Page 13 of Until the Heart Stops (The Oylen City #1)

W armth.

Stronger than the strongest wine I’d ever tasted, rushing through my veins.

Bright pops of electricity skittered up my spine.

Like the rhythmic galloping of a horse growing ever closer, an immortal heartbeat took residence within my chest. There was a rush of surprise outside of myself which slowly transformed to a sort of joy.

The joy melted into a bone-aching longing, making my throat clench and the corners of my eyes sear.

Beneath the longing was a loneliness I could barely fathom, swirling through an abhorration he held for what he was.

These feelings were distant, almost out of reach, as if he kept them from himself as he kept them from me.

Though I could not see him, I could sense him.

Sense his rising from the coffin with a gracefulness only a vampire could show.

A brush of hesitation. A deep inhale. Gentle sensations built beneath my skin like the hands of the specter I’d likened him to.

Those hands slid over my cheeks, my throat, my breasts, my waist. My breath hitched in my throat, the barest murmur of a moan slipping through my lips while I pressed my thighs together.

Desire. Desire raging so deep I wondered how long he’d been aching.

The feeling was such a heady thing, especially as I realized his yearning had nothing to do with my blood.

No, he desired me , I could sense that. My body, my voice, my warmth, my presence.

Would he drink my blood if given the chance?

Goddess, yes. But there was more he wanted.

Heat curled into my core until I was dripping.

Those ghostly hands slid over my knees, and paused at my thighs.

I was alone and though I could, of course, feel this desire, there was a question spoken without words.

My pulse thrummed in my ears and my next exhale was shaky as I slowly parted my legs.

A rush of what I might have called relief washed through the connection and I knew he smiled—I could feel it as if he pressed his mouth against my cheek.

I sent my magic back to him, wishing I could touch him, and my hands tingled as if I could truly feel the planes of his cheekbones beneath my palms, the wide set of his shoulders.

The skin of my damp thighs prickled and, impossibly, he knew that I had made a mess of myself.

His hold on the bond was stronger but with each moment that passed, my control grew as well.

I could push him out if I wanted, stop this rush of need pulsing with each beat of my heart.

But I didn’t want to, especially as I pulled the tie of my dressing gown and drew up the hem of my nightdress.

I could not hear his voice, but I wished I could. Perhaps he’d speak as he had in his most recent letter .

Would you give me that taste?

In my mind, his voice was deep and resonant, as I’d heard Callum’s that night in the market.

My thighs parted wider, one of my hands slipping between them.

I groaned, embarrassment scalding my cheeks at the slick desire dripping onto the fabric.

But in the next moment it was wiped away by the reverence slipping through the bond, the need I could feel all the way down into my bones.

Would you spread yourself like an altar for my feast?

I pressed my fingers to my clit, a heavy moan echoing through the room as my hips jumped.

And it was as if my hand was his as I circled slowly, leaning back onto the threadbare mattress with one elbow and sliding one foot up to open myself further.

He might as well have been in the room. His presence was now so heavy around my shoulders I swore I could catch the whiffs of his spice and apple scent.

I would drop to my knees as the most pious do and devour you like a sacrament.

A few more circles and I was panting. Another and my eyes slid shut. I trembled until my shoulders fell back onto the bed and my hand drifted lower. I pressed two fingers inside, curling them up as I worked my clit with the heel of my hand.

Each night I grow desperate to stand within the warmth of your light. For just a taste, even if it will mean my destruction.

Now I thought I knew what he meant. Because I would have given up everything to have him above me, his body pressing against mine, his teeth at my throat. Pressure coiled tight in my belly. My back arched, neck curving to the side to offer my throat to the presence rooting within my soul.

I cried out with my release and felt his follow quickly after. He had rumbled my name. I knew it though I could not hear it. Again, it was as if his mouth was against my skin and I could feel the curve of his lips form the letters.

Lilith.

He’d stayed with me as I’d dressed, his reassuring presence a balm to the ache taking up residence in my heart.

Something had awoken inside me, but I couldn’t understand or quantify it.

When he’d sensed it though the bond, it seemed to have surprised him, but I could find nothing more. Whatever it was, he felt it too.

I was late to the market and found both Adrienne and Liam waiting for me at our stall. I withdrew my blade, sliced it across my palm to open the wards.

“Sorry, sorry,” I murmured.

“It’s no problem,” Liam said with a shrug.

Adrienne watched me and with each moment that passed those blue eyes grew wider. Liam, goddess bless him, dipped beneath the velvet and out of sight. But my best friend lingered, pulling a handkerchief from her skirts and grabbing my hand while I rose to my tiptoes to light the sconces.

“You cut too deep,” she chided.

I hissed, the flame dying before it could catch. “It’s fine. ”

She hummed, wrapped the silk around my hand and tied it tightly. “Did you…?”

Slowly, I lowered back to my heels, but I did not turn to her. Instead, I nodded at the simple ironwork holding the everlasting candles. She combed through my loose waves with her fingers, twisting it off my neck and securing it with a comb from her own hair.

Adrienne pressed her lips to the back of my head, smoothing a curl already springing free. “The coach will be here shortly, but if you have need of me send word with Eamon, yes?”

I made a noise of understanding, letting her go before she slipped through the crowd. My palm throbbed and there was a rumble of confusion through the bond. His heartbeat picked up and I could sense he was moving. Did he think I was in trouble? But he calmed, as if he’d let out a breath.

I busied myself with the ledger. The vampire who’d seen Liam last night was set to arrive soon, having booked him for the rest of the week save tomorrow night.

The male had paid double to spend the entire evening playing cards and chatting with the mysterious blood giver I knew put on airs no one could resist. To me, Liam was an open book—we’d talked at length about his family and their immigration to Oylen from Flourisant south of the continent—but to his patrons?

He always hid behind the shadow of his smile.

The phantom hands I’d all but forgotten about for a moment slid across my throat, stroking my cheek as it heated.

I shifted, but I could not find the shame I’d assumed would come from the way I’d so wantonly given into my desire earlier.

Because the immortal on the other end of this connection was thinking about it, shimmers of his memory slipping through.

His hand on his cock, the image of my lips, his hips pumping into his fist, my name called out as he found his release.

I looked up, desperate to see if someone was watching, for any sort of indication that he was near. But there was no one, only the usual patrons milling around the glittering new blood dens owned by Monsieur Hauet. The very ones I believed were owned by the Covenant.

I’d thought I’d caught sight of a head of white-blond hair slipping through the crowd, and a heartbeat later Callum stepped up to the little stall hosting an array of magically charmed objects.

My breath stuttered, desire simmering in my belly, followed by the guilt that I would feel this way for a male when another’s blood ran through my system.

He passed the witch behind the counter a stack of coins, face a blank mask as he nodded and accepted the wrapped package. I assumed he would make his way toward the entrance of the market, but he stopped, as if he couldn’t help but chance a glance my way.

For the briefest of moments our eyes met. My heartbeat drowned out the symphony of the market, but it was not just my heart—it was my patron’s, wherever he was.

Callum gave me the smallest of nods, eyes cold, while he pressed three fingers to his lips.

And vanished before I saw them fall.