Page 21

We are all we have left.

I ’m writhing on the bed , my back arching as Paul strokes me between my legs. I want to stop him—at least, I tell myself that. Because I want to believe it. But I’m justifying what’s happening in so many ways right now, there isn’t a chance in hell that I’m going to stop him.

I’m rationalizing. I’m in full-on justification mode. Telling myself that it’s been Paul all along. He’s been in Ryet’s head every time we’ve had sex. Every time we’ve done anything.

I’m his. I belong to Paul, not Ryet.

And I’m so disgusted with myself that I let him get to me like this. That I’m believing his lies.

Except they’re not lies. It’s true.

I am Paul’s. Ryet is Paul’s. This game we’re playing isn’t ours and this moment right here is destiny. It’s what we were made for. I’m going to die if this ritual between me and the blood brothers doesn’t happen. And that death might actually be worse than death.

But the real reason this is happening is because… I like it.

I want to be with Paul. And I want to be with Ryet. Josep, I’m not sure about, but even if I didn’t want him, it’s not enough to stop me now.

This is the only thing that matters, really. I can blame Paul all I want, I can justify and find all kinds of completely true reasons that explain my behavior.

But in the end, this is my choice.

“Are you ready?” I open my eyes and find Paul’s face hovering over mine. Then I am drawn to movement at the end of the bed. Ryet and another man—Josep—are clinging to each other in a tight embrace. Ryet’s mouth on Josep’s neck. Josep’s mouth on Ryet’s neck. Drinking each other at the same time. But it’s more than that. They are naked, and hard, and grinding into each other. Moaning, blood dripping out of their mouths. Snarling and growling like animals. Josep has Ryet’s cock in his hand, fisting it tight. And Ryet’s hand is pumping up and down Josep’s shaft.

It’s unrestrained lust.

It’s evil desires.

And I can’t. Stop. Watching.

Josep pulls back from Ryet’s neck, blood dripping down his face. He is the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on. He is Ryet times a hundred. He is Paul times a thousand. And it takes every bit of self-control I have not to beckon him into my bed with a finger.

Paul wipes my sweaty hair away from my face. He has stopped drinking me and the craving I have for blood—all the blood—suddenly takes over.

Josep and I lock eyes. His are black. Nothing but pits. And this should terrify me, but it doesn’t. It makes me crave him more. He sticks his tongue out, wiggling it at me. “Do you want me to eat your pussy, Syrsee?” He fists Ryet’s hair, yanking him off his neck. Ryet is growling and hissing, trying to latch back on. “We have a little bit of time, if that’s how you want to spend it.”

I’m lost. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t really understand what he’s talking about. Time ?

But I don’t care, either. I say, “Yes. Come here.” And then he’s dragging Ryet to the bed with him. Crawling up between my legs. Paul spreads them open for Josep, Ryet is back to drinking, making animal noises as he sucks the blood from Josep.

I’m focused on Josep too. Because he’s smiling like an evil demon as he flicks his tongue back and forth, teasing me for a few seconds. Making me agonize with the anticipation.

And then, when the tip of his tongue glides over my pussy, Paul’s neck is pressing against my lips. I bite into the skin and Paul starts to moan as the blood rushes out of the ragged wound I just made.

It’s hot, and sweet, and I can’t get enough. I swallow it down in gulps as Josep slides his mouth over to the inside of my leg. I know it’s coming and when his teeth sink into the tender skin of my inner thigh, I am so overwhelmed with hunger, I nearly attack Paul. My teeth snapping at his shoulder, his neck, any part of his body that gets close enough.

Then his mouth is covering mine. Biting me as I bite him, our bloody lips connected now.

Josep slides out from between my legs, lying on the opposite side of me.

It’s like it was that night Paul was draining me. Him on one side, Ryet on the other.

But this time I’m between Paul and Josep and that’s when I realize that they are opening my legs and Ryet is scooting up between them.

I open my eyes to watch him.

And then, finally, I scream .

Because this isn’t Ryet.

This is the Darkness.

But something happens here . I’m screaming, but I’m not. It’s in my head, or some place else, or maybe not even happening at all. I can’t tell. Because I’m not in the bed anymore. I’m in a library. Not the Guild library filled with untouchable tomes, but something bright and public.

Ryet is standing next to me. Real Ryet. I know this because he’s grinning at me and his eyes are twinkling and filled with good-natured mischief. This smile and these eyes are familiar in a long-lost way because this is the man, Ryet. Not the monster.

For some reason I’m deliriously happy. The kind of happy that comes after a long day of nothing but good things. So many good moments, you don’t even have time to count them all up and sort them all out.

We’re reaching for the same book on the shelf in front of us, our fingertips touching as we smile at the good fortune of being in the right place at the right time.

We are strangers. I know this, even though it doesn’t make sense.

Neither of us lets go of the book. Neither of us surrenders to the other.

And then something washes over me. Like a memory of forgetting. And I’m not sure where I am, or why I’m here, or who this man is—I just know I must meet him. I have to say something to get his attention and lying about my claim on the book feels like the perfect opening.

“I was here first.” I say this with confidence, even though I did actually see him reaching for it when my hand flew up to the spine. We were both browsing the same aisle of books for several minutes. Stealing glances at each other. Trying to be coy.

“Really?” The handsome stranger laughs this word out as he grins at me. He’s amazingly beautiful. Like supernaturally beautiful. “That’s your opening? ‘I was here first?’”

“What? It’s true. I had my hand on the book and you reached for it.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re just… gonna lean in to it, aren’t you?”

I blink my eyes at him, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

We’re both still holding on the book. He nods his head at it. “Do you even know what this book is about?”

I have no idea what the title is, let alone what it’s about. I glance at the spine— Lovers Under a Bridge —then look back at him with confidence. “Of course I know what it’s about.”

He smirks back at me, calling me out as a liar with his eyes, but it’s not a serious call-out. It’s more like a challenge-accepted call-out. “You think it’s about lovers under a bridge, don’t you?”

I shrug one shoulder up. “That’s… part of it. But… it’s got… deep, dark undertones.”

“So you’ve read it?” His eyebrows have shot up to the top of his forehead. Like he’s surprised. But it’s not a real surprise, just a flirty one. We’re playing a little game here. A little game called meet-cute banter.

We’re probably gonna have sex. Maybe he’ll take me back to his place, or maybe I’ll take him back to my place, or maybe we’ll just do it right here in the stacks like sex-addicted exhibitionists. But this is no ordinary chance meeting. It’s… a beginning.

“Dozens of times.”

He scoffs. But it’s still in good-natured territory. “OK.” He has to stop and chuckle here. “What are the main characters’ names?”

I don’t even hesitate. “Esmerelda and Tony.”

He laughs so loud, it echoes off the library ceiling. Then takes a moment to look properly embarrassed while simultaneously peeking down and through the stacks to see if anyone will come chastise him. When he’s sure the coast is clear, he directs those mischievous and twinkling eyes back at me. “Nailed it.” I press my lips together, stifling my own outburst. “But you’re not out of the woods yet. I’m gonna need a plot.”

I tsk my tongue and stare at him in mock open-mouthed shock. “Are you really challenging me to a pop-quiz duel?”

“Is that a thing?”

I shrug. “I’m making it up as I go here.”

“You’re really good at it.”

I curtsey, lifting up the hem of my little summer dress. “Thank you.”

He holds up a finger. “But I’ve got my heart set on this book.”

“So do I.” We’re both still holding the spine. I grip it a little tighter.

“Well, then I think a pop-quiz duel is the proper way to handle it.”

“Challenge accepted.”

His eyes are twinkling even brighter now. Like this is the best conversation he’s had in years. “You seem pretty confident.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve practically memorized Emily and Toby’s character arcs.”

“Esmerelda and Tony.” He chuckles the words out.

“That’s what I said.”

“Question number one.”

“I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

“Where do the lovers meet?”

“Duh. Under the frickin’ bridge.”

“You’re really gonna do this?” He’s got that one eyebrow lifted up again.

“The quiz? Fuck, yeah, I am.”

“It’s not about a bridge. It’s a metaphor.”

“Oh. My God. That’s what I just said.”

“They’re not even lovers. They’re frenemies.”

“I hate that word.”

“Why?”

“It’s so overused.”

“ Frenemies ?” He laughs loudly again. And this time someone is close enough—though hidden in some other stack—to chastise him with a shush. He lowers his voice and leans in to me, whispering. “Where do you hail from where the word ‘frenemies’ is overused?”

“Where do I hail from?” Now it’s my turn to laugh out loud. “What are you, some kind of out-of-time, old-fashioned bibliophile?”

He points at me with the hand not holding on to the spine of Lovers Under a Bridge . “Yes.”

I put up my free hand in a full-motion stop. “No.”

“No? You’re just gonna say no? Like… I’m lying?”

“Well, here’s the thing…”

He fills in the blank I just dropped. “Ryet.”

“Here’s the thing, Ryet. It’s fine if you’re an old-fashioned bibliophile. But you can’t be an out-of-time one.”

“Why not?”

I shrug up my shoulders. “Because time travel is fake.”

He nods his head to the book. “Tell that to Esme and Tyler.”

“You mean Elsa and Todd?”

“That’s what I said .”

Now we both laugh. And then we both let go of the stupid book. He backs up, leaning against the stack across the aisle, crossing his arms as he smirks at me with those amazing twinkling eyes.

I do the same, but on my side of the aisle. “Are we gonna have sex, Ryet?”

He nods his head. It’s a slow nod. Giving him enough time to say paragraphs of words with just a look. “It’s happening…”

Then I fill in the blank he just dropped. “Syrsee.”

“It’s happening, Syrsee. I’m pretty sure that not only are we going to have sex, we’re gonna be best friends forever after it’s over.” He’s completely serious too. The banter is gone and so is the twinkle in his eyes.

This is when I notice that there is a gold mist swirling up from the floor. Dancing around the hem of my flirty skirt and filling the space between us.

I suddenly want to cry because it’s not real. And I want this to be real. “Something really bad is happening right now, Ryet.”

He looks like he wants to cry too. “I know, Syrsee. That’s why we’re here. I don’t want you to remember it. I don’t want you to feel it. I don’t want it to define you, or me, or us. So I brought you here. And you’re never gonna know what happened.”

“Won’t it… haunt me? This missing piece of my history?”

He nods again. And again, it’s slow. But now it’s also sad. “It will. But… I’ll do my best. I’ll do anything to fill that ugly emptiness with something good. Something good like this.” He waves a hand at what’s left of the library. Which isn’t much. It’s really just the hint of a library. “What’s happening in my cabin is not us, Syrsee. We are not a witch and a vampire. We’re just Syrsee and Ryet. That’s all there is to it. We’re not them.”

I nod. Swallow hard, still nodding. But I’m not sure I believe him. I want to believe him. It’s just… too big of an ask, I think.

Ryet reaches across the aisle, plucks Lovers Under a Bridge off the shelf next to me, then gives it to me. “I’m gonna get you all the books, Syrsee. That’s where we’ll start. You’re gonna get all the fucking books you want.”

I look down at the book in my hands, then back up at him. “But how? They’re locked up.”

“I’ll make a deal with them. With those Guild people. They can have me, do whatever they want with me, but in return, you get all the books.”

“If you do that…” I pause to take a deep breath. Then try again. “If you do that, Ryet. I will… I will want to kill them. If they hurt you?—”

“It’s OK.” He places his hand on my cheek, staring into my soul with eyes that no longer twinkle. “I’ll be OK. They can’t hurt me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because if they could, they’d have done it by now.”

“What if they’re… I dunno, working on some secret project? Something that will hurt you. And the last piece of the puzzle is you giving in. Wouldn’t you be trading yourself for something that will only make me temporarily happy? Because the books are a good idea.” I place a hand on his cheek, looking straight into his soul now too. “It’s a really nice way to fill the ugly emptiness that’s developing inside me right now. But I don’t want knowledge, Ryet. Not if I have to trade it for you.”

“We can… fix it. If anything goes wrong, Syrsee? We’ll fix it. We’re powerful. What’s happening in the cabin bedroom is disgusting and tragic. But it’s making us more powerful. We’ll… bide our time, the way Paul did. But we’ll never lose sight of the endgame.”

“Revenge?”

“No. That’s destructive. I don’t want to live for revenge, do you?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t either. It’s just the first option that came to mind.”

“Our endgame is us. On our own terms. Everything we do from now on is about that. Freedom. That’s our endgame. One day we will be free from these curses and we will never have to submit again.”

I like the idea. But I don’t want to live in a fantasy. So even if I don’t say this out loud to him, I need to say it to myself.

What he just described—being free from these curses—well, that sounds a whole lot like death to me.

I think Ryet is probably having the same internal conversation with himself because he wraps his arms around me, pulling me tight into his chest, and all the stupid little things that were coming between us when we arrived at the cabin cease to matter. Whatever I am to him—food or otherwise—and whatever he is to me—I’m not sure—none of that is important.

Because we are not each other’s enemy.

We are all we have left.