I’m not someone who normally drinks a lot. With Ladon around, often I find I need it to either calm my nerves or give me something else to do, which is ridiculous. I trust him implicitly. Yet to have him in the same room when I feed… I wouldn’t be able to control myself.
Willpower is not something I have in spades. I learned that at an early age. I’m also the type to go after what I want. Where Ladon is concerned, I’ve been shrinking back. Pulling in on myself. Not wanting him to see the true reason for me keeping him at arm’s length.
There’s no way I’d be able to hide my desire for the male once my fangs were out and I gave in to the bloodlust. Every beat of Ladon’s heart, every sound I hear when I focus on his veins and that succulent fluid that runs through them, drives me wild. I’m a monster and he’s my prey. I can’t let that happen. I could drain him. He’s a human and can’t regenerate, so I have to do everything in my power to keep my fangs out of his neck. A neck I’ve spent far too much time thinking about.
If he knew how much I thought about tasting him, I’d never see him again. He’d turn and run and then I’d have a pack of wolves breathing down my neck. Not that I couldn’t handle them. I just don’t want to.
Maybe him leaving was for the best. I took him home and haven’t heard from him since. If it is for the best, then why do I feel like there’s a hole opening up inside me? Like someone stuck their hand in there and is carving out a portion?
Falling backward, I collapse on the couch and rub my hand over the center of my chest. This is ridiculous. I’m old enough to keep my fangs in check. I’ve been doing it since we met and started hanging out. The call, though. That pull to the blood coursing through his veins. It makes me want to jump on him.
This isn’t just about his blood. I recognize that. But I’m not going to do anything about it. No, no, no. I finally have a friend who I enjoy being around. I can’t screw it up.
Dragging my phone from my pocket, I decide to give in and text Ladon. I’ll have to be on my best behavior. Staying away from him, as much as I think it’s a good idea, is eating me alive.
Me: I’m sorry.
And now I wait. The three little dots appear, telling me he’s typing. Then they stop. My heart beats faster. He’s not going to respond. He’s debating. Fate. I screwed up.
The dots start again. And stop.
More dots…
Ladon: I’m not sure what to say.
Me: Can we talk? I can come get you.
This is a bad, bad idea. I’m going to have to explain things to him. How much, is the question. I’m not sure I can tell him everything. In fact, I know I can’t. He’d want to act on it. As much as he’s trying to keep them suppressed, I’ve heard his thoughts. He’d want me to take what I desire from him. Not his blood, because I can’t, but his lips, his touch, his body.
Ladon: Are you going to tell me what happened or are you going to continue to hide behind fae wine?
Hiding is the better option. The easier one. I owe Ladon, though, after the way I behaved.
Me: We can talk. No wine needed.
Ladon: I’m in my room.
I jump from the couch and shove my phone back into my pocket. Rushing to the bathroom, I brush my teeth and take a comb to my wild hair. Then I look down at myself.
Today, I’m in a pair of cotton shorts and a super soft T-shirt. It’s one of my favorites and another one Trent had made for me. The pale blue shirt has the words, I wouldn’t test me if I were you, over the front in a pretty, sparkly black script. There’s no need to change. Ladon accepts me for who I am.
With a quick snap of my fingers, I teleport from my bathroom in Italy to the Quivakond Pack House in eastern Pennsylvania. Ladon’s room is bathed in darkness. I should check the time before I text people. I blame my lack of sleep for the oversight.
It’s not hard to make out where the male lies in the center of the bed. His hands are clasped behind his head as his eyes settle on me. My night vision has me taking in every inch of him. From his socked feet to his sweatpants, which sit low on his hips. To his bare, chiseled chest.
My hands ball into fists; my nails bite into my skin. I don’t move. Barely breathe. Ladon isn’t a paranormal, so he won’t hear my change in breathing or my increasing heart rate. But those eyes of his never leave me. And mine… Well, they keep flickering from the defined muscles on his stomach and chest to his supple bottom lip to his eyes. I’m so royally screwed.
I don’t trust my voice, so I speak to him with my mind. “Are we staying or going?”
“We can go,” he says quietly.
Slowly, achingly slowly, he stands from the bed and walks toward me. His hair is a little mussed but in the sexiest way. Every single step he takes, it’s like he’s on a mission and I’m the end goal. He’s been hanging around shifters too long. He has their predatory stride down.
When did all this change? When did I start looking at him like more than a friend? I can’t stop thinking about him. And here he is in front of me. I can’t tear my gaze away from the male coming toward me like I’m the one who is about to be eaten alive, not the other way around.
Ladon stops a foot from me. The heat from his body drifts to me along with his scent that’s so unique to him. So very male mixed with something spicy and downright sinful.
He doesn’t break eye contact when he reaches behind me and pulls a shirt from the dresser at my back. With ease, he slips it over his head and holds out his hand.
Staring down at it, I don’t move. Such a bad idea. So monumentally foolish. Yet, I don’t stop. My willpower hangs on by a thread. I take his hand in mine and lift my other to snap, but Ladon stops me with a sharp tug. I take a step forward to steady myself. We’re only a breath away.
“Gen,” he whispers.
I let out a whimper. It’s the most ridiculous sound I’ve ever made. Steeling myself, I take a step back, not willing to give in to the most carnal desires of my body.
Then I snap because I can’t handle this and need a lit room to give me some clarity. We land in my living room. I immediately drop Ladon’s hand. Who knew I’d be so good at this hot and cold thing? Only I’m not cold. My body is heating with a thousand fires that can only be extinguished by one male.
“Gen,” Ladon says my name stronger and louder this time. I turn and pace away from him. He sighs. “Talk to me. I’m here, willing to listen to whatever you want to say.”
I comb my fingers through my hair and worry my bottom lip with my teeth before spinning and leveling him with my gaze. He’s sitting on the couch with his elbows on his thighs and his fingers clasped tightly.
My hands start to shake and a sweat breaks out on my forehead. I can’t do it. I can’t tell him anything. Black spots begin to dance in my vision, which only serves to amp up my nervousness.
Then I go down. Hard. Crumpling to the floor before everything turns to black and there’s nothing left for me to do but succumb to it.
Something wet hits my lips, slowly rousing me. I don’t have the energy to move. Then my head is tipped back and whatever is wet works its way to my tongue. All my senses come alive. My fangs descend. My tongue snakes out to lick my lips. There’s the brush of flesh against them. I don’t think, only react. My fangs pierce the skin as my instincts take over.