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I laugh. “Yeah, you’re right there.” I glance between Rita and Ethan. “Well, I’ll let you two get back to whatever cosy chat you were having before I interrupted. I’m going upstairs to try and doctor myself.”
Rita grins over at a stony faced Ethan, who suddenly jumps up and strides toward me. He grabs my wrist and commands, “Come with me,” before yanking me out of the room and up the stairs to the bathroom. Those three little words are the first he has uttered to me since the party at Whitfield’s mansion. He might still be aggressive as fuck, but perhaps this is progress.
Ethan slams shut the bathroom door and turns over the lock. Fun times! His hand is still clamped onto my wrist, so I jerk myself away from him.
“What’s all this about?” I ask. “Have you finally decided to acknowledge my existence like a mature adult?”
“Stop talking or I won’t help you.”
“I don’t need your help. I’m fine.”
His eyes travel over my bruised face, and if I’m not mistaken they stray to my lips for a fraction of a second before meeting my gaze again. “You don’t look fine,” he says and grips my shoulders, pushing me over to the edge of the bath. “Sit down.”
With a distinct gulp, I do as he says. His hands on me cause memories of sleeping with him to rise to the surface. It feels as though I haven’t had his touch in forever, and the brief pressure of his hands on my shoulders reminds me of how much I miss him. I breathe out heavily and look up at him as he towers over me. Some
thing shifts in his eyes and he inhales. Oh crap, can he smell what I’m feeling? That I want him so badly?
His gaze burns and his lips part slightly, his sharp, white fangs extending downwards. He puts one foot in the bath tub, the other on the tiles of the bathroom floor, saddling himself in front of me on the edge of the bath. He lifts his wrist to his mouth, eyes still trained on mine, and then bites down hard with his fangs. Blood begins to drip from the puncture before he thrusts his wrist at me. “Drink, it will heal you,” he tells me softly.
I raise one eyebrow and glance down at his offered wrist. “Does this mean we’re friends again?” I ask him humorously, humour which his expression indicates is not reciprocated.
“You and I will never be friends…” his voice is hard now as he trails off. “Friends do not want each other as we do. Still, if you are asking if you are forgiven then the answer is no. But that doesn’t mean I will allow you to suffer physically the way you are suffering now. Drink.”
I glare at him, having no intention of doing as he says. But then I remember the time when I drank Dru’s blood and how it had healed my broken ribs in a matter of minutes. It had also tasted incredible. Deciding to test the waters since I don’t really have anything to lose, I lean a little closer. For some reason the scent of his blood consumes me and before I know it I’m pressing my lips to his bloodied wrist. A small hiss escapes him at the contact, and I can’t help feeling satisfied that I still affect him as much as he affects me.
I begin to suck at it tentatively, but when the honey sweet taste of it slides down my throat I start to take much more harder gulps. I think I hear Ethan groan as I do, however I’m too consumed by his blood to pay it much attention. The next thing I know I’m being lifted up and flipped across the room to the wall. Ethan presses himself into me as I continue to drink from him. I glance up at his dark eyes and our gazes connect. It feels almost magical. He moves his nose up the side of my neck softly, as though tracing the line of a vein.
I can sense the rapid departure of the pain, my injuries receding. This is way more powerful than the time I drank from Dru. Perhaps the older the vampire, the more potent their blood. I have no clue how old Dru is, but I imagine she’s a good deal younger than Ethan. There’s something way too modern about her, whereas Ethan sometimes talks like someone out of an old film or a book. He’s a fifty/fifty mix of modern cool and old fashioned sensibilities. Often those sensibilities are a little too old fashioned for my tastes, especially the control freak factor.
These thoughts filter through my brain, while I’m vaguely aware of Ethan’s hand slipping beneath my t-shirt and gripping tightly onto my hip with need as we continue to consume each other with our eyes. I literally am consuming him, drinking down his heavenly sweet blood.
Then all too soon his hand clamps onto my jaw and he eases my mouth away from his wrist. I withdraw with a loud gasp, as the excess blood drips down from my mouth. Ethan’s fangs are still extended and it seems like it’s taking all of his will power to back away from me now.
His hand lets go of my hip and he steps back to sit down on the edge of the tub. We haven’t once let our gazes drop from one another. A few brief moments pass before I gain some level of coherent thought.
“Um thanks, I guess,” I mumble at him and look away. I step over to the sink and turn on the tap, before washing my red mouth until it’s free of Ethan’s blood. I’m shivering all over now, half because of his blood being in my system and half because I’m hyper aware that he’s watching my every movement.
I’ve been getting this feeling a lot the past few days. The feeling that Ethan is watching me when I’m not looking. Like he might actually be finding it difficult to stay away from me, despite his cool, calm and collected disposition. He must be having some sort of internal conflict over whether or not to forgive me for my “betrayal”. He’s definitely very far off from coming to any conclusion about me though. Somehow I can tell that Ethan providing me with relief from my injuries does not a reconciliation make.
“How do you feel now?” he asks, and it looks like he’s holding back a small smirk.
Obviously he knows his blood makes me feel amazing. It’s such a massive high that I might actually have to go and have a lie down for a while. My head is almost dizzy with this feeling of euphoria. Is it the same for blood donors when the vampires feed from them, I wonder? If so, I can definitely see the attraction, even if I’m squeamish about the process.
“Good,” I answer, too begrudging to actually explain to him that I am high as a fucking kite right now. He knows it anyway, and now he does smirk at me.
“I would think that “good” is a slight understatement, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, maybe if we were friends I’d describe to you how I’m feeling in a little more detail, but since that’s not the case, “good” will have to suffice.”
Ethan’s smirk deepens. His eyes trace every curve of my body. I’ve been drowning my worries with a little too much food lately. Dad in hell. Ethan hating me. Theodore back to wreak havoc. Comfort eating has been my only comfort. I haven’t yet ventured into the realm of fat, thank God, but I’m definitely teetering in the balance.
Ethan starts to speak. “My blood is rushing through your veins, invigorating them. Every good feeling you might be having is enhanced ten times over. For instance, if I were to touch the sensitive spot beneath your ear with my lips you would undulate in a pleasure so intense it would be as though I were actually inside of you, plunging hard into you.”
Tingles travel down my spine. Oh, he’s definitely trying to torture me. Two can play at that game. I step over to him and sit astride his lap. I press my lips to the exact spot he just mentioned, only beneath his own ear. A deep growl rumbles in his chest.
“Feeling brave?” he whispers.
“Maybe,” I whisper back.
