Page 52 of Blood

I don’t tell her to go through that door and reenter the land of the living while she still has the chance.

Selfish bastard!

“Mason.” Her lower lip begins to tremble as she stares up at me. “You’re here. I’ve missed you so much.”

I swallow. “I’ve missed you too, Pinkie. I can’t even tell you how much. But I can’t allow you to stay with me, no matter how selfish I want to be.”

Her brows furrow as confusion paves its way across her face. “What do you mean? Where am I, exactly?”

A thread of despair unfurls in my stomach, curling around the knot of grief already there.

Does she not know that she’s dying?

That she’s far enough gone to enter the veil between life and death?

“Violet...Pinkie...you’re dying.”

“I’m what?” She gapes up at me.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you—” even when I had no idea who you were— “and the spell you’re performing to free the Fomorians is killing you.” Tears burn my eyes as I spin her toward the glimmering doorway, slightly smaller than it was only a few seconds ago. “You need to go back. Before the door is gone forever.”

“What?” She spins back around to face me, her eyes frantic. “What about you?”

I offer her a sad smile. “I can’t go with you, Pinkie.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

I grasp her hands between mine as I beseech her with my eyes to listen. “You don’t have a choice, Pinkie. You’re needed back on Earth. Your mates need you. Hell, the world needs you. I’ll be here—”

“No.” Tears cascade down her cheeks as she shakes her head in denial. “I’m not leaving you.”

God, her agony hurts me more than my own death did. It feels as if slivers of ice have lodged themselves under my ribs and are currently digging into my heart.

“I want to be selfish and keep you with me forever,” I whisper, allowing myself to memorize her the way I hadn’t in death. That waterfall of golden hair. Her sharp collarbones sticking out like the wings of a bird. The full lower lip that always makes her appear as if she’s pouting.

Beautiful.

I once wondered why others spoke of love in terms of “fire” and “burning” and “heat.” It seemed like such a strange metaphor. Now, I understand why authors would use those terms in regards to that foreign emotion. The heat flowing through my veins as I stare at her is a testament to that.

“I’m not leaving you.” She shakes her head stubbornly. “Come with me.”

“Violet—”

“Mason...” She pushes up onto her tiptoes before I can protest and presses her lips to mine.

I should push her away, push her toward that ever-shrinking door, but I can’t. Not with her mouth moving against mine like she might die if she doesn’t get to kiss me. Correction—might die again.

Heat spreads through the pit of my stomach as I tangle my fingers into her lambent gold hair and increase the pressure. I want her taste imprinted on my tongue, so when she travels back to the world of the living, I can always have her with me. The trepidation I felt before melts into heat, traversing my veins like liquid fire.

Why did I want her to leave?

I can’t remember.

All I know is that each press of her lips against my own is kindling an unimaginable blaze.

Our movements are desperate as she reaches for the belt on my jeans. She tugs at the denim until my hard cock springs free, already dripping with precum. She rubs at my length as she continues to kiss and kiss and kiss me. I lose myself in her, in the feel of her lips, in the dance of our tongues against one another.

“I missed you. I missed you so damn much,” she murmurs as she strokes me. I tilt her chin up to get access to her neck, peppering kisses across the skin there. Desire beats through my blood like a pulse.

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