Page 21
I must have fallen into a dreamless sleep for a while, because the next thing I remembered, I was waking up in… a dorm that wasn’t my own. I rubbed my bleary eyes and the space around me slowly came into view—it was a bedroom and at first glance, the only thing that was clear was that it wasn’t mine. I stretched out my wings and tail, feeling like I’d been asleep for three years and not three hours. The blankets on the twin bed were ruffled, the person who lived there not having bothered to make it that morning. Not unusual in a college setting—when you spent eighteen years of your life being yelled at to make your bed and clean your room, it was an odd sense of rebellion.
A laptop sat on a desktop scattered with papers, open.
Despite the chaotic appearance of the room, it was relatively clean, and smelled familiar.
Clean, like fresh laundry masking a hint of something that was pure…
Tate.
I lunged across the room and nudged the trackpad on the laptop. The screen flickered to life and once my eyes adjusted to the assault of the bright light, my suspicions were confirmed: This was Tate’s laptop, and this was his bedroom.
The time on the screen read 3:33 in the morning, and I wondered why he wasn’t in bed.
The more my senses cleared, the louder the voices grew.
I padded over to the door and pressed my ear against it, hearing an… eerie chant coming from the living room. Slowly, carefully, I eased the bedroom door open. In spite of my size, I moved stealthily, slipping into the narrow space in front of the bathroom.
Four words were clear, and then everything got fuzzy.
“… my soul to keep.”
I blinked, and suddenly I was in the living room. Confusion faded, and one undeniable feeling came to the surface: Claim.
Mine.
The word echoed over and over in my mind. I scanned the sea of faces, few of them familiar, one wearing a smirk that I’d know anywhere, and another person scrambled into the shadows, but he couldn’t get away from me.
I’d spent the last month studying him, feeling like something was in store for him, and now I knew what it was.
He was mine.
He would be the one to call for me, the one to complete the process to solidify our bond.
His friends might wonder why it was him that I was called to, but only Tate and I would know the real reason: His virginity.
The fact that he’d been touched—hadn’t been claimed—by anyone else created the perfect link between us.
He. Was. Mine.
Mine, and only mine.
Tate watched me with wide, dark eyes, chest heaving with every hard-earned breath. Heat flared through my veins, desire chasing away the reminder that we were being watched. I only had eyes for him.
I lunged, hauling him into my arms with nothing more than a gasp from him. Frankly, I didn’t care if the room cleared out or not. I claimed his mouth, only the first step in taking him all for myself. Tate eased into the kiss, supporting himself with his arms around my neck and his legs squeezing my waist.
We made out in the living room, surrounded by warmth and fueled by nothing but sheer lust.
Tate tugged my hair, smoothed his hands down my back until he found the place where my wings met the skin and the tickle of his fingers against the sensitive spot sent a jolt of desire south, so strong that my knees nearly buckled.
Tate’s cock hardened against my stomach, and he began rocking his hips against the pressure, moaning into my mouth with every thrust. At some point, we reluctantly broke away for air, and he panted against my lips, holding onto me for dear life.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“I’ll explain, baby. I promise.” I adjusted my stance, supporting him with one hand under his ass while I fed the other between us. “For now, why don’t you let me take care of this.” I palmed the bulge cradled so beautifully by the denim between his thighs.
He shuddered. “Really?”
His voice quivered, and his hand flexed against my back.
