Page 43 of Rainshadow

“No. I don’t believe you.”

Sylvia shrugged.

“I have to go take care of your stupid horses,” Flora said, standing up. “This is ridiculous.”

“You know it isn’t, but go, feed the horses and think about it.”

“I’m not going to think about anything,” Flora hissed, “except what a bitch you are.”

At that, she turned and left, walking out of the back door to the sound of Sylvia’s sad, pitying laughter.

Sylvia didn’t come out of her room that night for dinner. The cook came back and brought groceries Flora ordered. She realized she never had a reason to leave Rainshadow as long as the cook came and brought food.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Ethan said, when she mused about it as they sat across from one another, a candle burning between them.

“I don’t want to leave,” Flora said. “I want to be here, with you. But I wish we could be together during the day.”

“Well we can’t. You know that.”

“Why though? I don’t understand!”

“Of course you do,” Ethan said, looking her in the eyes. “I’ve explained it, Sylvia’s told you too, I think, by now.”

“You’re a vampire.” Flora felt an icy cold feeling pulsing through her, like she was realizing something she already knew. Blythe had told her. He had told her. Sylvia had told her. She had known it. She wasn’t sure when she knew, but she knew. She could only pretend surprise.

“I am, Flora. I am a four-hundred-year-old vampire. I am much, much older than Sylvia, contrary to what you seemed to believe.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “But I want you to send Sylvia away. Tell her you don’t love her, don’t need her anymore.”

“Maybe,” he said. “You have to trust me. We do have a connection, but it can be broken.”

She stared at him, feeling a tingly, terrible feeling. The calmness with which he delivered this information was what most unsettled Flora.

No.

What unsettled her most was how jealous she was of Sylvia and her connection to Ethan. She didn’t care that he was a vampire, had known. In fact, there was something deeply exciting, appealing about him that was only enhanced by the knowledge. He was dangerous, but he loved her, he chose her. She was safe with him because he loved her. How could she break the connection between him and Sylvia? Perhaps it was through love. The idea was so seductive it made her want him right then and there.

She stood up.

“What?” he asked her.

“I want you,” she said, staring straight into his eyes. “I don’t care that you’re a vampire. You could be… you could be anything. I want you. Now.”

He smiled at her, and for the first time he really let her see his fangs, sharp, white, and gleaming in the flickering firelight. She felt a shock of complete terror, but went to him anyway.

He kissed her, and she felt him growl against her. He had been holding back, and now he was showing himself to her, his true self. She let him turn her to the table and lift her up onto it. He lifted her skirt, one of Sylvia’s, and pressed himself to her. Then, he tangled his fingers in her hair and tilted her head, making her soft, white neck prone to him. She felt a frenzy of excitement and fear, her whole body sizzling with it, like every nerve was jumping, lighting up, raw to touch and light.

When he bit her, it hurt. She had tried to tell herself that it wouldn’t, to believe that he wouldn’t do it to her if it was going to hurt, so she cried out, screamed, and strained against him. He was so strong, though, so otherworldly strong, and he held her tight against him, his cock straining through his pants, his mouth fused to her now-open vein. He held her tight, and she squirmed, but he only seemed to enjoy her struggle. She felt, then, a connection running between them like an electrical current. It was faint, running from the open wound in her neck to his open mouth, but it gave her the feeling, intense and only growing more so, of the deep pleasure and satisfaction he felt at tasting her. It became her pleasure, too, and she went slack in his arms, swirling with dizzy pleasure and desire.

He groaned as he drank, and she collapsed against him, gasping. When he’d had enough, or as much as he could take before hurting her, he leaned back and loosened his trousers. She leaned back, felt blood on her clavicle, on her chest. Ethan’s beautiful mouth was smeared with it and his eyes were as bright as if they were lit from within. How had she not noticedhow otherworldly he looked? How beautifully supernatural? She realized that she had known for a long time that there was something terribly wrong with Ethan. Now, she thought, looking up at his bloody, ecstatic face, that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him.

He was perfect.

He entered her, pulling her close.

She whimpered, wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I love you,” she said, her voice a childish whine. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

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