Page 36 of Blood Descendants
Where are you, Ophelia?I silently wonder as I stare out at the darkness. Shit. I hope she’s okay. I pray she’s alive.
After my mother and sister were killed, my whole life became really small. I had to keep it simple. Because no one understood. I was just the sad girl with a sad story. So, I didn’t have many friends. No one could carry the weight that was Lana Kincade’s reality. And I didn’t blame them. But it left me lonely.
But then there was Ophelia. I recognized something in her eyes when she walked into my self-defense class that evening eighteen months ago. She’d been through something dark and heavy, too. She was angry like I was. She was cold, like I was. And she didn’t give a damn if people didn’t like her, just like me.
After class, I asked her if she wanted to go out for pasta. We’d talked for three hours that night, laughing, getting angry, talking shit. And it was the first time I’d shared agenuine connection with someone who wasn’t my own blood.
It would have been kind of nice if we were gay. Loving Ophelia was instant. But I’d never been into women, and though Ophelia admitted she’d experimented, she preferred men when it came to romance.
She became the most important person in the world to me.
And then five weeks ago, nothing.
Not a word.
Not a text.
Not a trace of where she’d gone.
I’m going to find you,I silently promise her.
My head jerks toward the door when I hear a slight squeal. Augustus emerges first, followed by Ares.
I try to read his expression to gauge the conversation they’ve just had. But Ares’ face is carefully composed, as neutral as it could get.
He crosses to where I sit and leans over me. And there’s that heat in his eyes as he slides his hand around the front of my throat, tipping my head up. He kisses me upside down. Heat sears me where his hand caresses me softly. The breath is lost in my lungs as his mouth molds to mine. And I melt when his tongue asks for permission to enter. And I grant it. He invades my mouth, just slightly, teasing, tempting.
I answer him with vigor that has very little to do with Augustus watching. Every drop of blood in my body screams for Ares, and my body acts without permission. My brain would grant it anyway.
And shit. I know I’m in trouble.
Because this is supposed to be fake.
But the way I like this, the way I react, the way I fantasize about these moments, none of it feels fake.
Ares backs away just slightly, running his thumb over the side of my throat. “Fuck, you taste like nirvana.”
Buried six feet deep. Here lies Lana’s soul, snatched from her chest on the fourteenth of June by a man with tattooed hands and chaos in his eyes.
“Dinner is served,” another voice calls from the center of the deck. I glance over to see the chef and the assistant setting numerous dishes on the table.
Ares takes my hand, holding my eyes with something that looks a bit like a question. But he leads me to that table, pulling my chair out for me as I sit.
“I don’t wish to put pressure on you, Lana,” Augustus says as he begins dishing his food. “But as a part of this company, Ares will be expected at a number of events. It certainly leaves the right impression if his fiancée is in attendance with him.”
“I’ve seen the way other women look at my future husband,” I say as I accept the glass Ares pours for me. “I fully admit that I am the jealous type. So, if he’s going to be where others can lay eyes on him, I’ll be there too, rest assured, Mr. Lonan.”
Beneath the table, Ares’ hand comes to my thigh, smoothing it over my skin in a way that sends a shock straight to the core of my feminine body.
Augustus’ eyes fix on where Ares’ hand disappears under the table. And I think, for the first time, we’ve caught him at a loss for words.
“At least you seem able to hold your own,” he finally says, taking a drink from his own glass.
Dinner passes with very little real conversation. Mentionsof the work to come for Ares. Comments about our future children. Thinly veiled digs at my humble beginnings.
But it’s nothing I can’t handle.
Finally, at the end of the meal, I lay my napkin on the table. “I need to use the rest room.”
