlight filtering through the trees. Deep green eyes flashing with anger and…something else. The scent of her, intoxicating and unlike anything I’ve ever encountered.

Then, her lips on mine. Soft. Warm. Alive.

I remember the thundering of her pulse, the rush of blood just beneath her skin. The hunger that surged through me. Not just for her blood but for her. All of her.