Page 112 of Blood Lovers

My body is on fire—but in the best way. I writhe, sucking on Paul’s neck, lost in the moment.

But then… something feels different. Something has changed. It’s not his neck, it’s his wrist.

I don’t care. Just don’t pull the blood away. Ever again. Don’t. Please. Don’t.

I’m begging only inside my head because I’m so lost in the ecstasy of the blood lust, I can’t feel anything outside of myself. I’m just… floating. Floating in pure satisfaction. Like this moment is my heaven. My reward for all those shitty decades that came before.

Paul’s arms are around me. Holding me. Cradling me like I’m his something special.

And I am. We are special.

It’s been him and me for so long now. Forever, I think.

And why? Why have I been pushing him away when he tastes like this? I feel the loss of all the blood I could’ve had. All the moments of lust. I should’ve been sleeping with him. Feeding on him. Letting him touch me any way he wants. It’s not like I actually mind it. It just felt like selling my soul all over again every time I felt the need for the blood.

But it’s different now. I don’t know what changed, but something has.

I want him.

Desperately.

I pull back and relish in the feeling of the blood dripping from my lips, the sticky heat of it, the smell. The tickle when it slides under my jaw and down my neck. “Don’t leave me. Paul, please don’t—”

“Shhhhh.” Paul is smoothing my hair away from my sweaty face. “Don’t worry about that. Just drink now. Drink.”

So I do. Press my mouth back into his wrist and suck it all down. Like a fiend. An addict. Some sick creature. But I don’t care. I don’t care about my soul, or my other life, or my future, for that matter.

All I want is for this moment to exist into eternity.

All I want is Paul. The monster who made me. The only being in this brutal world who loves me.

This is when I realize that I’m jerking myself off and it just adds to the whole experience. The building pressure inside me. The blood rushing through my body. The climax, so close now. But I hold back. I don’t want it to come. Because that is an ending and I’m not interested in endings right now.

But Paul must have other ideas. His hand wraps around mine, helping me get there. “No…” I moan it out. “Not yet.”

“Shhhhh.” Paul is petting my head, and jerking me off, and feeding me.

I get lost this. In the totality of what’s happening.

But something is wrong.

Something is not making sense.

I try to open my eyes, but there is nothing in front of me but a wash of lavender.

“No.” I almost sit up, but Paul pushes me back down.

“Stay still, Ryet. Drink. All you have to do right now is drink. Soon, you will feel better.”

Feel better? I feel great. But the purple… “Paul, tell me this isn’t a dream. Tell me—”

“Shhhhh.” He guides my head back to his wrist, smoothing the hair off my face and jerking me off…

Wait.

I realize my eyes are still closed. That I’m not in a dreamwalk. But my lids are so heavy, it takes every bit of strength I have to slowly, deliberately, forcefully insist that they open.

And when they do, I see her face first.