Page 25 of Feathers From the Sky

I snag the necklace from the rear-view mirror, barely keeping myself from ripping it off. It’s a long golden chain with a small unfurling rose as the only delicate charm, and I grip it tightly in my palm.

“Come here,” I order, and she walks around the back of the car, not looking at me as she types on her phone. I step behind her and brush her ponytail out of the way. I’m surprised when I notice the cluster of stars tattooed behind her ear—one of the Dippers. It’s something about her I’m discovering for the first time, and as I gently trace my fingertip over it, she shudders.

“Sorry, I’m sending Sasha my location,” she says. Her sister knowing where she’s at won’t help her if I decide to make today her last. “Why?” she questions, hand lifting to the necklace as she looks down at it.

“It’s a waste hanging in the car when it could be on your pretty neck,” I say, and I lean down to trace my lips over the neck in question. It’s not a lie. I smell her blood through the thin skin over her carotid, and I press my tongue into my fangs as they lengthen.

She bends abruptly, looking into her reflection in the side-view mirror. If I had any doubts she did it on purpose, she dissolves them when she gently presses back so her ass is against my crotch.

“You’re killing me,” I say on a groan, and she laughs.

“I just wanted to see it on me,” she says, surprising me as she turns and puts her arms around my neck. “You’re right. It looks good.”

“Of course I’m right,” I say, my hands seeking her hips, and she smiles up at me.

“Thanks for turning my day around,” she whispers, suddenly serious. I raise a brow, and she is quick to continue. “I just lost my job. Being out with you is better than wallowing in my unemployed sorrow on the couch.”

“Ah, yes. Well, when given those options, I suppose I’m the more appealing one,” I reply, twisting my lips in a rueful smile.

“When given endless options, I think I’d still choose to spend the day with you,” she admits, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she bounces on her feet. The flush of her skin, the tantalizing visual reminder of what lies beneath it, is almost too much to bear.

I lean down, brushing a soft kiss to her lips. I taste the hint of her lip balm, the faintest cinnamon, and it makes me crave her blood all the more. When she deepens the kiss, tentatively biting my lip, I can’t contain the growl that slips up my throat.

I regret kissing her the second she kisses me back. I know how dangerous this is. Feeding is transactional. There is nothing I gain other than sustenance. There is no intimacy borne of the deed, any lust felt when feeding separate from the act itself. But thinking about feeding from Gwyn is different, her blood not human. My self-control is insignificant in the face of this desire, and it's like I’m freshly ascended once more.

It has been over a dozen years, and yet the same feeling stirs within me. Just that single drop was enough to rouse in me what I felt for Victoria that day when I finally claimed the power which already pumped through my veins. The dormant curse turned gift was brought to the surface, and I had lost all sense. Newly reborn, I had been a quivering pile of need. Nothing could have stopped me then from taking with my hands and my cock and my teeth what I needed to survive.

If, after just one drop, entertaining the thought of Gwyn’s blood sends me spiraling like this, I don’t know what would happen if I truly fed. After the photo shoot, I’d kept my distance because I didn’t know if I could handle it, and I still doubt my resolve. To think I have myself under control is self-aggrandizing at best.

The hunter's blood running just below Gwyn’s skin is the coveted treasure in Ansi’s tomb. When she threads her fingers through my hair at my nape, I am the avarice of Einar and arrogance of Helgi, which led them to their deaths. When my tongue sweeps over hers, I am the indolence which led Hallbera to the tomb, taking what we did not earn. I pull her close to me, my hands gripping her flesh, and I am Agnarr’s fury and Geir’s passion. To indulge in this is to curse myself as the first ones have. Since the moment her blood touched my tongue, I have been Ketill’s hunger and Sif’s discontent.

Her existence is my curse, and her death is the only remedy.

I turn us, pressing her against the Chevelle, one of my hands leaving her delicious ass to snake up the front of her shirt. She moans, and I kiss her deeper. This is getting away from me, and I can’t find it in myself to care. I chase the sounds, hungry for the affirmation that she needs this too. At her core, she is a hunter. Her basest instinct should be to stay away from me as I should stay away from her. Even if her mind doesn’t know what we are to one another, her body should. It’s in her DNA to keep away from me, but she is the one grasping my hand and slipping it under her bra. She is the one digging her fingertips into my backside and pulling me tight against her. Perhaps her self-destructive tendencies overrule her natural instincts, and she thrives living in the shadow of that beast in her head. The beast which curls her up on the floor of her shower, her sobs faintly audible from the camera I installed. The beast which left her boyfriend fucking someone else, and left her seeking some sort of reprieve at the bottom of a bottle. If that’s the case, both our beasts are hungry, and she won’t fall to any beast but mine.

When she hears the gravel crunch of tires in the parking lot, she pulls away from me. Her contented smile feels like an accomplishment. The newcomers break my trance, and I focus on the smell of their truck’s exhaust, the breeze blowing the scent over to me clearly. I want to shake my head and clear away the insanity which has clouded my vision, but I don’t. I kiss her instead, and wonder if having her once will be enough to tame the beast inside me.

When the answer doesn’t come to me immediately, I suspect Emile might be onto something.

I’m so completely fucked.

9

GWYN

I’mbreathless as he pulls away from me, those dark eyes adjudicating me in a way that feels more intimate than what we just did. His mouth tightens into a thin line, and there is a wrinkle between his brows.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, and I’m suddenly cold. I shiver as I zip up my hoodie, and I watch him as he rubs his hand over his mouth. When he doesn’t answer, just looking at me with that expression, I begin to fidget. “Did I do something wrong?”

He drops his hand and shakes his limbs out. “No, of course not,” he says, and I wonder if the small smile on his face is supposed to reassure me. “I just forgot I have some things to do today.”

“Oh?” I tilt my head as I look up at him. “What things?”

“It’s the last day on my storage unit lease. I don’t want to cut our time short, but I have a few more things to unload before they close,” he says. He shoves his hands into his pockets and frowns. “I wanted to spend the day with you. Cook you dinner tonight, kiss you some more.”

I smile, putting my hands on his waist and pulling him closer. “Well, if I get dinner out of it, I think I can let you borrow my car,” I tease. “I imagine it’s difficult to move things on a motorcycle.”

“What if I want to borrow you too?” he asks, hand slipping out of his pocket to cup my jaw. He moves down my neck, and his thumb gently caresses my skin. I try not to gasp, but my breath hitches, and the twinkle in his eye tells me he definitely noticed it. “I’ll make it worth it for you,” he says, and his tone paints a picture not unlike the one which starred in my dreams this morning.

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