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Forty-Six

HARLOW

The taste of Alec’s blood bursts on my tongue. What I guessed would be disgusting, or at least not remotely tasty by any means of the word, isn’t. It’s metallic in that familiar blood way, but so much more too. A vibrancy that ignites my taste buds, tingling with saltiness that makes me want more. But beneath the coppery taste, there’s more. A flavour I can’t place, but something inside me is becoming increasingly familiar with.

As it slides down my throat, melding with my saliva, another sort of burst happens, this one in my stomach and chest. Suddenly, things are clearer than ever. My mind opens to every possibility between Alec and me. A connection forms, seen only through my mind’s eye, that connects him to me exactly how I’ve been to him since the night I ran from him. It’s a smoky grey, a darkness making him mine, but nothing like the shadows that spent months stalking me. No, this grey feels like home.

Like I’m coming home.

The bond.

Alec jerks beneath me, his eyes shifting a ferocious red. A growl vibrates through his chest, and I suck harder. The slithering sensation circles my neck, the black magick within me waking to the taste of him. Darkness meeting Darkness.

Suddenly, I’m flipped onto my back, the chill from the cement floor rendering Alec’s shirt useless. It gets hiked to my waist as he slots himself between my legs and rips into his own wrist, blood dripping from his arm and onto my chest, an offer silently presented around eyes as wild as the night he first drank from me.

I open my mouth, accepting the decision I’ve made, and he shifts his arm until blood drops onto my tongue, mini explosions going off. My hips rock into his, chasing every sort of feeling he’ll give me as I bring his arm down, mouth latching on the bite he’s made.

A ticklish feeling tingles my mind seconds before his voice, as clear as if he verbally spoke the words, filters through. Do you understand what you’ve done?

I knew what I was doing the second I pricked his finger with his fang. What completing the bond on my end will mean for us—for me.

I don’t love him, that much I know. Is it even possible to go from loving someone who, only weeks prior, kidnapped and meant to use me in his fucked-up revenge games? Probably not. But what I do know is I feel stronger for him than anyone else in my life, past or present. He’s accepting what I am without judgement. He’s one of the few who have never lied to me. He’s here , and this whole thing proved that no matter how much I fight it, fate brought us together and, for some reason, made me his mate. We’re together forever, and eternity will feel painfully endless if I remain determined to limit him to the vampire he was rather than the one he’s becoming for me.

It’s with little focus, an almost instinct driving me, to push my reply into his consciousness, now able to do what I never was before. You accept my Darkness, so why should I keep avoiding yours?

He tugs his arm away and traces my mouth, smudging blood over my lips and chin. As fucking fantastic as that feels, your body isn’t meant for blood. Bride or otherwise, I don’t know if it’ll make you sick.

Probably not, considering the cure doesn’t work on you.

I’d rather not risk it. Verbally, he murmurs, “There’s no greater pleasure among mates than blood-sharing.”

I tilt my head to the side, offering my neck for him to drink. And he does, my body unfurling like the final wisp of smoke from an extinguished fire.

Is there really no greater pleasure than this?

He shakes his head without detaching, his hair brushing the side of my face. His gulping is more relaxed than in the past, as if savouring every drop. He lowers his body onto me, his cock hard against my stomach.

Proof. You have no idea how much I want to make you scream, Hellion.

So do it.

He pulls his fangs from my neck, tongue catching a spare drop of blood on the corner of his mouth. “Not here,” he murmurs, stroking his finger down the side of my face. “Not where people can hear you. I want you all to myself. Besides, your nap in the graveyard wasn’t long, and you need more rest.”

Even the mention of a nap makes me yawn, the sound tapering off into a small giggle. “Maybe you’re right.”

Alec flips us again until I’m back on his lap. Blood trails down my neck and into his shirt. He traces the path with his thumb before gathering a few drops and licking them from his finger, his eyes fluttering shut with a low moan.

“I never knew it could be like this. Your voice is like music in my head. I never want to go without it.”

I look up at him, meaning every syllable when I say, “You won’t.”

He smiles briefly before reclining against the floor and shifting me on top of him, my legs falling to the side, my arms tucking close to our bodies to retain the warmth and avoid the cool ground.

Sleep, he commands. I’ll wake you in a few hours.

He pets my hair and he begins humming a tune I don’t recognize. One filled with heartache and ecstasy, of pain and pleasure. Of enemies and lovers, of descent and growth.

It’s the story of him and me. Of us.

* * *

Alec is perfectly still beneath me, having held me in the same position all day, and I wake first with a sleepy stretch that bumps my head against his.

When he doesn’t move at first, I slowly readjust to look at him, catching his shut eyes and unmoving chest. His face is paler than usual, but there’s a contentment I don’t recognize either as he sleeps.

A sleeping vampire. Not a view I expected.

I reach to move a curl off his forehead and his eyes flash open, finding me instantly.

“You were sleeping,” I comment before he can speak.

“Told you I do.”

“You were tired too?”

“No.” But he offers no more as I shift off of him, coming up onto my knees and stretching. “Everyone left the house a few hours ago, so you can shower undisturbed if you’d like.”

“That’d be nice.” My body is a combination of blood and dirt, and I can’t even imagine what I look like to him. Hair unbrushed, mouth not having seen toothpaste in over a day.

You still look beautiful. Exactly how I plan on keeping you for eternity. His smirk reminds me of the ones he’d use as a part of his mask when he visited me in the cell, only this time there’s an underlining playfulness to it too.

He’s right about the house being empty, not that I doubted it. I head upstairs to use their shower and pilfer through Carina’s clothing for more, hoping she doesn’t mind. I should get Alec to retrieve what I wore yesterday from the woods.

Is there a limit of distance on this thing? I ask him, slipping on a pair of jeans.

Wouldn’t know. You’re my first Bride. Haven’t exactly had much experience.

Other vampires haven’t mentioned?

Having a mate, Bride or chosen, could be a weakness. No vampire would discuss the specifics of the bond in fear it’ll be used against them.

So I’m a weakness for you?

His low growl vibrates through my mind. You’re my only weakness, Hellion. If I ever bow to another, it’ll be at your feet or to save your life. You’re the only thing that can ever hurt me.

I know you’re joking or whatever, but if I can’t control black magick, that might be very well what happens.

I’ve already told you how I feel about your magick, so I refuse to argue about this again.

Accepting me doesn’t mean I’m unafraid, though. I finish dressing and head downstairs, planning for a brief stop by the kitchen for water when a note taped to the wall across from the basement door catches my attention, unnoticed earlier.

Harlow, I’m at the shop, if you’d like to come talk when you’re awake. –Morgan

Taking the note, I slip it into my back pocket and head for the door, bracing for the inevitable conversation needed to be had. Perhaps I’ll pass coven members between here and town’s main core, but I wonder how they’ll react seeing me. If they view me as an enemy now because of the Darkness inside me. The notion makes my chest burn.

I’m heading to Morgan’s shop. Not sure if I’ll be back before evening.

I’ll find you if you’re not. Don’t take her shit, Hellion. Say the word and we’ll leave this place.

I don’t reply because I’d rather not put the possibility of a negative conversation out into the universe. Good vibes and all that follow me down the road, past the Sinclair house, and into the main core.

Testing the distance , I send down the bond.

I hear you. He sounds amused.

Does it weaken if I don’t drink regularly from you?

Not sure.

Why didn’t I hear you right away, when you first drank?

Because I didn’t send anything to you. Couldn’t have you freaking out before I arrived.

That makes sense.

The main core of Banff is, as usual from my short time here, filled with tourists walking in no decipherable patterns. Kids scream for ice cream, BeaverTails, and other sugary treats after supper in one of the numerous restaurants; gift shops have their typical lengthy lines, and people mingle everywhere, photographing the giant mountain that serves as a backdrop to the strip.

The bustle is crazy but welcoming too. Ever since my fake parents’ death, I holed up in my house and exclusively had food delivered when I decided not to starve myself to death. Then it was Alec’s castle, where he and I were the only signs of life. This feels normal. Like the old version of me, even if that version has long been killed.

That version was also a lie.

Morgan’s shop comes into view, and the sign is flipped Closed but after a quick test of the knob, it turns. Strange, and even stranger is the shop being closed.

“Morgan?” I call out, wandering toward the path between the glass countertops that presumably leads to the back room. “Carina?” I try when her mother doesn’t respond.

All is silent, so I head behind into the backroom, scanning the desk, numerous file cabinets, and boxes of inventory.

“Morgan?”

Crack.

Awareness is a cold dose of reality that instantly unsettles me. I need to get out of here…

A body materializes when I step back toward the backroom’s entrance, a man as tall as he is wide. I don’t catch his face before a heavy hand covers my mouth, his other coming up in a series of motions. A black cloud encompasses me before my vision turns fuzzy, the realization of what he’s doing being my final moment of consciousness.

Black magick.

“I’m sorry, Harlow.”

That voice…It’s?—

—Dad.