But then she’d hate me, and I’d take my own life before letting that happen.
Every time she glances at my fangs, they crave her throat, and then using them to rip off her clothes. She’s slowly becoming mine; I’m making her trust me the natural way, and tonight will only improve this.
It’s ridiculous how this scrap of a mortal can own so much of me while having no clue how I’m all torn up for her. It makes no sense. This…thisobsessionAlec once warned me of is more powerful than I ever guessed it could be.
Hunting and feeding before taking her to the other cabin would be wise, but since playing on the edge of temptation sounds like a sure-fire way to Hell, I resist. All day, her mouth-watering scent has made it literally impossible to not breathe—Ineedto take it in.
Her blood, her skin, and her arousal.
She tried to hide feeling it this morning in bed, but it’d be an impossible feat no matter how hard she attempted. There are no words to describe a woman’s lust, but Sawyer’s specifically may be what breaks me. Sweet and heady; an aroma I could very well trace anywhere through the forest and find her.
When night finally falls, I begin rounding up everything she’s been slowly unpacking—her soap and bathroom supplies namely—and zip them into her suitcase before dropping it by the door. I gather all her food into spare bags and rest those by the doors too.
“Uh…” She tracks me back and forth. “What are you doing?”
Without answering, I dress her in her coat and zip it up, using my natural speed before she can consider pushing me away. “Will you be good on my back while I carry everything?”
She eyes my growing pile by the door. “Sure, but where are we going?”
I take her hand, press a chaste kiss to the back of her knuckles in a move reminiscent of my own time, and then hoist her up, letting her scramble into place on my back. Her legs tighten around my hips, her arms looping my neck, and when satisfied she’s settled comfortably and securely, I retrieve the rest of her things and take off into the sub-zero winter temperatures.
Within a minute of the run, she buries her face in my neck, and her shuddering breath blows hot over my nape. Her fingers curl into my shirt, gripping tighter, and her low curse pushes my legs faster until reaching the road she should have continued driving on the other night to reach her destination.
If fate didn’t want me to own her, that is.
The cabin is still unlocked from my visit last night and I rush inside and shut the door to cut off the blustering wind and save as much of the interior heat as possible. My human needs warmth, and warmth is what she’ll get.
Her bag makes a light thud when dropping it onto the floor beside the stairs leading up to the bedroom loft, and by the time I’m resting her food onto the kitchen counter, Sawyer’ head finally lifts from my neck.
“What the—wait…”
She scrambles from my back, and although I’m remiss to release her, I also desire her reaction as she takes in all that’s been done for her. Stolen ornaments hang on the tree; the rest of the cabin is decked out with every holiday decoration the local stores still had in stock, hot chocolate in the cupboards, and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon waiting by the fireplace. A gingerbread house kit waits on the counter to be built and devoured by her.
It’s been centuries since decorating for holidays, and while styles and décor evolved, conceptually it was similar enough to be a reminder of my human life. A reminder of my past family and how Sawyer’s on her way to becoming my new one.
“It’s decorated.” She paces forward, her head turning every way, continuously returning to the tree. “The cabin I rented… You did this?”
“Yes.”
She turns back around. “Why?”
“To give you a holiday celebration worth remembering. The one you attempted before a moose changed the course of your life. My cabin isn’t a home; it’s not suited for your needs. Hopefully this is to your liking.”
“Liking?” She rubs a hand over her mouth before wandering towards the large window to peer at the snowy outdoors. “Lucian, this iseverything.”
She spends the next few minutes poking at the tree, inspecting a few of the ornaments and the white lights, then the fireplace which I’ll light for her shortly. She drags her fingertips over the unlit candles on the coffee table, the fluffy snowflake-patterned fleece blanket folded on the back of the couch, the Santa figurines lined up against a wall, and everything else I don’t fully understand but stole regardless. In the kitchen, she inspects more of the sugary, green-coloured snacks, as well as the gingerbread house kit.
As she passes the tree for a second time, the lights catches on a glimmer—a tear— sliding down her cheek. In a flash, I’m beside her, wiping my thumb against it. All this was so shedidn’tcry.
“Is something missing? Is there more I could have done?”
She turns in my arms and giggles, which comes out as a blubbering sound. Which only serves to confuse me because two hundred years of immortality, and mortals still don’t always make sense.
With speed rivaling that of a vampire’s, she lunges into my arms, yanks my head down to hers, and claims my mouth for her own.
Her lips are warm, like the fire that’ll soon be lit, and as soft as the blanket on the couch. She’s unyielding at first, reading my own response as fingers dive into my hair and grip the back of my neck. I let her get comfortable, to ease into the concept of us, questioning with the gentlest nudge if this is okay.
And then I take over and slant my mouth over hers.
