Page 47 of The Second Sight
A hint of a smile formed on his lips, and it was clear my words meant nothing to him.
“Severin Crackstone.” I didn’t know why I said his full name, but one lone dark eyebrow slightly rose to regard me. I had studied his face so many times but was just now noticing his dark eyebrows didn’t match his platinum blonde hair.
“Kasi, I had a wife a two hundred years before you were born. What does it matter?”
“It matters.” I didn’t know why I tried to push past him. It was futile, to say the least, and Seven was the poster child for say less. His arm swung out to stop me from leaving. His cold fingers wrapped around my arm in a possessive grip that sent shivers racing up my arm. His touch was gentle despite itsfirmness. With little effort, he pulled me flush against his body. I’d seen him furious before, in the alley behind the nightclub Fountain of Youth. My heart raced, betraying my reaction to his unwelcome manhandling. Despite my newfound doubts about his unwillingness to share his past, I felt a certain security in his calm, cool demeanor. Maybe I was naïve, but I believed him when he said he would never hurt me physically.
“What about Basirah?” I challenged, the name finally escaping my lips with an envious tone I couldn’t disguise.
Something flashed in Seven’s eyes— pain, perhaps, or guilt. His thumbs stroked my cheekbones, a gentle caress that contrasted with the intensity of his hypnotic gaze.
“A story for another time,” he said softly.
I wanted to believe him, but I was in a new world and needed all the information to make good decisions. “The fucking time is now.”
“Profanity.” He tilted his head to regard me slowly, but I could see him holding back a chuckle.
“Fuck you, vampire!” Jesus, I couldn’t figure out a good insult. I had wiped the N-word out of my vocabulary a long time ago, and that wouldn’t have worked on a vampire as pale as Seven. Fangly bastard or old ass motherfucker probably would’ve hit harder, but I wasn’t good at cussin’.
“Fae bae, what do you want me to say? Thinking of Basirah is quite painful for me.”
Was it, though?In the moment, I wanted to give him a tablespoon of sympathy, but I felt like I was being gaslit and that wasn’t going to happen to me today, or any day. I wasn’t the one or the two. I was young, but I wasn’t born yesterday.
“Seven, wearing the face of a woman who was burned to death, is quite painful for me too.” My own words sent a wave of nausea through me. I’d given myself to him, trusted him, begun to feel things for him I’d never felt for anyone before. And nowI wondered if he saw me at all, or just a replica of someone long dead. Someone he loved and wanted to replace.
The thought was more painful than I expected. It was like a knife twisting in my chest. It was like the day my mama left me when I needed her the most, the teen years. I looked down at my hands, noticing they were trembling.
“Are you alright?” He asked quietly.
No, I’m not. I’m not cool. I’m not good. I’m not aye, oh, kay. I’m falling in love with a vampire that loves a dead woman that looks like me. I’m not good.
Seven’s arm slid around my waist, drawing me against his side as he turned to spin me in a dizzying circle. He used his body to push me back against the wall. He stood over me, pressing his heavy body against mine.
“Answer me, my love.” His cool breath blew deadly heart-shaped arrows into my earlobe and weakened my limbs.
I didn’t remember the question, and even if I did, I couldn’t answer it. Seven’s lips came crashing into mine, preventing all efforts at verbal communication. My stomach did somersaults, and my nipples hardened. I had a quick vision of Seven’s thick manhood pushing inside me. Was it a real vision or just my body longing for him? I was new to fairy powers and new to sex. I didn’t know what I was seeing.
“Tell me what you want me to say.” He asked before dipping his face into my neck. “And I will say it.” He mumbled his last sentence into my collarbone.
I wanted to respond with words, but my body had other plans.
Chapter
Eighteen
SEVEN
“Tell me you love me.” I said, unable to disconnect my body from hers. The flimsy sundress she wore clung to her curves as she moved, the thin fabric teasing glimpses of the body I’d claimed just hours before. I’d lived for years, and mastered control over my most primal impulses, yet watching her stirred something dangerous within me, a hunger that transcended mere blood thirst.
“Seven, I love you,” she said, unaware of the storm brewing within me.
The sound of her heartbeat filled my ears. The sight of sunlight filtering through the gap in the heavy curtains, painting golden streaks across her brown skin.
But it was her scent that undid me.
The confrontation she unleashed when she unleashed her questions about my late wife had awakened something primal in her fae blood. Perhaps it was her body’s natural defense against men that had wronged her. The sassiness and the profanity in her tone released pheromones into the air that were irresistible.
The scent rolled across my bedroom in waves, seeping into the silk sheets, the antique furniture, and marking my territoryas hers in a way that stirred both possessiveness and desire in me.
