Page 98 of Blood Lovers

I smile at him, then touch his face and look into his eyes as I croon, “Go to sleep now, Ryet. It’s just a dream. Nothing but a dream…”

CHAPTER TWENTY - SYRSEE

Naked and bloody.

I am in a room full of haze but it’s confusing me because parts of it are purple and parts of it are lavender. So there is no way to tell how real this is.

But there is no way to mistake what this is.

Ryet and Paul are on the couch, facing each other. Kissing. Hands everywhere at once, like they can’t get enough of each other. One moment they are stroking each other’s hard cocks, the next they are running their palms up and down their legs, over hips, across chests, gripping hair, and faces, and shoulders.

Paul is bleeding all over, staining the cream leather of the couch. It’s all over his hands, and his chest, and all over Ryet too.

They are clawing at each other. Like they are each other’s drug of choice. Like they are about to lose one another and they can’t bear the thought.

They are blood lovers in the truest sense. This is what that phrase means. This is the physical interpretation. Ryet and Paul. Naked and bloody.

I walk over to them and they stop to look up at me. Then Paul takes my hand and his gentle touch is so unexpected, I have to hold my breath. Because he’s pulling me into his lap. And now Ryet is sitting next to him, his hands all over me the same way they were Paul. And now I’m all bloody too. Just like them. I hadn’t realized I was naked until the moment I looked down. I watch Paul suck on one breast while Ryet nips on another.

My legs are open wide, one knee propped on Ryet’s thigh, the other on Paul’s. And just as both of them slip their fingers right up inside me I have time to wonder how the hell we got here.

I don’t remember getting here. I remember Ryet. But… when did Paul get here? And why was I standing apart from them?

But these questions get wiped away when they both start whispering in my ear. “Feed us,” they say. “Feed us, Syrsee.”

Inside my head I laugh. It’s ludicrous. I’m not a feeder. I’m not—

But I am feeding them. They are sucking on my neck. Pulling long draws of blood out of me. And it feels… holy fucking shit, it’s like an everlasting orgasm with each pull of Black elixir from my veins.

I lose myself as they drain my blood and I can’t help but wonder why I’ve been running from this man my entire life. Why haven’t we been doing this every single day?

Ryet pulls his mouth away from my neck and when I glance over at him, he’s so drunk on my blood, he can barely open his eyes. He’s weaving too, like he’s about to fall over. But then he blinks, and shakes his head, and stands up, urging me to sit in Paul’s lap while he stands behind me. Pushing his hard cock into my back.

Then Paul takes my hand and wraps it around his cock, helping me stroke him as he looks at me with those same half-closed eyes of lust.

I sit up a little and Ryet’s mouth is on my ear. He’s kissing it and encouraging me with light touches and low whispers. I push my hips forward, getting closer to Paul. He opens his mouth and for the first time since I saw him in his true monster form back in that forest dreamwalk, he shows me his fangs. They are stained with blood. His whole mouth is stained with blood. And I want to be repulsed. I really, really do.

But I’m not.

And then I’m kissing him. Licking the blood off him and shoving his cock inside me. Ryet is pushing down on my back, right between my shoulder blades, and then he’s pressing his cock between my legs, thrusting back and forth—not inside me, just sliding his long, hard shaft against my skin—and then—

I sit up up in bed, sweaty and naked, the sheets damp around my body. I look over and find Ryet sleeping next to me. And then I glance at the clock and find the numbers 11:11 staring back at me.

I blink. And then it says 11:12.

What the fuck just happened? My brow furrows as I try to conjure up the past several hours. I remember Ryet pushing my legs open and dropping his mouth between them. I remember enjoying that. And this makes me smile and relax a little. But then—I think he bit me. Or did I offer?

Did he get sick again?

I don’t remember. But when I press my fingertips to my neck, checking for bite marks, there is nothing there. No dried blood or even soreness. And even in the dim moonlight filtering past the sheer curtains, I can tell that there are no marks on my wrists either.

My sigh of frustration comes out without warning as I fall back into my pillow. Ryet is disturbed and rolls over, his arm hooking around my middle, absently pulling me towards him.

I let this happen.

Shit. I’ve let all this happen. And just a few weeks ago I was sitting next to my dying grandma insisting that there was no way the vampire Paul could promise me anything.

But look at me now. In bed with my hunter, dreaming about feeding off his master.