Page 61 of Will It Hurt?

Jinn

We found ourselves on a narrow parapet that connected two wings of the old building. The little wytch pickled in her suspicion as she glared at me, arms crossed over her chest. There were barely two meters between us, but the look in her eyes made it feel like fifty.

“We need to talk,” she said, her tone barely above a whisper as though we were still in the cabaret. It was a pity to miss most of the performance.

“So you said.”

She did not look happy. “You need to tell me how you wormed your way into my dreams last night.”

I angled my head slightly, deliberately finding the words to provoke her. “So you admit it wasn’t a nightmare, then?”

She pursed her lips, refusing to answer the loaded question.

“Fine.” An icy breeze ruffled my hair. “It wasn’t me in your dream.”

“Uh.” She shifted her stance, cocking her hip as the heel of her boot rang loudly on the stone floor. “Yes, it was.”

I shrugged, knowing it would only stir the flame inside her.

“No, little wytch,” I said. “That sexy little romp was conjured by your own mind. I had nothing to do with it.”

“But you said—”

I shook my head. “Everything that came out of my mouth in that dream was created by you . Everything ‘we’ did was of your own accord, your fantasy from start to finish.”

“And how would you know that if you hadn’t been in the dream?” she asked, unconvinced.

“That’s because I was,” I confessed.

“A-HA!”

“But not in the way you’d expect.”

She ran a hand over her curls, frustration evident in every movement. “ What does that mean?”

“It means… I have an affinity for you.”

She paused, trying to understand my explanation and failing.

“That word means nothing to me,” she said. “Explain, please.”

“You call to me, little wytch.” My voice dipped as I spoke. “Even in your dreams. ”

“That’s not possible.” She frowned, trying to put the pieces together. “Unless…”

She swallowed. “Unless you ingested my blood.”

A memory flickered through my mind—me, standing in the snow with Aisla’s blood coating my palm.

I nodded once. There was no use lying to her.

“You’re sick!” The words were accusatory. “You licked up my blood after I bled on you?!”

My gaze never wavered. “I’m a vampyre. Did you think I’d waste even the smallest amount of your blood? Do you know how rare it is?”

“Rare?” she echoed. “Do you think flattery is going to get you anywhere?”

“It’s not flattery.” The words were a rasp. “You must know what the magick in your blood does to us.”

She froze, her breaths stuttering to a halt.

“I’ll set the record straight by saying I don’t approve of any of this,” she said breathlessly. Her throat worked as she spoke. “But, um…”

“But what?” I pressed, watching as she drew her tongue over her bottom lip. Even in the darkness, I could see the sheen of wetness she left behind.

“How did it taste?”

I stepped forward. The space between us was vanishing quickly, but she didn’t step back, didn’t move away.

“How did you taste, you mean?”

It was a pleasure to watch her cheeks flush an almost-purple shade of red.

“There is an old law that prevents us from drinking wytch blood. Did you know that?” I asked, wondering what she’d do if I raised my fingers to her lips and forced them to part for me.

“Yes, maybe. Vaguely,” she said, trying and failing to meet my gaze .

“It’s the stuff of myth,” I explained, tracing her features with my eyes. “A kind of warning. We were often cautioned about the things wytch blood can do to us.”

Aisla blinked. “What can it do?”

When I stepped forward yet again, breath whistled from her lips, sending up a cloud of mist between us.

Her pulse leapt at her throat, warm and steady, a study in hypnosis. God, her blood hummed with power, thick with something entirely natural, something that did not belong to creatures like me. But that didn’t mean I could wrangle every drop from her body like I wanted to.

I felt my voice drop an octave.

“I was created with wytch blood,” I said. “I know the taste of it—I remember it with a kind of feverish yearning that accompanied my turning.”

Her fingers tightened around her arms as she kept them crossed over her chest.

“Wytch blood is not like mortal blood,” I said. “It doesn’t just sustain—it changes us.”

My fangs pressed against the back of my upper lip, threatening to descend.

“The small drops of your blood burned through my body like liquid starlight. It set every nerve ablaze with a pleasure so sharp it bordered on agony. And for those few seconds, I turned into something desperate, something insatiable. And then I craved more.”

“More,” Aisla repeated, her lips closing over the word.

“That is the danger,” I continued, wishing I was close enough to taste her words on my tongue. “Wytch blood is addictive . The first sip of yours was barely a sip at all but even then, the ecstasy of it filled every hollow space inside me with unbearable pleasure. ”

“My blood,” she began breathlessly. “Did that to you?”

Her gaze searched mine for answers.

“Yes,” I said simply. “Even though it was temporary, it bound us together.”

She stilled, her eyes going wide.

“Bound?” Her voice rose quickly. “I don’t like that word. What do you mean bound ?”

“Temporarily,” I reiterated. “You cannot possibly believe that a class A drug for the undead won’t have consequences.”

I watched her soft cheek twitch as she mulled my words.

“And that’s how you were able to sneak into my dreams?” she demanded. “Because of this ‘bond’ I wasn’t aware of?”

“Ah, yes. The dream. Or nightmare, as you so eloquently put it. That was not me, little wytch,” I confessed, watching her gaze narrow in suspicion. “None of that was me.”

Her brows furrowed. “Then how could you possibly know what I was dreaming about?”

“Because I was there.” Confusion marred her features as she tried to make sense of my words. “I simply didn’t participate.”

“I don’t understand.”

The snow crunched beneath her feet as she shifted closer.

“Explain it to me,” she demanded. “Now.”

God, why did I find her bossiness unbelievably endearing?

“When you dreamt about me, I felt a ripple through the bond and followed it… It led me to the little scene you’d set up in your bedroom.”

“But my room is warded,” she began .

I shook my head.

“I never entered your dwelling. It was your subconscious that tugged me in.”

“So.” She paused as she tried to fit the pieces together. “You weren’t the one in my dreams last night?”

I shook my head.

“Really,” she muttered to herself as though processing the implications of that statement.

“I won’t deny watching as your version of me teased you into touching yourself. Brava, by the way, that was a spectacular performance. But I had nothing to do with it. You dreamt about me because you wanted to.”

Aisla groaned under her breath: “Bloody gummy.”

She glanced at me as though trying to shake herself free of the repercussions of her own dreams, but the embarrassment lingered.

“You still haven’t answered me,” she said, crossing her arms again defensively. “How, um, how exactly did it taste?”

“The magick in your blood...” I licked my lips, remembering the feel of it splattered across my palm. “It’s everything sinful. Sex and power and the finest of wines rushing to my head, blotting out logic and pain.”

The pad of my thumb rose to the curve of her cheekbone.

“That’s the danger of it, you see. Just one sip and you forget who you are… With the undead, that can be dangerous. The feral part of us can so easily vie for control. Or worse, take over.”

I watched her throat work in the darkness.

“The common misconception is that we absorb your magick when we drink from you, but that is far from the truth. The real truth is simple: we get high. So high that we become detached from the humanity that grounds us.”

Her breath stuttered to a halt beneath my caress .

“Every time I scent you in the air, I get the barest hint of your taste. Like a drop of your blood that’s been diluted many times over.”

“And?” she whispered. “Do you like it?”

“Why?” I retorted, watching her curls flutter in the breeze. “If I say I did, would you offer me another taste?”

“I’m not enabling your addiction,” she said, although her cheek tilted slightly into my grip.

Ah, how sweet. Did she know how transparent she was? How conspicuous? The way her lips parted just slightly as she savored my touch? Did she realize how much she gave away as her gaze lingered on my lips, my fangs?

“I am not addicted,” I said.

Yet.

The word unsaid thrummed between us.

“That doesn’t mean you won’t be,” she said. “And I’m not about to be sucked on whenever your heart desires.”

Ah, did she think I wouldn’t notice the breathless note in her voice? The catch in her throat?

“Is that so?” I asked, leaning in to inhale the scent of her skin under the soft curve of her ear.

Her fingers rose to my vest, curling into fists. Did she mean to push me away? Or tug me closer?

The little wytch was oh-so-warm against me.

“I… Fuck. ” She seemed to be having some trouble collecting her thoughts. “You still had no right to invade my privacy like that.”

I caught the edge of her earlobe between my teeth, biting down to feel her shiver.

“Is it truly an invasion if you invited me into your mind?”

“I—I didn’t.” The words were a shaky whisper .

“Don’t lie to yourself, little wytch.” I dragged my tongue along the shell of her earlobe. “You wanted to look into my eyes while you creamed all over your fingers.”

Even in the dim canopy of moonlight, I could see her cheeks take on a deep flush.

“What was it?” I teased. “What took you over the edge?”

She shook her head, trying to look away. I knew I’d never let her.

“The sound of my voice?” I taunted. “The feel of my teeth against your skin?”

She swallowed hard.

“Or was it the memory of my fingers closing over your pretty little neck?”

Her lips parted, and I caught the mesmerizing shiver that trembled through her shoulders.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” I suggested, scraping the sharp point of my nail down the side of her neck. “Let me make your dreams come true.”