Page 24 of Yearning For Her

Kian needed to leave. Now.

He hurried to the exit and burst through the door.

The cool night air did nothing to alleviate his discomfort. He drew up the collar of his coat and set off along the street. The relentless bass beat from the nightclub followed him for much too long, unwilling to let him forget so soon.

His feet carried him away from the club, away from his latest failure, through increasingly dark, deserted areas. He crossed poorly lit parking lots, followed lonely side streets, and cut through narrow alleys. But part of him knew he would never get far enough, knew he couldn’t escape the truth. Running would not change the situation.

Pain rippled through him, emanating from his personal void. Kian curled his hands into fists and sped his pace. His claws bit into his palms, but the physical hurt did nothing to dull the anguish permeating his lifeforce.

Kian was accustomed to feeding daily. When necessary, he’d been able to endure two or three days between feedings before that emptiness compelled him to hunt again. That was how it had been for four hundred years.

Yet the energy he’d received from Willow had sustained him for six days. Six days of satisfaction, of fullness, six days of freedom from that perpetual hunger. He’d not once had the desire to feed during that time, and he hadn’t even tried.

Alarms should’ve been blaring in his mind by the fourth morning. He should’ve known something was amiss. Though he’d sensed nothing strange from Willow, the essence he’d drawn from her had been so potent that he’d begun to question whether she was human at all.

He’d tried many, many times to feed in the eight days since his hunger had returned, but he’d been unable to draw anything from the mortals he’d seduced. He hadn’t even been able to have sex. His body had repeatedly refused to cooperate.

The only time his cock stirred was when he found himself reminiscing about Willow. When he imagined her face, her eyes, her hair, when he imagined her body. When he recalled the way she felt, both outside and inside, in body and in spirit. When he remembered the way her desire and pleasure had pierced straight to his core and lodged there…

He pressed a hand over his crotch, grating out a curse as his cock stiffened. Just the fucking thought of her was enough to get him going. But the moment he touched another person—or the moment they touched him—it was gone.

Sex was his purpose, and the pleasure he provided generated his sustenance. He’d never call it selfless, as it never was, but he only took what was rightfully his. He only benefited from the fruits of his own labor. Though the actions of incubi like Lachlan had inspired the human legends about soul-sucking monsters who would drain the life out of their victims, Kian had never taken enough to harm anyone. His prey suffered no ill effects.

Save those caused by the best fuck of their lives vanishing during the night and never reappearing.

“That what this is?” he growled, kicking a piece of trash to the curb before angling his head back. Despite the interference from the city lights, he could see the stars, countless twinkling points scattered across a backdrop of deep blue, violet, and indigo. “Divine fucking retribution? Time for me to know what it feels like?”

And worse, there was another incubus in the city, prowling the same hunting grounds as Kian.

Not just any incubus.

An older, stronger fae, who’d long sought Kian’s submission. A fae who had sensed Kian’s weakness.

Lachlan, like the fae royals from whom he claimed descent, exploited any vulnerability he could find in those around him, mortal and immortal alike. He’d taken advantage of young Kian’s naivety centuries ago, when Kian had only just crossed into this realm. He would absolutely seek to use Kian’s current state as a tool for control and manipulation if given the chance. Lachlan was the sort who always got what he wanted eventually, driven by his own sense of entitlement and superiority.

If Lachlan had pressed—if he’d used the fullness of his power—he very likely could’ve forced Kian’s surrender any time he liked. It would’ve been a struggle, undoubtedly, but Kian had felt enough of that magic to understand that it was as vast and deep as an ocean.

Yet for all his haughtiness, Lachlan had never gone that far. He wanted Kian, that much was clear, but it seemed he wanted Kian to submit of his own free will. Whether it was a matter of pride or a desire for a challenge made no difference. The longer Kian had refused, the longer he had resisted, the more determined Lachlan had become.

Decades apart had not been enough to cure him of his fixation on Kian.

For what were decades to timeless beings?

It was a precarious position for Kian to be placed in, but still not the most pressing of his problems.

Nothing else would matter if he couldn’t feed.

All the people I’ve fucked, and now fate is fucking me.

Teeth bared, he shook his head. “No. No, I will not suffer because of what I am. Predator and prey, that’s my relationship to humanity. And they should be damned ecstatic that I’m not one of the ones that actually fucking eats them!”

Talking to yourself now, are you? That hunger sure is taking its toll…

You know what you want. Know what you need.

Of course he knew. He needed to feed. Immortals weren’t supposed to starve to death. They weren’t supposed to experience this slow but undeniable breakdown, weren’t supposed to face the possibility that their time was limited. Immortal was supposed to mean for fucking ever.

Stop playing the fool, Kian. You know what you need.

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