Nightwolf

Wild in her.

Being fueled by her.

Her blood is all I’ve ever needed.

She’s all I’ve ever needed.

But I’m groaning, coming as my fangs are in her skin, and I’m still drinking from her, and if I don’t stop soon, the damage might be too much to bare.

I manage to remove my mouth from her neck and she’s staring up at me in a mix of pain and satisfaction, and I’m eying the bite marks I’ve left in her skin. They’re bigger than I wanted them to be and I think she’ll need a compress soon to stop the bleeding, but she should be okay.

I’m so used to drinking my blood from a vessel, that I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to feed directly from an actual human being. That intimacy, that skin-to-skin, blood-to-blood contact—she has no idea what she’s just done to me.

“You’re mine,” I say to her, my voice hoarse, the rest of me vulnerable and raw. It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Promise?” she asks me, a hint of a grin, playfulness flashing over her eyes. Then she brings her hand over her neck and pulls her fingers away, wincing at the sight of her own blood on them. “How is it? Do I need a doctor?”

“I tried my best to be respectful,” I tell her. I grab her wrist and bring her fingers to my mouth, my tongue coming out and licking up the sides, trying to get every last drop. I can’t help but give her a lazy grin, her blood dancing on my tongue, buzzing like the best cocaine. “You’ll have the marks, but the bleeding should stop soon with a couple of bandages.”

“That’s it?” she asks. “I could have sworn you were slurping me down like a cool glass of water.”

“Well, I would have if I really let myself go,” I say. I pull out of her, roll over to my side and lift up my arm, wanting her to be close to me.

“I’m guessing I would be dead if you did that,” she says, moving over to come under my arm, resting her head on my chest. “So I guess, thanks for playing it safe?”

“You’re welcome,” I say. “I hope I didn’t hurt you too much,” I add softly.

She lets out a long, loaded sigh. “No. It was perfect. It was everything I needed to just…feel something else for a change.”

I kiss the top of her head and hold her tighter. “I know. I think I needed it too.”

The only problem for me now is that everything I felt for Amethyst before, I’m feeling it stronger than ever. Her blood has brought me to my knees. She’s brought me to my knees.

And it’s a terrifying place to be.

Chapter 15

Amethyst

I wake up in Wolf’s arms.

His strong, comforting, muscular arms that hold me so close that I feel I can just drift off back to sleep in them and that I’ll float forever in some wonderfully warm dark void where there’s nothing but peace and love.

So much love for him.

Fuck, I’m so in love.

That thought comes into the void, bringing a bit of chaos with it, because love is nothing if not chaotic. Especially now.

Especially now.

Now…

Now.

The reality of now, on the 10th of November, for Amethyst DeMille.

My mother is in a coma, in the hospital, and she has significant brain damage and we don’t know if she’ll live or die or ever be the same.

That’s the reality of now.

I sit up, gasping for breath, drowning, as the wave of what’s really happening washes over me and that beautiful peaceful existence of before, of having sex with Wolf all night long, of sleeping in his arms, of dreaming in the void is gone.

“What happened?” Wolf asks, his voice extra craggy in the morning. He sits up beside me, his hand on my back. “Breathe, baby. In and out.”

I try to suck in my breath but it’s hard, everything feels so hard and cold and shallow.

“You’re okay,” Wolf continues, rubbing my back, and I swear he’s compelling me a little because with each pass of his hand over my skin, my heart rate slows and my breathing comes back.

But that awful realization, that cold slap of reality like being dunked with a bucket of ice water, that’s here to stay. See, this is why I feel like I need to be thinking about my mother all the time because for the moments that I don’t, that plunge back into reality hurts like hell.

“I just…forgot,” I say after a moment, relaxing a little against his touch. “I woke up and I was happy.” I glance at him, wishing I could tell him I love him. “I was so happy to be here with you. And then…”

His forehead wrinkles in sympathy. “And then you remembered.”

“And then I remembered.”

“I know,” he says gently, taking my hand and raising it up to his lips, kissing the back of it with such tenderness that my heart does a summersault. “It’s a cruel awakening.”