Page 103 of Witch Untold
She has no clue how hard it is for me not to bridge the distance between us and crush her to me. My impulses are out of whack, everything is heightened, and Cora…Cora is like a fucking beacon begging to be lit.
“You need to go now. There’s nothing to do here. I’ll update you by text.”
“Text?” She sucks on her bottom lip, shaking her head. “Dammit, Sloane.” She takes a step toward me. “I care about you.”
Her cornflower blues darken as they skip across my face and zero in on my mouth. My heart stops for a moment, then my pulse charges. Heat floods me, and before I can think, I’ve hauled her into my arms and claimed her mouth. She makes a sound of surprise that inflames me further, and the dark thing inside me rises to the surface.
I devour her, shoving her against the wall and holding her there with my body as I take what I need. I’m drowning in her, blood rushing in my head and shattering coherent thought.
Blood.
I hear it beneath her skin.
Pumping, hot and potent.
My mouth aches and throbs as she makes a sound of protest.
Shit. I have to release her.
Nectar floods my tongue. Coppery and delicious.
Her blood.
The dark thing inside me swells, pressing against my skin and plunging between my thighs in a desperate ache. It fills my belly with a clawing hunger.
My mouth feels strange. Oh, fuck. Fangs. I pull back, but my hands refuse to release her.
“Sloane…you need to calm down,” Cora says.
She’s soft and warm, writhing against me, pushing at my shoulders. My head is dizzy, breath coming quicker. I hold her to the wall easily and press my nose to her neck, inhaling the fragrance beneath her skin. Her artery pulses and jumps beneath my tongue and I taste her fear.
“Sloane. You can fight this.”
My gums ache, my soul aches. I need. I need this. I have to—
“NO!” I shove her away and press my forehead to the wall, palms splayed against the plaster either side of me as if I can anchor myself there by sheer force of will.
But right now, my will is weak. “Go. Get away from me. Now, dammit.” My voice isn’t my own. It’s rough, deep, and bestial.
A door opens and then something is shoved in front of my nose. Plastic and coppery.
Blood.
“Drink it,” Poppy orders.
I tear into the bag, taking great gulps, part of me aware of how gross this is but the other not giving a damn because it’s working. The dark thing is fading. I can think. I can…Oh, shit.
I stare blearily at Poppy. “Cora?”
Poppy shakes her head, her eyes dull. “She’s gone.”
Fuck.
Chapter Thirty-One
Cora
Wren sat on my lap, peering out the window as the world rushed by. Tor drove, his steely gaze on the road ahead, one hand resting loosely, almost casually, on the steering wheel, the other on my thigh.
