Page 103 of Barbi and the Villain

And I wait.

But as I slowly open my eyes, I realize he’s no longer on top of me.

He’s a distance away, scrubbing his face with his hands as he mutters a string of curses.

“Nykander?” I tentatively call out his name.

“Do not come closer, Barbi!” he grits out, his tone harsh and full of anguish.

“Are you all right?”

“Stop!” He puts his hand up, but he doesn’t look at me. He keeps his eyes closed. His chest expands as he drags a long breath into his lungs.

Bringing his hand to his mouth, he bites into it.

Hard.

He’s feeding on his own blood.

Worry flutters in my chest and I take a step forward.

“I can give you blood. Here,” I say, extending my arm.

“Do. Not,” he rasps.

“But—”

“Blood is not the only thing I will take, Barbi. Stay. Back.”

Confusion swirls inside my mind as I watch him struggle with himself. Yet as the seconds trickle by, it seems the animal within is winning over the man.

He swivels.

His eyes are wholly black, his fangs long and daunting.

Blood dribbles down his chin as he comes toward me.

And if it’s possible, he’s even harder than before…

“Barbi…” he groans, as if with each step he takes, his pain intensifies.

I open myself wider to him, tilting my head and offering him my neck.

His eyes flash with desire. So much desire I want to drown in it and never resurface again. But I want him to drown with me. Because my own eyes echo the same desire. So much so, it burns my insides until I become a slave to these foreign and all-encompassing sensations.

Only a few steps separate us. A few steps, but they feel like worlds apart.

“Come,” I whisper, beckoning him to me.

He stares at me hungrily. He’s like a ravenous wild bear coming out of hibernation.

“Come to me,” I whisper again.

He grinds his jaw, his fists clenching by his sides.

“Fuck,” he curses before teleporting himself out of sight.

17

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