Page 16 of Blood Lust

Attraction pulses through me, and I suddenly wonder what his lips feel like. They are full and look incredibly soft. A quick memory of him pressing those lips to my neck and biting into me comes without permission. He seems to tense up beside me and quickly excuses himself, entering the kitchen. I allow my eyes to roam, and as he bends to get something from the fridge, I admire the shape of his backside.

He fumbles with whatever he is getting out, and when he pulls his torso back into view, I see he is holding a blood pack.

“So what do you like to do, Wren,” Rolando asks me. “Besides admire the scenery.” I pull my eyes off Oz and see Rolando looking at me pointedly. My eyes dart away quickly, and it suddenly feels very hot in the room.

“I’m not sure. I was enjoying the art upstairs,” I say quickly, trying to gloss over the fact that I’d been caught. “And my business card says I am a graphic designer, so maybe I like to create art myself. I guess I'll get to experiment and figure it out.”

His dark hair falls into his eyes, and I swear he cuts a glance to Oz and then back to me. He smiles and he lets me get away with viewing the “scenery.” I relax a little. “We have a run to town tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll pick up a sketchbook, and we can see if you’re a hidden artistic genius.”

I doubt I’m good at much of anything, I thought, self-conscious about the possibility of a hidden talent.

“I bet you’re good at more than you know,” Oz pipes up from the kitchen.

Random.

I guess my face looks confused, and Rolando’s sure does.

Oz looks back and forth between us. “Graphic designer, art enthusiast. I’m certain you have an affinity for it somehow. If not, we have forever to figure out where your talents lie.”

Time for me to head to bed rolls around but I want to talk to Oz first. He is lost in thought about something, staring out at the sky that is beginning to lighten. I glance at the heavy-duty blackout panels of curtains, wondering how long before they would be drawn shut. “Oz,” I say, and he turns his attention to me. “I’m in your room, aren’t I?”

Nodding, he asks, “Yes, and is everything to your liking? If not, let me know, and we can make some changes for you.”

I shake my head. “No, everything’s wonderful. It’s just that since it’s your room, you should take it back. I don’t mind surfing the couch.” I add the last part, patting the sofa beside me.

“Absolutely not,” he said, his tone firm. “I insist. It’s fine.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” I still feel weird about it.

“I am. And about the cabin?”

I look at him with hopeful eyes. We hadn’t made it tonight, but maybe soon?

“We could go by tomorrow if you like.”

I smile and wrap my arms around him in a hug. He stiffens for just a moment before settling his arms around me and hugging me back. Oz’s warmth seeps through to me, and I feel him rest his face on the top of my head. I didn’t want to let go. I wanted him to step back, tilt my chin, and kiss me.

I wanted Oz to pick me up, sit me on the kitchen counter and-

Pulling back and releasing me, Oz gives me a smile that seems tinged with what looks like pain. “Goodnight, little bird.”

“Goodnight, oh great and powerful wizard.”

I say nothing as a puzzled look falls over his face. Instead, I turn around, smirk to myself, and go upstairs. I may not remember my friends, family, or what I did for a living, but I could never forget Dorothy and the yellow brick road. I don’t know why it is there, at the ready, but the look on Oz’s face was priceless.

Closing the curtains in Oz’s room, I wash my face and look for something suitable to sleep in. Charlee hadn’t left anything, but I don’t want to sleep in the nude. Biting my lower lip, I pull open one of Oz’s drawers, then another. I find some T-shirts. Slipping a black one over my head, I'm not surprised when it falls below my ass. I need to get some underwear. Laughing at my reflection, I climb under the comfy quilt on Oz’s bed.

Faces swim in front of me again. The woman and the man with the graying beard. Were they my parents? Sadness seeps in as I struggle to hold onto any image for more than a few seconds. Sleep claims me just as a tear rolls down my cheek.

Watchingmymateclimbthe stairs to my room, I realize it is getting harder to hide the bond we share. I’d accidentally reacted to her thoughts, despite my best efforts not to listen in earlier. I want her and yearn to be near her. I want to take her in my arms and never let her go.

She feels the same pull but doesn’t understand what it means. Is it cruel to keep it from her? I struggled with the dilemma when I realized she had no memories. When I turned her, I expected her to wake like we all did, fully remembering her human life and experiences and having merged with the primal vampire part of herself that awakens during the transition. I’d expected her to remember me from the store, the attraction to me that she’d felt. That she would remember and give me a way to explain. That she wouldfeelit, and it would make sense to her.

While I could dive into it, tell her about vampire mate bonds, tell her we have one, it feels wrong. I don’t want to hold her to the bond when she doesn’t know who she was before all this. No. I won’t act on it until her memories return. I vow to help her find herself again, and damn however my body feels about it.

Though, when I heard her admiring my features, wishing I would kiss and take her, I couldn’t help but want to act on my feelings. It takes everything I have not to give in. To not offer what she wants from me, I would give her anything. She is truly beautiful inside and out and I marvel that she’s mine. Her hair reminds me of sunshine on iron, and the freckles that scatter across her face seem to call to me. I want to know each one, memorize their positions, and find patterns in them.

What if she never remembers her past?

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