Page 143 of Blood Lovers

He does not let me go. “It’s OK. You’ve taken a lot. You’re full now and it’s my turn.”

Before I can even think to protest, his sharp teeth clamp down on my neck, and I almost lose my mind in the bliss.

And while I’m floating in his spell, Ryet stirs. He claws his way up my body, and then, an instant later, his teeth sink into the other side of my neck.

Then they drain me.

And I love it…

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE - RYET

Let it shine.

I am in a grand room—something like a palace, I think—sitting on a luxurious couch upholstered in a soft rosy velvet. Syrsee is to my left and on the other side of her is Paul. We are feeding off her. And every time I draw in blood, I can feel him.

The vampire Paul.

He lifts his head up, black blood dripping off his sharp teeth, and he smiles a bloody smile at me. All around us, the purple appears and I know this isn’t real, but I also know that it is.

“Drink.” It is a command. And Paul doesn’t even wait to see if I will comply. He simply lowers his mouth back down to Syrsee, latching on again. This makes Syrsee moan and writhe against me, her hand reaching between my legs.

I push her off and get up, walking around the room. The mist parts as I pass through it, swirling up into the air like ink in water. A cramp overtakes me, a craving—but not for him. It’s for her now—and I double over from the pain.

It’s over. I’m done. He’s gotten his way and he’s used Syrsee to get it.

I watch Paul as he sucks on Syrsee’s neck. I’m in the purple, but I know I’m also not in the purple.

And just as I think those words, I’m waking up in the tower room at Paul’s compound in Montana.

The three of us are on the bed. Me, then Syrsee, then Paul. All tangled together. Feeding and being fed on. Syrsee is moaning like she’s in the middle of sex. Like she’s about to come. Paul reaches up, yanks on a chain attached to the wall behind him, and Syrsee’s hand comes free. He does that to the other hand too, then he takes it and rubs it up and down my upper thigh.

I want to push him away. Push her hand away too.

But I don’t.

Because I can’t.

I. Can’t.

And if I can’t, then… what am I? I’m out of control, that’s what I am.

None of this is in my control and when this thought hits me, it’s an instantaneous relief. Because I’m not making this decision.

And if I’m not in control, then I can give in.

And why not?

Why not enjoy her?

She was a gift, after all.

Why not enjoy him too?

We are real.

All of this is real.

So I give in, and I give up, and I drink…