Page 7 of Bloodstained
I leaned against the front door, my breath creating white clouds in front of me with every exhale. For a moment, everything was quiet. Too quiet. And then I felt it again—that heavy, unshakable feeling of being watched.
My pulse quickened, but I didn’t go inside. Instead, I closed my eyes, letting the sensation wash over me. Consume me.
Control me.
I felt no fear. Not genuine terror. But there was something else—a pull, a strange heat that coiled low in my belly, spreading through me until my breath hitched. My fingers curled into my palm, and I kept my eyes closed, opening myself up mentally, emotionally—in every way imaginable—until those feelings turned into pleasure.
A soft moan escaped my lips, and I rested fully on the front door, flattening my palms on the wood and moaning again.
“What is happening to me?” I whispered.
“You are mine,” a familiar, deep, distorted voice swirled around me. “This is where you belong.” I felt his voice vibrate by my ear and felt this heat surrounding me. God, I felt him so close…pressing against me so I could feel how big and hard he was.
His fingers were on me, his hands holding me to the door, his tongue making a hot, wet trail from my ear down the length of my throat. And the more moans I let out, the more my dark stranger gave me.
I felt his teeth at the soft spot where my shoulder and neck met, and when I felt the sharp sting of him piercing me, I gasped and opened my eyes. The breath left my lungs in a sharp gasp.
I expected to see nothing. This had to be a twisted figment of my imagination.
But I wasn't alone. A figure stood before me, massive and shrouded in the shadows of night, the clouds shielding the moon and washing everything in an onyx blanket. His presence was suffocating, his broad shoulders and towering frame blocking out the forest behind him.
I opened my mouth to scream—or maybe to moan for more—but the sound never left my lips. Instead, as I stared into a face I couldn't see because of the shadows, I lifted my hand and touched my neck where I’d felt the pain. I pulled my fingers back, looked down, and saw the tips smeared with blood. Mine.
He’d bitten me.
“You’re mine, Clara. You’ll realize that soon.”
Then everything went black.
I shot upright in bed, my heart hammering in my chest, and the sound of Laszlo snoring heavily from the loveseat a backdrop I could have done without. Sweat clung to my skin, and my breathing was ragged as I scanned the room.
I stared at Laszlo as he lay haphazardly on the couch, one leg hanging off, an arm thrown over his head, and his mouth hanging open. The first rays of sunlight peeked through the window—the curtains wide open although I knew I closed them before we left the house yesterday.
I swallowed hard, my hands trembling as I placed my fingers on the side of my neck, felt a tender spot, and closed my eyes because I knew what was there.
A bite mark.
That was proof that I wasn’t going crazy. I was being watched, and he’d come for me last night.
His words played in my head.“You’re mine, Clara. You’ll realize that soon.”
And I knew he meant every word. Whatever I felt was real. That should have scared me, but it…thrilled me.
CHAPTER FOUR
CLARA
I’d been up for hours by the time Laszlo woke.
He was sprawled out on my couch, the stench of stale alcohol clinging to him like a second skin. His shirt was rumpled, his hair was a mess, and he already wore a scowl on his face. And it only deepened when he looked at me and no doubt saw how irritated I was.
I stood by the window, the late morning light filtering in. My arms were crossed, my resolve like steel that I was ending this now.
“What time is it?” he asked groggily.
“Late,” I said in a clipped voice.
“What’s wrong?”
