Page 65 of Feathers From the Sky

Do I deserve it?

I’m a kid again, falling asleep in the car and waking up in my room hours later, warm blankets tucked over me in my bed. Just like then, I don’t know how I got here. But Roman has me. His strong arms pull me closer, and I turn my face into him and inhale. Safe.

I regret so much.

I need to let him turn me, but I can’t.

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

Is it my imagination when I feel my heart stop? It’s so quiet.

Roman is cupping my face and bringing his mouth to mine.

I never thought it would happen like this.

His lips are so soft, and I relax, closing my eyes. I’m so thirsty, and when he passes blood into my mouth, I groan. It’s hot and earthy, and I can’t swallow it down fast enough. Roman’s mouth leaves mine, but he stays close; all I can see is him and his frown. All I can taste is him. All I can feel is him.

Roman is all there is.

And if I drink from him, Roman is all there will ever be. If I turn, I am sworn to him forever. Sworn to the man who looked at me with his earnest furrowed brow and wet eyes and begged me not to leave him.

“I can’t.”

“Drink,” he commands, taking away so many things and giving me even more with a single word. I’m too weak to fight it. And once I get another taste, once I’m licking my lips clean of his blood, I don’t know why I fought it in the first place. I can suddenly hear my own heartbeat drumming loudly in my chest—not fast enough but strong. Roman holds me like a lover, caressing me with gentle hands, and I wish I didn’t crave more of it. The relieved exhale of his breath on my ear is damning evidence. It is a storm I cannot afford. It will tear me to pieces, and I can’t take any more pain.

My teeth are on his wrist, and my thirst is burning, an unquenchable desire to breathe his life into me. I clutch his arm, and his hand ghosts down my side as he wraps me within his protective embrace. My mouth aches, but I can’t stop. The taste of him is a rich, heady wine with a static electricity tingle to it. I’m panting, struggling to both drink and breathe, and I cough.

“Alright, breathe,” Roman orders, and he controls my lungs like he will control everything else. He slips into my willpower as he has slipped into my heart. How did it come to this? His thumb caresses my cheek while I catch my breath, and I blink up at him. Everything is clearer, brighter, more focused, and he’s all the more beautiful for it. One corner of his mouth raises into a smile, but the wrinkles between his brows don’t smooth. He’s flushed, his dark hair hanging loose, wavy and perfectly tousled. “There you are,” he says.

He’s gentle, movements carefully measured. His thumb drags over my bottom lip before he angles my mouth to his. He kisses me again, dragging it out as he pulls on my lip. There is no reason for it this time. No ulterior motive like at the photoshoot, no blood to force down my throat. Roman kisses me just to kiss me, and I hate that I never want him to stop. I hate that I’ve missed his minty breath, and I hate when my hand lifts to cup his face. I hate how I deepen the kiss, running my tongue against his, while my fingertips slide up to clutch his dark strands. I hate that when he pulls away, I wish he didn’t.

He chuckles. “A little more, sweetheart. You’re almost there. Is your mouth hurting?” I nod, unable to speak after his kiss. I hate that I want him to do it again. He slides a finger beneath my lip, inspecting my teeth. He doesn’t even touch them, but I hiss in pain. “When you can bite me with your fangs, that’s when you’re done. Not a second sooner.Drink.”

I reposition, sitting up in his lap and grabbing his arm, before drawing deep. Closing my eyes, I slip a leg over him, the wet friction of the blood between us causing my skin to stick, and I’m unable to stop, to breathe, to think. I crave it so badly it hurts, my entire body vibrating with need. I feel almost like a hummingbird, like I’m moving too fast for the camera to catch me, but I’ve gone nowhere at all. The electric activity in my veins sets me aglow, and there is nothing to stop me from taking, taking, taking.

I cry out as my teeth lengthen. It hurts, almost like getting one pulled. But I know that’s not what has happened. Slipping my tongue over, I gasp when I feel just how sharp my incisors have become. When they finally stop hurting, Roman is waiting, watching me. And I suddenly feel his influence leave me.

But the need does not.

I straddle him, and he runs his hands down my waist and hips before caressing my thighs. His touch is firm but almost hesitant. We’re face to face, and he clears his throat before he speaks. “You can bite—”

I’m already moving, my hands curling on his shoulders as I dip my mouth to his neck. A surprised sound leaves me when my fangs pierce his skin with ease. The blood tastes different, the salt of his skin stronger here than his wrist. I can sense his pulse, heart beating as fast as mine. Or is it slow? I can’t tell. I moan, unable to hold it back. The taste is inherently him; I couldn’t explain it if someone asked me, but I’d recognize it anywhere. Roman’s hand trails up my back, a whisper of a touch which makes my skin tingle. My senses are alight. I can hear someone breathing in the hallway. I can smell the leather of Roman’s discarded jacket and the pungent iron of blood. I can count every freckle in his irises. I’m Dorothy fromThe Wizard of Ozwhen everything goes Technicolor. Everything is new and bright and vibrant—almost overwhelming—but it all fades away. All I want is him. His taste, his touch, his attention, his protection, his desire. I want all of it.

I take a breath, leaning back to look at the breathtaking man holding me. His blood still wets his lips, and I need to smooth the furrow between his brows. I want to say so many things to him, but I bite my tongue. His cheeks are flushed, and I wonder if I would have noticed it with my regular vision. That beautiful soft mouth is open slightly as he pants. It seems to genuinely surprise him when I’m the one who closes the distance. When I’m the one who presses my lips to his. When I put my hands in his hair and tug. I’m covered in blood, feel it dripping down my chin, but I don’t care. As I suck on his lower lip, he makes a rumbling sound. He rubs my thighs, digs his fingertips into my ass, and his dick twitches against me. I sigh, eager to feel him, but his hands suddenly move to my waist. He squeezes, steadying me.

Frowning, I sit back and stare. He’s breathing hard, composure broken. “Touch me,” I whisper, licking my lips. Leaning forward, I chase the drop of blood rolling down his chest with my tongue. I tug on his shirt, wanting his skin on mine, when he squeezes me once more. “Roman, please, I need it.”

“Fuck, I know you do, sweetheart, but you can Ascend without it,” he says, sighing. He lifts a hand and rubs it over his face. “It’ll be painful, but I can help you.” He repositions me so I can’t feel his hardened cock.

“Haven’t you hurt me enough?” I bite out, desperate for him to relieve the swiftly building ache. After what he said while I laid dying in his lap, I almost regret it. The words don’t seem to bother him though, as he merely shakes his head.

“Gwyn, you don’t want this. The transition just rides you, makes you feel like you’ll die if you don’t. It’s fucked up, I know.”

“You think I didn’t want this before now? You think I didn’t wantyou?” I wonder if inhibitions are lessened during the change. Or perhaps our natural traits are more apparent. Either way, it’s making me say things I wish were lies.

“Gwyn,” he says on a breath, eyes wide, as if I’ve given him a gift. Some realization that whatever the fuck is going on in his head isn’t one-sided. It almost feels more cruel than letting him think otherwise.

I look away, his gaze too intense for me to handle. It’s then that I notice the rest of the room. “You did this?” I whisper. There’s blood everywhere, bodies scattered around us. I realize it’s not just my blood Roman is covered in.

---