Page 56 of His to Haunt

“Leena, if you cannot believe what your sister believed, then there is no point in trying to explain it to you. You simply are too…logical.”

“There is no such thing as too logical. So, wait a minute here… You are saying that I should believe what my sister did? That she was haunted by a ghost that she thought was the spirit of a dead man?”

“Not just a dead man, Leena. An Elder. An ancient, dead vampire. Father to many, including me and my sister, Zoe. His kind is the reason we search for the blood.”

Her eyes are as wide as saucers, and her head ever so slightly shakes in disbelief.

“So, it was you and Zoe who fed these ideas to Rachel.”

“She discovered half of it herself. But she didn’t know what she was doing. She sought to bring the Elder back. It’s heresy in the eyes of the coven.”

“Coven?” She brings her hands to her head. “Oh, God, why is this my life? So…you are part of a coven, then? Is this some kind of pagan religion? Or is this one of those D&D larping games? Or is it just plain madness? Which?”

I stare at her unblinking. “None of the above.”

I know what I must do.

I take her by the hand, standing and pulling her from the sofa before collecting her into my arms to the sound of her protests, cradling her as I carry her past the curtain to my bed.

“What are you doing, Zand!”

“I will show you what is so hard to believe. I will make you understand the way I know best.”

“How…is that?” she says, trying to escape my arms.

“Through a trauma bond.”

Trauma Bond

Leena

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I protest as he puts me down on his bed. He closes the curtain and lights a big, three-wick candle.

“I am not a part of your cult, Zand!” I say, jumping up from the bed. I take two steps when his large hand clamps over my arm. His other hand swipes through the air, and when it touches down, I feel nothing at first, followed by a strange pulling sensation. Feeling suddenly cold and exposed, I look down at my naked body. The only thing I have on is my black panties. What the?

I think I’m going to scream, but I make a croaking sound.

“You…ripped my fucking dress off? How…the hell?” I say, sidestepping and trying to pass him. But he blocks the way with his tall, towering frame.

“Please, sit,” he says. Did he really just ask me to please, sit after tearing my dress off?

“You’re certifiably insane,” I hiss, backing away until my legs hit the bed. I sit down, unsure what to do.

“I’m going to make you feel something you aren’t used to, Leena. Just as you do for me.”

His voice dips lower than bass when he says it, deeper than any voice I’ve ever heard, and it shakes me like an earthquake. A voice like doom.

I shake my head, speechless, as he pulls off his dark shirt, tossing it on the floor. He stands there shirtless and towering with his black hair hanging down his long thick neck and down along the muscles cording his tattooed arms. He loosens the top button of his dark jeans, exposing another inch of his hard abs, black hair trailing down like an arrow to the large bulge hiding behind denim.

He turns to his dresser, lighting a candle. I consider running, but he still stands between the curtain and me. I can’t take my eyes off his back, which looks etched from stone, pale and muscled with hard lines, tapered in a perfect inverted triangle from his narrow waist to his broad shoulders, his black hair runs down the center of his back like a midnight waterfall.

He does something between his hands, swiping at his wrist before raising his hand over the candle. Though the candle is off-white, it has streaks of red liquid wax streaming down it, which he scoops into a miniature gold chalice.

“Blood wax,” he says, coming to the bed.

“The candle? Whose…blood?”

“Lay down, Leena,” he commands.

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