Page 25 of Blood Lust

“Wren, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to lead you on. I want to pursue something with you. I just want to help you find yourself first.” He looks around the cave. “Bringing you here was a bad choice. I don’t know what I was thinking.” His face is pained, and against my better judgment I feel terrible for him, no matter how much I don’t want to.

I’m still pissed though.

Just not enraged anymore.

The thing stirring inside me simmers down for now.

I don’t want things to return to what they were before.

Can I stay mad at someone trying to avoid taking advantage of the girl with amnesia? Chivalry runs deep in this man, which undoubtedly influenced his decision. As for this “date,” I guess? I suppose he may not have considered just how fucking romantic the whole “glowing secret cave that I’ve never brought anyone to before,” thing would be. He said we keep ourselves when we become vampires. Will I keep these feelings when I get back my memories?

I trust that I will. What I feel for him is more than just a damsel in distress response. It has to be. I still can’t quite put a name on the pull I feel toward him, but I know he feels it too. That has to survive even after I get my memories back.

Right?

I close the distance between us, and slide my arms around his waist, pulling him to me in a hug, pleased when he doesn't resist. I rest my head against his chest and close my eyes, breathing in his scent. Lemongrass and iron. His arms enclose around me, and for a moment we stand there, unmoving and unspeaking. It is one of the best feelings in the world. “We can’t just take it back,” I say gently.

“I know,” he whispers into my hair.

“What if we take things slowly? Set a hard limit for now, but leave our options open to explore our feelings?” I’m a genius, really. One day they’ll write books about my brilliance.

His hold on me tightens, “I’d like that.” I look up at him, and as the glow worms begin to shine their light once more, I close the distance and kiss him again.

Oz will learn. He can’t get away from me that easily.

When we return to the house an hour before dawn, I want to run an idea by Oz. I am thinking about going down to the lake, to the car, and seeing if that sparks any of my memories. It has been almost a week since the accident, and I still have no real memory to hold on to. I figure since breathing isn’t necessary...

“It will be extremely uncomfortable,” Oz warns. “I can go with you if you like.”

He presses his forehead against mine. Our limit is pretty much just sex. Hugging, kissing, and intimate moments like this are all well and good. He needs a firm line to feel better about the whole thing, and if it means we can continue to explore the feelings that are developing between us, I’m happy for now. “I’d like that.”

Kissing me softly, he lets me go up the stairs alone. Truthfully, I hope he will want to do the whole 'We’re adults and can sleep in the same bed without sex,' thing and then fail miserably at it, but he refuses and stays downstairs.

Smart man, being wise to my scheming.

But also stupid man, because I hunger for his touch.

CHAPTER 8

THE SONGBIRD

The paved road has only the faintest skid marks from feeble attempts to stop the car. The most evidence that something has happened is in the bent shape of the guard rail and the bits of fiberglass that litter the edge of the road beside the hard rock of the mountainside. I close my eyes, breathing in, willing the sounds and smells to bring anything back to me.

Kneeling, I grasp pieces of the broken car and let them slip through my fingers. I remember my distress, my rage. I can taste the salt of my tears and feel the crying blocking my nasal passages. The rain that pounded on the windshield was almost loud enough to mask the booming thunder overhead. Lightning tears through the sky, ripping into the world as if it shared in my anger.

Nothing before.

Where were we going?

Why was I crying?

Why was I so enraged?

A man, Spencer Brown, was with me. Where is he now?

Answers escape me as I eye the edge of the rail, where the car began its descent. It ought to be longer. I glance down the hill. Steep. The only reason it isn’t blocked is because the curve has ended. The mountainside becomes more level in this area, more forgiving of mistakes. Four, maybe five more feet of rail would’ve likely saved my life.

Oz and I travel the path the car took, but at my request, he remains silent for this part. I want to see it all and try to put myself back in my head that night. Broken limbs of trees surround us, and a side view mirror lay shattered nearby. I am surprised a tree didn’t stop the car entirely. I try to remember why, but the accident happened so fast, faster than my human mind could keep up with. I try hard to concentrate.

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