Page 38 of Dark Desire
“Fuck, it’s too good. You feel too fucking good,” he groaned, kissing and nipping at my skin until he reached my neck. “And the scent of your blood,” he growled. “You are my fucking addiction, witch. And I hate you for it. I hate you for being such a good fucking girl for me.”
I screamed as the orgasm tore through me. I didn’t know whether it was his words or his magic cock or the intensity of us that caused it, but it ripped me apart, making my world spin. He roared, fucking me faster as if he didn’t want it to stop, wanting to keep me high on him. When I finally came down, my whole body felt like jelly, limp in his arms. He spun us around and threw me down on my bed, his weight pinning me to the mattress as he unleashed the beast within. With my legs hooked over his muscular arms, he slammed into me with urgency, chasing his pleasure. He stared into my eyes as he panted harder, shaking above me as sweat dampened his gorgeous hair.
“Fuck, I can’t,” he growled through his fangs and his eyes blazed red as he lost his battle with his vampire urges. I bared my neck to him in submission, wanting to feel his teeth claiming me again. Marking me. Feeding him with my blood that he craved. He hissed, grabbing my jaw in his hand, forcing me to look at him again.
“Don’t.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Do.” Thrust. “That.”
I moaned with every word, unable to understand why it made him angry, but loving it too. He was losing control. Every thrust, every challenge from me, was bringing him closer to losing himself to pure pleasure. And I wanted it. I wanted to feel him fall apart, knowing I did that.
“Don’t you want to bite me, Zoran?” I breathed, grabbing him by the nape of his thick neck. “You bit me before. Don’t you want to bite me and fuck me at the same time?”
“Don’t!” he roared, suddenly flipping me over and lifting my hips so I was on all fours. He rammed himself back inside me, fisting my hair and my whole body jerked forward on a cry. He fucked me like he had spent his entire life hating me, but was so desperate for me that he couldn’t stop. I couldn’t get enough of it.
I twisted my head to the side to watch him slamming into me from behind, his god-like body rippling with too many muscles and his tanned, sweaty skin catching under the moonlight. I could just make out more scars down his torso as he grabbed my hips and fucked me faster. Every fibre of my being was screaming at me to make him bite me. I needed it. I wanted it more than anything. I didn’t realise I had a thing for vampires until now, but damn, there was something about how feral they became at the taste of blood that was hypnotising.
“Don’t you want my blood on your tongue as you fill me with your cum, Zoran? Claiming every part of me,” I panted and he threw his head back and roared, yanking my hair abruptly with him and causing me to kneel up on the bed.
He wrapped one arm around my waist, holding me upright while the other stayed tangled in my hair and tilted my head to the side. I’d triggered the beast. Fear and excitement weaved together when I saw the savage hunger in him take over. He opened his mouth to razor-sharp fangs and sank them into my neck as he slammed his cock to the hilt. I screamed, my whole body shuddering as overwhelming sensations swarmed through me. He took two long, seductive gulps before he groaned and closed his eyes, losing himself to the taste of me. His hips rotated, grinding against my ass before he pushed us both down flat onto the bed, me completely pinned beneath hisgiant body and at his mercy. His thrusts became dominant and less controlled as he drank my blood and entwined our hands, forcing them into the mattress.
I lost the ability to think. All I could do was feel. Him. Everywhere. He was under my skin. In my veins. Every rapid beat of my heart. My head swam. Everything blurred. It was a kind of ecstasy I never knew existed. Perhaps he had just killed me, and I’d died and gone to heaven. If so, fuck it.
It was worth it.
Removing my fangs from her neck, my whole body tensed as I roared through the most intense orgasm of my life, spilling myself inside her with no end in sight. Collapsing onto her back, I tried to catch my breath, panting heavily as I closed my eyes.
Fuck.
What had I done?
Not only had I mated, but I’d drunk from her too. I’d just solidified our bond.
Letting go of her hands, I shifted myself off her onto the mattress and pressed my hands to my face.Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Zoran, you fucking idiot.Shooting up from the bed with a burst of nervous energy, I grabbed my ripped top and pulled my arms through it before I realised Darcelle hadn’t moved. Her eyes were closed, but I could see she was breathing shallowly as if in adeep sleep. The realisation that she must have passed out made me pause.
In a sudden act of sheer desperation and adrenaline, I grabbed Ilaria’s dagger from the holster around my chest and moved towards the bed, my fists clenched around the leather handle. My gaze was fixed on her neck. One slit. That’s all it would take. She’d be gone from my life.
I couldn’t do it before. I couldn’t kill her with those honey eyes staring up at me, pleading with me. But could I do it while she was passed out?
My hand shook as the unbearable pain of losing her tore through my chest and made my blood boil. I’d cemented our bond. The mere thought of causing her harm made me want to take the dagger and stab myself with it. I threw my hands up to my face and dropped to my knees with a painful groan.
‘Perhaps she’s truly sorry.’Ambroz’s voice was quieter, weaker than normal, as if he was unsure he should even be speaking yet. I’d felt him through that whole experience; he'd been the one to encourage me to drink her, but I was thankful he didn’t make himself known to her.‘She said she was and she seemed to genuinely mean it.’
I shook my head as I tried to gather my thoughts. Just as I rose to my feet, a wobbly floorboard beneath me caught my attention. It wasn’t screwed down like the other boards. Bending down, I lifted it away and found a box hidden beneath it. My gaze snapped back to the witch lying unconscious on the bed, and I pulled it out slowly, making sure I didn’t wake her.
Taking it over to the leather armchair in the corner of the room, I lifted the dusty lid and tilted my head at the strange contents. There were mainly photographs, each one very unusual. I narrowed my eyes at what seemed to be random people from all walks of life. But what was extremely odd was how some of them were of people dressed in clothes or buildingsthat dated back centuries, perhaps even longer. Picking up the top one from the pile, I studied the five women sitting around a fire, wearing white cotton dresses and holding hands. Turning it over, Darcelle’s handwritten note read,St Wythren’s Cove, Night of Winter Solstice, 16th century.
’That can’t be possible,’ Ambroz said in my mind what I was already thinking. Cameras hadn’t been invented in the 16th century. And this image was so clear. How did she get this? Was it just a reenactment like the one the village had the other night?
I picked out another one and turned it over.Paris, Society of witches meeting, 1782.
And another.London Tower, Beheading of Galadice Turner, 1408
I paused when I saw one with her in the frame. I picked it up, my heart hammering. I recognised it immediately. The ruins of my family cottage were behind her, thick black smoke rising into the air. My hand was trembling as I turned it over.Coven attack on a cottage somewhere in Europe. 18th century. Night of the raven.
I dropped the photograph as if it had burned me, the phantom lashes of hell’s fire causing all my scars to heat on my skin. It was proof she was there. That she did turn me into the raven. I’d known it, but now I had evidence. But how…how did she take this photograph? How did she document all of these places before cameras were even invented? Something silver caught my eye below the pile of pictures. I reached into the box and lifted a heavy silver chain. My heart thundered and unexpected emotion broke through the dam I’d built around the pain of my past at the sight of it. I’d know it anywhere. At the end of the chain was a gothic, black demon encased by silver detail. It was the medallion of my grandfather, the firstborn Demonski Upir. He had given it to my father on his deathbed and my father hadnever taken it off his neck ever since. He was wearing it the night he was murdered.
And here it was in a box hidden under floorboards by a witch who’d taken it after watching him die. I sat in the armchair and glared at her, necklace in one hand and knife in the other.
Red-hot lava exploded within as I jumped up from the chair and stormed towards Darcelle, flipping her over and pressing the knife against her neck. I grabbed her jaw angrily, trying to coax her awake but she was too out of it. The knife trembled in my hands, blood pooling at the point of the blade. But I couldn’t do it. The box had raised too many questions. How did she take those images? It didn’t make sense. How did she not look a day older in that photograph than she did right now?
