As I nudge myself upright, my legs stagger again. Exhaustion, cold, and lack of food—thus energy—is taking me down—andfast.
Fuck.
I force one wobbly leg in front of me, and then another, praying to Santa I get the hell out of here safely.
CHAPTER 6
Lucian
As soon asI shut the door, I streak into the woods and towards her smashed car. It’s still in the same place, untouched, which makes sense. Human authorities rarely patrol these parts, which is exactly why I chose this area to roam. It’s two days before Christmas, and the weather is too unforgivable for their frail bodies. It would’ve been days before Sawyer was found if I’d left her to die.
The thought kicks me in the stomach with a discomfort I haven’t experienced in two centuries.
I wrench open the trunk of her car, the metal screeching. Her suitcase tumbles to my feet, and I retrieve her purse from the front. Inside, her ID lists her home address, and a quick glance is enough to imprint it in my mind.
Her phone’s been thrown to the floor of her car, undamaged because of its case. Giving her any form of communication is the last thing I want, but it’ll build trust with the woman who may become my future mate—and that has to begin somewhere. Besides, without service this high up, the device is useless.
With her things in hand, I head to the nearest town, to a grocery store. Being no more than a blur on the surveillance cameras, the owners will never know who broke into their store.Grabbing boxes of crackers, holiday-shaped cookies, other dried goods, and bottles of water, I load her purse and suitcase before hauling everything back home, already anticipating her smile when I’ve provided.
The path takes me up the opposite side of the cabin, towards the back, but as I near, Sawyer’s scent hits me along with every instinct to drink and feed. At some point, my hunger will grow inexplicable, and my closest source of nutrition is her.
While tasting her skin and lapping her blood while she fights for breath is literally all I’ve been fantasizing about, that small voice sayingkeep, keep, keepdoesn’t want to stress her out more than she already is. Which means not feeding from her until trusting she won’t try to kill me.
As much as I crave her blood, I yearn for her trust just as much.
Curious.
I creep up the side of the house to return at a human pace, noticing her scent grow stronger. I burst inside, guessing what isn’t there before confirming she’s left.
Without another thought, my instincts shift solely onto her scent, the same way they did yesterday when detecting the crash. Even without the aroma of her blood, her sweet trace has been lingering in my nostrils all day, imprinting into my veins with every urge demanding to protect her, to keep her safe—and it’s that which leads me.
My eyes turn red, and my hunting reflexes taking over. To run faster, harder, and ensure my little human is saved from the blistering cold. The fragile woman needs be tucked inside, asleep, safe, and warm.
My budding hunger from moments ago transforms into aneedI never knew to exist. A haunting urge to find her, bite her, fuck her, and claim her pushes me onwards as the demand forher blood—to feel the thick heat filling my throat withherlife—sheds my fangs.
As I run, I listen for the telltale sounds of animals, mainly predators. At the image of a wolf ripping her apart, I push onwards faster. She’ll never be another creature’s prey, because she’s mine.
Within minutes, her blue jacket becomes visible through the trees ahead. Her steps are troublingly slow, her head low between her shoulders. Over the hissing wind, her little panting breaths might be the thing to undo two centuries of being emotionless, and her heart rate skips between slowing with impending death and racing from sudden bursts of adrenaline.
Carrying her back at a mortal’s pace won’t do; she needs to get out of this weather. She’ll learn what I am before originally intending her to, but her safety matters more.
I reach her, uncaring that my fangs are out and my eyes are crimson. She squeaks when I yank her around to briefly study what she’s done to herself. Her cheeks are a burning rose, chapped and raw, her eyelashes dusted with frost. Her entire body quivers.
My insides physically ache at the sight of her fragility. There’s no one to blame but myself—which makes it all the worse. I didn’t care for her the way she needed me to.
“Ho—” She staggers into my arms, which eagerly scoop her up bridal-style. “Tha…than…”
We’re home in mere minutes, and the door slams shut with enough force to shake the walls. I’m fuckingpissed, but being back eases the red tainting my vision until things start returning to normal.
Without releasing her, I hike the heat up as high as the thermostat allows and then rush into the bathroom to rest her on the closed toilet seat before filling the tub with warm water. Nothing too hot. Her skin needs to acclimate first.
She also needs to get out of her damp clothes.
Ignoring her pathetic protests, I unzip her coat and push if off her shoulders, pausing at the sight of her in my hoodie. Something possessive rears, initiating a vow to get her back into more of my clothing once she’s well.
Her full-body shiver reminds me she’s freezing, so I tug the fabric overhead, and then her cardigan and top. I choose to ignore her cherry-red coloured bra, which could be the very thing to return mortality to my life.
“No.” She kicks when reaching for her pants. “I’m f-f-fine.”
