Page 29 of The Reveal (Bloodlore #1)

It’s the first night of October and suddenly cold outside. It is now a week since I met Ariel, and I am no closer to finding out what happened to Augie than I was on night one. This does not make me happy.

But rather than brood on this privately, as I’ve been doing, I am sitting in the kitchen before my nightly drive into Medford.

I’m watching Briar—in a knit hat, as usual—stomp around the kitchen making dire predictions that we should live it up tonight because tomorrow night is a full moon and Maddox and her friends will eat us all alive in our beds.

“Like a bag of chips, served up to them on a silver fucking platter,” she seethes.

I opt not to express my feelings on how unlikely I find it that anyone would serve bags of chips on silver platters, especially to silver-avoidant werewolves. Because I doubt that is an observation that would lead to peace on this property, and as the landlord, I need to consider such things.

Also, Briar speaks so seldomly. I’m fascinated that this is what she wants to talk about.

“Maddox and her friends could eat you at any moment of any day or night,” Savi replies in her serene way, which only makes Briar fume.

Visibly. She is clearly as comforted by this observation as I was when they told me Ariel could kill me at any time yet hadn’t, lucky me.

“Why would they wait for a moon rising to lead the way when Maddox already has a key?”

It does occur to me to wonder why Savi is always so sure that a killer who hasn’t murdered you yet is somehow safer than one who tries , but this doesn’t feel like the right moment to explore her worldview. Likely because that would come with more questions about who she really is.

“What makes you think you’d be a good meal?

” Maddox asks mildly, seeming completely unperturbed by Briar’s accusations as she makes herself some dinner.

Rare meat she slaps into a frying pan for about three seconds on each side that looks like it might squeak when she bites into it.

She smiles at Briar as she slides her steak onto a plate.

“Have you showered even once since you’ve moved in?

That’s not a personal question, it’s just that I take my food prep seriously. That includes washing.”

“Besides, I assume that werewolves have better things to do under a full moon,” I add, because that seemed reasonable enough to assume. And also because Briar looks murderous. “What with all the myths and legends and whatnot.”

And then, suddenly, it becomes another one of those moments when I realize that I’ve stumbled onto something. All my tenants stare at me, as if waiting for me to say the very obvious next thing—

Except I don’t know what that is.

If it weren’t for the vampire problem occupying my thoughts, I would probably brood on that more than I have.

“Yes,” Maddox says after a moment, carefully returning her attention to her actual dinner. “There’s a lot of magic in the moon. Everyone knows that.”

For some reason, this makes Briar scoff, then storm out, slamming the back door behind her.

I remember what Maddox said that night on the back stoop about the moon and the ritual she keeps putting off. And I don’t realize how much I’m worrying about that until she comes over to the kitchen table with her plate and laughs when she sees the expression on my face.

“Don’t worry,” she drawls. “He hasn’t fucked me into submission yet. Though it has to be said, he does try.”

When both Savi and I laugh in the same helpless way, I find myself thinking that it may be a dire house , as Gran said once, but it’s significantly more entertaining than it used to be when it was packed tight with only our family ghosts.

Which isn’t to say that I’m not haunted by them all the same.

Tonight it’s already full dark when I make it down that alleyway outside the MMA school, which hasn’t gotten any more welcoming. It still feels like eyes and fangs are pointed my way, but I don’t react to that. Not anymore.

Not when I have my own, personal interview with the vampire to get through before I make it home again. If I make it home again.

I think about that as I let myself into the school, shivering a little from the cold breeze outside with teeth in it, and pause for a moment on the threshold of that dark lower level.

Gathering my strength. Getting ready for the chess game I’m about to engage in, for however long he pleases, with no clear winner.

Though it always feels like I lose something in the bargain.

Maybe more than I want to admit.

Augie’s medallion hangs heavy around my neck, like it agrees.

I know I’m late tonight, and yet I don’t hurry as I head up the stairs to find the martial arts studio itself empty. I’m tempted to turn around and leave, but I know better.

Though it’s more honest to say that I could leave, but I don’t.

I wander through the dark room, spooky with shadows and sounds of violence from across the river and up on the old freeway overpass that used to be thick with traffic, I-5 being the major artery from California through Washington.

I climb the stairs to the loft and then, with only a considering glance for the door that I suspect leads to his apartment, I head for the roof instead.

It’s like the night calls to me now. Having hidden from the stars for too long, I can’t let myself go back.

I tell myself that, if nothing else, these nights with Ariel mean that I deserve a little starshine for my trouble.

I don’t wait there long. I stand outside, basking in the stars and the nearly full moon, gearing up for all its glory tomorrow night, until I can feel Ariel’s presence behind me on the rooftop.

There’s no mistaking that sudden punch of power. I couldn’t say if he materialized here, the way I’m pretty sure he can, or if he simply moves that quietly.

I reach up and wrap my hand around Augie’s medallion to remind myself why I’m here.

“Do we have to play these games?” I ask him, keeping my eyes on the street far below.

I see an ominous fire in the mouth of an alley.

I see shadows streaking toward it and away.

I hear more noise from the park, angry shouting and then agonized cries, though I know better than to believe either sound.

“You don’t have to put on this big song and dance.

I already told you I’ll do whatever you want, and you still haven’t taken me to my brother.

If you want to fuck me, surely we can just fuck and get it over with. ”

He comes up behind me, his strong arms wrap around me, and I realize that I know him now.

I know the shape of that perfect body. I know the way he presses against my back. And I can feel the jut of his cock, hard like marble, against my back.

“Winter,” he says, his voice low and sardonic, a punishment and reward all its own, “I don’t have to fuck you to get you to submit to me.”

And then his mouth is on my neck.

As always, I feel the heat in me and the faint graze of his teeth, and though he sometimes bites down slightly—he never pierces me.

Always close, never quite there.

I realize when he laughs that I said that out loud.

His hand moves, coming around the front of my neck to hold me there, as if he’s reminding me that he could choke me that easily.

One more thing that should horrify me, but instead turns my whole body to a shuddering, needy mess.

He keeps his mouth on my neck and his hand on my throat, and I can already feel that shuddering move lower and lower inside me. It pulls tighter, gathering strength and fire, until he squeezes, just slightly.

That pressure against my neck is divine and deadly, and then he presses his teeth against my skin almost to the point of breaking—

And then he laughs as I press my legs together around that pulsing, greedy bolt of electricity, and come.

So hard it almost hurts.

He pushes me forward so that I brace myself on the low wall, shocked to find dampness all over my face.

I do nothing about it. I don’t accept that I’m crying .

I feel the cool touch of his powerful hands at my hips, then around the front of my body as he tugs my trousers open and then pulls them down my legs.

Then he steps between them, kicking my legs farther apart.

I think, This is it.

And every lie I told myself on the harrowing drive over tonight—about how all I needed to do was happily submit to whatever game he was playing to get what I need in the end, that being access to my brother—goes up in a puff of smoke.

Because it’s true that I want to help Augie. I always want to help Augie. But it’s also true, and significantly more true in this moment, that I want this.

The feel of his cock, heavy and cool, as he presses himself between my legs.

Between them so that he can rub himself against my pussy, hitting my clit each time, but he does not angle up and thrust his way inside.

He holds me there, each deliberate movement of his cock banging against me in such a way that I gasp and try to move but find myself anchored in place.

He moves one hand back to find its way between my legs from the front and slides his fingers into all my shameful heat, and then there’s nothing to do but surrender.

That giant cock is never still. It moves forward or back, creating friction and pressure, and his hand in front presses and pulls and swirls around in all that wetness, teasing and toying with me. With great deliberation and knee-weakening skill.

I’m a mess, and there’s nothing I can think to do about it.

My breasts feel heavy and huge. My nipples are in tight points. All my weight is on my hands, and my head hangs low, and surrender tastes like copper in my mouth as I bite the side of my cheek to keep from moaning out this dark and dirty blaze of pleasure and despair to the streets below.

There’s nothing for me to do but accept that I’m his toy, to do with as he wishes.

And the scariest part is that I like it.