Page 124 of Demon Food

FELORÉ

“No.” I tore the covers from Alek, scrambling on top of his body. “No, no, no.”

His lips were cold as I crushed my mouth to his.

“Wake up, wake up.” I kissed him again, more frantically, working my jaw as I smacked his cheek, but nothing. He didn’t budge. “Come on. I know you’re in there. You have to fucking fight, Alek.”

His mouth was lifeless beneath mine as I kissed him, as I shook him.

“Fight,” I shouted, kissing my way down his neck, down his chest, dragging my teeth across his skin, searching for a heartbeat. “Do not give up. You cannot give up.”

Nothing. Nothing. Not a movement. Not a heartbeat. Not a flutter behind his eyelids.

“Fuck,” I hissed against his skin. I dragged my nails down his torso, inching my way down his hard body. “Come on. Wake up.”

I unbuttoned his trousers and yanked them down his legs, down his thighs and completely off.

I licked his cock, long and rough, sucking it into my mouth. The whole thing fit with how flaccid he was, so I sucked harder, longer. His skin was delicious on my tongue, clean and sweet. I sucked his testicles, luring them into my mouth, massaging them with my tongue, but nothing happened.

Nothing.

They fed on sex. This was the only thing to bring him back to life.

Then it hit me. A Magnificent Constitution. What if it was my blood he needed?

I knew exactly what to do. I scrambled across the bed to the nightstand, my hands shaking as I unearthed the knife from its home.

It fit so perfectly in my palm as I used it to slash the threads on my trousers, shoving them down my legs in a haphazard rush.

In order to be the most potent version of myself—a version that could save him—I had to be pleasured. I had to force myself into arousal.

But I’d never felt fucking crazier as I crawled back atop his waist, straddling it fully naked this time with the knife still in my hand.

I had lost my goddamn mind. That was all there was to it, but so be it.

I’d rather be mad and doing this than live in a world with him gone.

“Come on,” I whispered, starting to roll my hips, fisting my cock as I did. “Wake the fuck up, you fucking demon.”

I rode him harder, moaning as I stroked myself, trying my hardest to focus on his beauty and not the fact that he was unconscious beneath me. His beauty. Even now, it was mind-blowing—his cheekbones so high, his lips so full. His delicious masculine everything that’d always made my heart pulse at double the speed.

My cock was reluctantly hardening—fuck, yes—so I thought about last night as I continued to stroke roughly. About his voice in my head. About his tongue pressing inside me. After a few more moments, I was likely as close as I was going to get, so I pushed the tip of the knife into the cut that had just started to heal and slashed it open again.

I cried out when it bled in warm streaks down my palm. Then I pressed it against his mouth. “Drink, baby.”

Nothing.

No.

“Alek.” I shook my palm a little. “I said fucking drink.”

He didn’t.

“You have to,” I said, rolling my hips. I rolled so hard that the bed frame began to thud against the wall in rhythm with my grinding body. To be moving as wildly as I was, my hope was waning fast. If he was still in there, he wasn’t able to feel me. He was unable to fight.

Or maybe, he wasn’t in there.

I came to a halt, panting as I stared down at his lifeless body.