Page 49 of The Blood we Crave: Part Two

My eyes widen, hands shoving harder against his chest, but he snakes an arm around my waist, gripping me tighter. His fingers slip into my hair and grab the strands. He jerks my head back, and I cry out in pain.

His tongue is cold and unwanted. His hands don’t feel right, and my body feels invaded.

This can’t be happening. This isn’t happening.

With panic pumping adrenaline into my system, I sink my teeth into his tongue, biting hard until he grunts, detaching himself from me. Using his pain as a distraction, I shove him back, slipping away from his grip and putting several feet between us.

“What the fuck!” I shout, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand in disgust. My chest is heaving, and the room spins.

Tears burn my eyes, and my chest aches from the betrayal. My body aches from the violation. I spend my days digging through mud, covering myself in dirt, but right now, in this office, I’ve never felt so dirty.

I’d trusted him, given him my friendship. I fucking stood up for him and believed he was honest. For what? For him to pretend to be my friend so he could get into my pants?

“Oh my God, I feel sick.” I push my hand into my stomach, battling the urge to upchuck my stomach contents.

There is a sound behind me, a sudden, unmistakable noise.

The click of the door opening.

I pray it’s another student so I can slip right out without having to hear what he has to say for himself.

“Lyra, I’m so sorry.” Conner holds his hand up, trickles of blood decorating his mouth. “Please understand, that was—”

I watch his eyes widen at whoever has walked into the room with us.

My breath catches in my throat.

And a voice, grim as liquid night, pervades the air.

“The worst mistake of your fucking life.”

CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE?

THIRTEEN

Lyra

The man I’m staring at is not the same one that stood in the hallway with me last night.

Last night, he had been tangible.

Someone I could run my fingers along, feel flesh and bone. I could sense his heartbeat, feel the pulse in his throat.

This one, the one currently in front of me? He makes gods kneel.

This is the charming nightmare Ponderosa Springs shunned. The man they fear. A cloak of heatless darkness, his intensity suffocates this office. Chills light up my arms, the winter air following him as he walks inside.

His black, fitted suit catches particles of sunlight that spill from the blinds. The shadowy material drains all the light, eating up all hope for anything other than violence.

I’m in such shock I can’t even fathom how to ask all the questions I have. Why did he leave the cabin? Why is he here? How did he know where I was?

They race around in my head on a track, spinning and spinning. But they all circle one blunt truth.

He’d come for me.

I am his, and he’d come for me.

Both versions of Thatcher belong wholly to me. The one who cares for me in a way he might never understand and the one who is a killer. A man who has no faith in any god and believes only cruelty can redeem sins.

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