Page 85 of The Midnight Order
I whimper as my heart speeds.
Fear braids into arousal, and I don’t understand the reaction, so confusion is right behind it, causing a storm in my brain that stunts my words.
“Remember what I said about my patience?”
“I did,” I admit, and it’s not a lie.
I was sad when I woke and scrubbed my arm on the empty side of the bed he’d been on when I went to sleep.
“Elaborate.”
His finger is still running up and down my throat, causing an ache to settle into my bones, burrowing deep into my marrow like a fucking mole.
“I wanted to roll into you and go back to sleep. Wanted you to hold me,” I whisper, some of the fear ambling through me, seeping out into my voice as it wavers.
“Did you?” His voice softens.
I nod as he leans down and inhales deeply, running his nose over my throat.
A growl from his mouth jolts me, pinning me straight.
“I’m not a good male. My past is… dark and twisty.”
“We all have our pasts,” I whisper, unable to speak any louder because his proximity is doing something to me.
It’s still confusing to me: how I can have such a pull toward each of them.
Sure, each attraction is different. Each relationship is unique, and each one is at a different stage. But I can already tell I’m becoming addicted to the way they make me feel, how a profound hunger gnaws at me in their presence.
No matter which one of them it is.
I feel as though they’re the ones altering me, unlocking me from a curse, instead of the other way around.
“Don’t placate me,” he snarls, and his fangs glimmer as he bares them.
A shiver moves through me as I remember how it felt to have venom racing through my veins when Asher and Jasper fed from me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just don’t think whatever you have to tell me will change how I feel about you.” It’s out before I can think of the repercussions of my words.
He stiffens, looking down at me with his red eyes and blown pupils. “And how do you feel about me, little lamb?”
I don’t know why he calls me that, but it has me feeling much like the snake getting pecked at that I saw on my way into Blackmoore.
“I don’t… I can’t put it into words right yet. But I would never judge you based on something that happened before me; it’s not who I am.”
He’s silent, his eyes calculating.
“Whatever you did…”
He hisses. “Why do you assume I was the offender? What if I were the victim? Would you judge me for what I was before if I were the weak one?”
“The broken,” I whisper, realizing his earlier words.
What happened to him?
“No. I wouldn’t judge you if you were the victim.”
He scoffs. “So they all say. Then pity grows in their eyes as soon as they find out.”
