Page 17 of The HalloQueen

“Mortals? That’s an interesting choice of words.”

“Humans? People? Walking blood banks?” He laughed awkwardly, “what should I call mortals?”

I shrugged, “You say that like you’re separated from it. I don’t know, ‘mortal’ certainly isn’t the word that comes to my mind first when thinking about other people.”

“Blame my woo woo,” He gave me a toothy smile and waved his hands as if cleansing his aura.

I sat up and leaned toward him so I was sitting sideways on the couch. I wanted to look at him, “You’re a very beautiful man. Is that a French thing too? If I move to France is everyone going to look like you?”

“Non, mon coeur, I am a special case. I guess you’re stuck with me.”

I absentmindedly chewed on my bottom lip again, trying to decide what I wanted to do. He was peaceful. Did I want to fuck that up with sex? Did I want him to be my best friend? Did I want to lean into and rely on what I was sure was an insanely passionate man?

“You’re thinking loudly again, Annabel.” He said, fidgeting with the bell jar that housed an upside down faux bat skeleton on my side table.

“I’m just wondering if kissing you again is a bad idea. I like the way you make me feel.”

“If you like the way I make you feel, why would kissing me be a bad idea? Besides, haven’t we crossed that line already?”

“I…” I hesitated. How could I possibly put the absence of human connection in my life into words? How did I say that while I’d like to ride him six ways to Sunday that it’d been a long time since I’d felt comfortable around someone?

He turned to me and ran the back of his hand up my arm, “what if I kiss you instead then,ma chérie?”

“I’m overthinking again.”

“That’s okay. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Or I can think for both of us if you’d like.”

“No, kiss me,” I leaned and pulled him by his shirt to me. I felt myself loosen again when his lips met mine and his hands gripped me around my waist. I felt nothing but heat and desire and lust. I teased his lips with my tongue to enter his mouth and he happily let me, pulling me up and onto his lap easily so I was straddling him. He pulled back to say something to me but I was suddenly drowning in desire and I moved so I could kiss his neck while grinding down onto him. He groaned when I began to trail open mouth kisses down him and he hardened beneath me, tightening his hold around my waist. The heat cranked up by the second igniting a blazing inferno of desire and I could suddenly think of nothingbutkissing Thomas. Of devouring him. There was no way I wasn’t going to go through with it.

So why did everything go dark?

8

THOMAS

Dear Gods, this woman would have killed me if I were a mere man. The delicious weight of her on my lap grinding into me, combined with her lustful energy coursing through her embrace and into me was more intoxicating than the purest bag of blood I’d ever purchased. Her energy was so strong that I wanted to bottle it up and save it for a rainy day. I pulled and pulled at it, growling and clawing at it, reveling in how her energy could mix with mine.

Usually, when I pulled someone’s emotions I felt refreshed like I’d gotten a good night's sleep or experienced what I remember eating a good meal felt like. When I feed, it leaves the mortal feeling the opposite of what they had been since they then only feel the absence of it. If I harvest their happiness, they feel sorrow, if I harvest their excitement, they feel bored, etc. I’d been feeding off of Annabel’s anxiety, which usually leaves someone peaceful, but Annabel’s energy had steadily veered from anxiety into very unpeaceful uncontrollable lust.

I tasted her lust, wanting to see what her need would feel like inside of me and the first dose exploded like a perfect, juicy orange, making something inside of me combust. I became one with my beast and we yanked on her energy, fueling my desire for the gorgeous woman. Instead of slowing down, she kept cranking up like she’d passed her boiling point and there was no way I’d be able to pull it out of her fast enough for her to calm down enough to stop. I was amazed by her ability to release so much energy and I wondered just how much of her I was going to get to taste.

But then suddenly she went limp against me.

Merde.

“Annabel?” I asked, holding her neck and pulling her away from me, “Annabel,mon coeur, are you okay?”

She was wearing a stupified closed mouth smile and was easily breathing in long drawn-out breaths.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I sighed and looked on the bright side, at least I only cock blocked myself and didn’t kill the poor woman. I considered my options, wondering if I took her up to her room if she’d be okay with that or if it would feel like an invasion of privacy, but part of me needed her to sleep against me for a few more minutes.

The cooking show had moved into the last round of the competition and I rubbed my hand up and down Annabel’s back, lying to myself that I was only staying to make sure she was okay. I knew she was fine. She'd sleep like the dead and when she woke up she would be back to her usual spitfire self. And yet, feeling her steady peaceful breathing against my neck and having her body pressed into mine made me feel like a love-sick puppy.

The show ended quickly, and shocker, the funnel cake pickle dog lost horrifically. I decided to leave Annabel there in her living room. Maybe she’d think the whole thing was some drunken wet dream, but I didn’t want there to be some proof I’d been here. I’d want her to remember me. I twisted her so I could lift her like a bride off of my lap and stood up.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I hissed at her black cat, Tim, who was eyeing me suspiciously, “I’m not going to hurt her.”

---