Page 24 of Summertime Hexy
CHAPTER 10
DEREK
We're alone in the arts and crafts pavilion, preparing for tomorrow's afternoon activity. Sunlight filters through the canvas roof, casting dappled patterns on the work tables. It's after sundown, but the memory of today lingers in this space.
Hazel's rummaging through a box of craft supplies, muttering to herself. I'm organizing paint sets, matching lids with their corresponding pigments.
She sighs dramatically. "Do wereallyneed glitter glue? It's the sand of the craft world. Once it gets in, you can never get rid of it."
Despite myself, I smirk. "I thought that wasyourbrand."
Her head snaps up. "Excuse me? I believe I'm more of a... Sharpie-marker-wand kind of witch." She mimes casting a spell with an imaginary pen.
I scoff. "Because your magic is permanent and difficult to cover up?"
"Because it gives me colorful options to express myself." She grins, uncapping a cerulean blue paint tube and squeezing some onto her palm. "See? Like this."
Only Hazel would use crafts as an excuse to get paint everywhere. She makes a sloppy handprint on a nearby canvas, admiring her work.
But this is Hazel, so the moment is short-lived. She reaches across the table to grab a paintbrush and whips her hand out too quickly. The table shakes - and I notice a stray nail sticking out from the wooden edge, too late to warn her.
She gasps sharply.
I'm by her side in an instant, her hand cradled in mine. A deep gash runs across her palm, blood welling thick and red.
"It's okay," I say automatically. "I'll get the first aid."
But my mind is already racing. The scent of her blood fills the air, an intoxicating aroma that stirs years of carefully cultivated control. My fangs extend reflexively, and I bite my tongue to keep from groaning with want.
Hazel's eyes widen, but she doesn't pull away. "Derek..."
The blood seeps from her hand, beckoning me with an almost palpable pull.
"You're hurt," I manage, voice raspier than intended.
She swallows. "Your fangs are out."
Not a question. An acknowledgment. I can't look away from the wound.
"Your blood," I growl. "I can... I should heal it."
My mind spins with conflicting thoughts. Taking blood from her without permission would violate every code I have. But letting her bleed needlessly is unacceptable.
She studies me for a moment, then nods. "Do it."
I shouldn't. But her permission is clear. And before reason can override need, I lift her hand to my mouth and press my lips to her palm.
The first taste is perfection.
Sweet and spiced, like cinnamon coffee on a cool night. Her blood flows over my tongue, a beat of life shared between us. Ifeel her pulse as I drink, steady and strong. My body thrums with power and something else - something deeper, warmer.
I'm careful not to take too much. Just enough to close the wound, my tongue tracing the now-smoothed skin.
It's impossible not to notice how her breath catches with every graze of my fangs against her skin, or how her fingers curl loosely in my hair, holding me gently.
When I finish, Hazel looks dazed. Her cheeks are flushed, and I can hear her heart racing.
We're too close, her hand still cradled against my lips. I should step back. Be proper.
