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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHANEL

M orning light spilled into the kitchen. Morgan sat across from me. Her curly hair was still messy from sleep. She scrolled through her phone while I absently stirred the cream into my coffee. She was spending more nights here with me.

The TV hummed in the background. It was just enough noise to fill the comfortable silence between us. A certain tone in the news anchor’s voice made us both look up. Our movements were synchronized like besties who’ve rehearsed the same routine.

“We begin this morning with breaking news from the Southside,” the news anchor stated. Her professionally somber face betrayed just enough emotion to signal that whatever came next wasn’t your everyday tragedy. “A United States postal worker was found dead early this morning in the West Woodlawn neighborhood in what Chicago police are describing as a targeted attack.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, her finger pausing mid-scroll. “That’s terrible. Is she black?”

I half shrugged, wondering the same thing when the anchor continued.

“The victim has been identified as 37-year-old Chanel Taylor, who had worked for the postal service for over eight years. An investigation is underway. So far, there is no one in custody.”

My spoon clattered against the porcelain. The name, my name—hung in the air between us. The news flashed a candid photo of the lady on the screen. It was a pretty woman with darker skin than mine, hair pulled back in neat box braids, and a smile that suggested she was caught mid-laugh when the photo was taken.

“That’s so weird. She has your exact name.” Morgan said, putting her cell phone down completely now. Her pewter eyes were wide while voicing the strange coincidence.

“Yeah,” I managed one word. My voice sounded distant even to my own ears. “Weird.”

The anchor droned on about police having no suspects yet, about how Ms. Taylor was beloved in her community, about how anyone with information should call the number at the bottom of the screen. I couldn’t fully focus on the words. Instead, I was caught with the uncanny feeling of hearing my name attached to a murder victim. It was like glimpsing at my own ghost.

“It’s not like it’s an uncommon name,” I said finally, trying to sound casual. “I mean, Chanel is pretty popular for our age demographic, and Taylor is practically Smith these days.”

Morgan tilted her head. Her cascading curls fell over one shoulder. “Still. Exact same name, same city? That’s some freaky shit right there.”

“In the grand scheme of weird and freaky, I think the stuff I told you about the paranormals’ top that news story.”

“Well, ain’t that the truth.” Morgan’s face softened immediately. “Sorry, Coco.” She used the nickname that’s become her exclusive right, except for her brother Mitchell. He called me Coco, too. “But you have to admit it’s odd.”

“It is, but I know there’s a lot of Chanel Taylor’s out there in the world.”

“Maybe you should tell Zand when he gets here.”

I shook my head, perhaps too quickly. “He’s got enough on his plate with whatever’s happening at The Castle. Besides, it’s just a coincidence.”

Morgan shrugged, but her eyes lingered on me with that look she gets—like she’s trying to read between lines. I didn’t even know I was writing. That’s the thing about friendship that survived trauma; it creates a shorthand, a sixth sense for when the other person is more affected than they’re letting on.

I turned back to the TV, where they moved on to the weather.

“You’re thinking about it too much,” Morgan said, reading me like a true best friend. “It’s just one of those things.”

“What things?” I asked, genuinely curious about her thought process sometimes. This time.

“One of those flukes. Like when you see the same number over and over again all day long. Instead of playing the lottery that day, we ignore it and the next day we forget all about it.”

I almost smiled. Almost. But the chill in my chest hadn’t dissipated, and I couldn’t help wondering if this was more than statistical probability.

In my old life, before Zand, before vampires became more than fiction, I would have dismissed this happenstance entirely. Now the boundaries between possible and impossible have blurred beyond recognition. Seeing the victim with my government name gave me the creeps. Could it be a bad omen or just a coincidence?

“I’m going to go and login to the J.O.B.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, I got to make that money. Your man should be home soon.”

“Oh, it’s that late.” Which was early morning.

The loft elevator door opened, and we both turned to see Zand. He moved with a fluid grace that still caught my breath. He’s been at The Castle all night.

“Ladies,” he said, his voice was low and gravelly. He shrugged off his black coat, revealing a crisp black shirt with the top buttons undone. Despite his obvious look of exhaustion, he was still impossibly handsome. Vampires were like humans. They needed sleep, and they got exhausted, just like the rest of us.

Morgan raised her coffee mug in greeting. “Morning Zand. Did you have to kick any drunks out of your club?”

Something flickered across his face. “Not tonight.”

His eyes found mine, and I saw a hunger there. The more time I spent with him, the more I could read him. This hunger was for blood. It was three days since he last fed from me. He prefers it. We tried to space it out, to keep the balance between his needs and my personal health.

“You look tired.” I said, raising from the table to meet him halfway across the room.

His hand found the small of my back, a gesture of possession that I loved coming from him. “I’ll be fine after some rest.”

Morgan jumped to her feet and clears her throat theatrically. “Time to go to work. Thanks for letting me crash in your guest room, by the way. I’m not sure if I said that.”

“No problem. Stay as long as you need,” Zand told her. He’s always been generous.

As Morgan gathered her cell phone and coffee, I considered mentioning the news report. The words formed and dissolved on my tongue. I couldn’t find any good reason to mention it. I didn’t want to worry him. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, I knew he worried about me. Morgan headed toward the guest room.

“Anything exciting happen while I was gone?” Zand asked, almost as if sensing my hesitation.

“Just breakfast.” I pointed to my cup of coffee.

Zand’s eyes narrowed slightly. He could always tell when something was being left unsaid. He didn’t press. Which was a good thing. I didn’t want to sound like a paranoid lunatic. His hand tightened around my waist.

“I need to get some of you.” His words carried multiple meanings. He wanted me sexually, but he also wanted to drink my blood. I could never deny him. If there was a way to drink a person’s blood in the most sensual and alluring way, he was doing that to me. He was gentle every time, and he didn’t scare me.

Zand slowly pulled me to the staircase that led upstairs to the bedroom we shared. Our bedroom was a sanctuary of shadows. The blackout curtains were drawn tight against the daylight outside. Zand moved with purpose. His fingers lingered on the small of my back as he guided me upstairs and through the doorway.

In the dim glow of the bedside lamp, I saw his face and all its sharp angles. Time had taught me to read the tension in his jaw. Maybe it was something with Marisol. Maybe Donté, his new protégé, was giving him problems. It was all speculation. I had to push it all away so I could enjoy the moment.

Zand locked the door behind us. This was a habit born of necessity rather than privacy. Vampires were vulnerable when they slept, and a locked door gave the light sleepers time to fight if need be.

Zand’s honey-colored eyes darkened. I stepped closer, close enough to feel the unnatural coolness that radiated from his skin. “You know you can tell me anything.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. His hand rose to cup my cheek. His thumb traced my lower lip. “I know. But right now, I need something else from you.”

The words sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear. Two months ago, I might have been terrified by the implication. Now, my body responded with certainty.

“You haven’t fed from me in three days.” I purred. My hands found the buttons of his shirt.

“Three days, fourteen hours.” He corrected while watching my fingers work. “But who’s counting?” He smirked.

We had established boundaries that kept me safe. The feeding never took too much from me. He never left me weak. Still, there was always that edge of danger that made the feedings feel thrilling.

“Did you have your processed blood?”

“No. I wanted to wait for yours. Your blood tastes better when I abstain from the blood bags.”

“You should’ve said something.”

I pushed his shirt from his shoulders to reveal the marble perfection of his chest. No matter how many times I saw him like this, it still took my breath away.

“I wanted you to recover from the last time.” His cool hands found my waist and slipped beneath my nightgown to meet my bare skin.

Zand’s touch sent sparks across my skin. His fingers trailed up my ribcage, mapping the territory he had claimed countless times before.

“I’m fully recovered now.” I whispered, arching slightly into his touch.

Zand lifted me effortlessly, as if I weighed nothing at all. He carried me to the bed. His supernatural strength no longer startled me. He laid me down with gentleness. His body covered mine with his weight carefully distributed, so I didn’t feel crushed.

“Your heart is racing.” He observed. Zand pressed his lips to my throat, right where my pulse quickened. “Is it fear or anticipation?”

“Both.” I readily admitted. Feeling his lips smile against my skin.

Zand’s mouth traveled upward to my neck until he reached the spot just below my ear. This was the spot that he savored. The spot that was hypersensitive from months of devoted attention.

“Yes.” I breathed, although he never asked a question. I threaded my fingers through his dark hair and held him close.

There was a moment of a dreamlike delay before his fangs pierced my skin. The initial pain felt like a sharp lightning strike of sensation that made me gasp. Then there was the rush in my heartbeat. The flood of endorphins transformed my pain into need. Then the pleasure washed through me in waves. It radiated from the puncture site to the tips of my fingers and toes. It soared through the soles of my feet and pooled hot and unrelenting between my thighs.

Zand drank slowly, reverently, one hand cradling the back of my head while his other slid beneath my gown with his palm flat against my stomach. I felt the tremor in his fingers. It took restraint for him not to gulp greedily. Each pull of his mouth drew a soft moan from mine. The sensation made me whimper even when I tried to suppress it.

My body responded to the feeding in ways that were sexual. It wasn’t just arousal. It was a surrender more fulfilling than ordinary sex could ever achieve. Zand was literally taking a vital part of me into himself. He was consuming my essence. This level of intimacy boarded on spiritual.

His hand moved higher, cupping my breast through the thin fabric of my nightgown. My nipple pebbled against his palm, sensitive to the point of almost pain. I arched into his touch, silently begging for more. He obliged by pushing my gown up, exposing me to the cool air and his hungry gaze.

When he finally broke the seal of his mouth against my neck, I felt grief despite knowing it was necessary. Zand was careful never to take too much. His tongue traced over the puncture wounds. His supernatural saliva sealed the wounds instantly. It would still take hours for the fresh wounds to heal.

“You taste like sunshine.” He whispered. His voice was raspy from his blood-induced intoxication. His eyes had changed, glowing with amber fire, pupils dilated.

Now I was smiling. When I reached up to touch his face, he captured my hand in his and turned it to press his lips against my wrist. “This vein I will save for next time.”

Next time can be now! Before I could answer, his mouth claimed mine. The metallic tang of my own blood was on his tongue. His kiss was demanding, almost desperate, as if he’s still hungered for my body despite having fed on my blood. I now understood that blood was only part of what he craved.

My nightgown disappeared over my head. His remaining clothes followed. His body had heated up. Something that happened when he was against me. Where I was soft. He was hard. Paradise was when his hard invaded my soft.

“I need you.” I whispered against his mouth. I needed him to massage this ache building inside me.

Zand’s hand slid down my body. He traced the curve of my hip to the length of my thigh. When he found the wetness between my legs, he groaned.

“Are you ready for me?”

The blood loss had left me light-headed, more sensitive than usual. Each circle of his thumb sent butterflies to my stomach. With each gentle press of his fingers, I bit at my bottom lip to hold my moans inside my throat. My hands clutched at his shoulders, trying desperately to summon him to move faster.

“Please.” I managed to say the word, hoping it would force him out the starting gate.

Zand positioned himself above me. His powerful arms help a push-up beside my head. His eyes locked onto mine. The bond formed through my blood heightened everything between us.

My man, my man, my man slowly pushed inside me. I closed my eyes tightly and gasped at the friction. He filled me completely, stretching me in ways that bordered between pleasure and discomfort. My body yielded to accommodate his size. His first thrust was measured and careful, despite the hunger I knew raged through him.

“Zand.” I begged for more with just one word. I wrapped my legs around his waist, changing the angle of my body to take him deeper inside me.

Something primal flashed across his face—the animal, the monster, the vampire I had seen just one time before. I watched as he pushed that creature down and turned back into the other man, the one that was human-like. What would happen if he let the vampire out—completely?

His next thrust was harder, more insistent. I cried out in approval. His rhythm built steadily. Each movement pushed me further up the bed until my head tapped the headboard. Suddenly, one strong arm hooked beneath me, lifting my hips to meet his. His deep thrusts sent shocks of pleasure through my core.

My vision blurred as the pressure built low in my belly. Each dominant thrust brought me closer to the edge. Zand’s movements became more robotic, more deliberate, more focused, and lustful.

“I’m going to break you in half.” He threatened.

I knew he could actually do it. The fear of the thought made me wetter and warmer inside. My pussy contracted so tightly his slippery thrusts felt like punches to my belly. He turned my head to the side and felt a pool of drool ooze from my mouth.

“You’re mine. Forever.” Zand grumbled against my earlobe.

His words, combined with the skillful movements of his massive dick and the relentless rhythm of his hips, were pushing me over the edge. My orgasm crashed through me like a breaking wave.

I cried out his name. “Zand!” My back arched off the bed. My inner muscles clenched around him in rhythmic pulses.

The intensity of my climax triggered his own. With a guttural sound that was mistakenly animal, Zand pounded deeply inside me one final time. His body shuddered against mine as he found his release. It was a perfect moment of ecstasy. We were connected in ways that even I couldn’t put into words.

Then slowly, he collapsed beside me. He draped his arm possessively across my waist, keeping me close to him. I struggled to catch my breath. My heart pounded frantically while his beat at a much slower pace. I didn’t know how his heartbeat when movies and TV told me otherwise.

“For the blood. Thank you.” He muttered against my temple before pressing a kiss there.

I turned to look at him, studying the softness that returned to his model features. His eyes had returned to their normal honey color. His supernatural glow had faded back to normal.

“You never have to thank me.”

His smile was tender, almost human until he licked his lips revealing his fangs. “But I do.”

We laid in comfortable silence for several minutes. The pain from the puncture wounds on my neck had already subsided. There was a pleasant tenderness that would remind me of this moment throughout the day.

This was pure bliss. Yet, there were still so many questions I should be asking. For now, though, they would have to wait. I nestled closer to Zand’s side, allowing myself this moment of peace before whatever was coming next.