Page 93 of Bone Year

I want to hurt somewhere that isn’t my chest. I want a pain I can locate. A pain with edges, one I can press a hand against and feel start to fade. Anything but this.

“The bite,” I whisper. “Just the bite. Nothing else.”

He goes still. For a half second I see something flicker behind his amber eyes, calculation maybe, disappointment, I don’t know. Then it’s gone, and that lazy smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.

“Whatever you need, Red.”

He doesn’t ask if I’m sure. His hand slides from my hair to my jaw, tilting my face up, and I look anywhere but at him. His mouth comes down toward mine, and I turn my head before it can land. His lips graze the corner of my jaw instead, and he huffs a quiet laugh against my skin.

“Have it your way.”

His hands find my waist, and he lifts me onto the exam table. The metal is cold through my clothes. He pushes my hair off my shoulder, and his fingers are not gentle.

I close my eyes.

This isn’t about wanting him. I do not want him. I want the part of myself that has been screaming since Nella died to be quiet for one second. Malric is the door I am willing to walk through to find that silence. That is all he is.

His mouth finds the curve of my neck. I feel his tongue first, then the sharp press of fangs.

The bite is a bright flare of pain, sharp and sudden and so intense my vision whites out. Then a strange tugging warmth as he drinks from me. My fingers go numb. My ears fill with a rushing sound, and the grief, the guilt, the image of Nella’s eyes going empty, all of it blurs at the edges. I cannot think. I can only feel my body emptying.

It’s exactly what I came for.

My fingers go cold. He’s taking too much. Some distant part of my brain knows that. But I don’t tell him to stop. I want to keep disappearing.

His mouth pulls away from my neck with a wet sound. The cold air hits the puncture wounds, and I gasp.

When I open my eyes, his lips are stained red. My blood. He’s looking at me differently now.

“You taste—” He frowns. “Huh.”

I don’t know what that means. I don’t care.

Before I can sit up, his hands slide down my hips, gripping. His mouth finds my throat again, and this time he isn’t biting. He’s kissing. His teeth drag along the wet smear of blood at my collarbone, and his hand pushes my shirt off my shoulder.

“Now for the part where you thank me properly, Red.”

The fog clears.

I see what’s happening. I see what I almost let happen. His hand on my hip. His mouth on my throat. The way he is leaning his weight into me to press me back against the table. I shove against his chest, and when he doesn’t move, I shove harder.

“Get off me.”

“Don’t be like that.” His mouth doesn’t leave my neck. “You asked for this.”

“I asked for the bite. That’s all.”

“Red—”

I shove him with everything I have. He stumbles back a step, more from surprise than force, and I drop down off the table on shaking legs. My hand goes up to my throat. It comes away wet.

“I said the bite. Nothing else.”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The smile is still there, but the edges have gone hard and I notice he managed to untie the front of his pants.

“You don’t get to invite me in and change your mind.”

“I didn’t invite you to anything else.”