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4
Tarnley
The city shines brightly below me. Lights illuminate a blanket over the city, separating it from the stars twinkling overhead. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve stood in this place, watching out over the night, since the moment I arrived in this city.
Of course, then, the night was my only avenue of not feeling the bitter fingers of loneliness. But thanks to the witch showering a few yards away from where I’m standing, I can now greet the morning as the humans and other supernaturals do.
Still, the night will always hold my attention for my favorite time of day.
Swirling the amber liquid in my glass, I’m lost in my trance, letting my mind wander through the events that have transpired over the course of the last six months. Events that have included the near-death of my best friend, the actual—and thankfully, temporary—death of myself, as well as the revival of the Astor line.
Between the original witch and her daughter, it’s safe to say there hasn’t been a ton of down time for any of us. Though, I can’t really complain about that. Prior to the upheaval that has become our lives, I only saw Bronywyn once a month—when we did blood exchanges to maintain our bond.
But lately, I’ve had the excuse of impending doom to see her damn near every single day. It’s almost enough to make me wish this craziness would never end.Almost.I roll my neck, and it pops just as it has every single day since Delaney brought me back.
Something I haven’t shared with anyone. After all, there are a hell of a lot more important things going on than my stiff neck. And given that it was snapped not too long ago, I’d say a stiff neck is a bit of normalcy in the abnormal.
The shower shuts off, and my increased senses pick up the sound of Bronywyn’s bare feet stepping from the shower and onto the tile floor of my bathroom.
Vampires are only supposed to mate once.
The bond with Allison should have killed me, but Bronywyn saved me.
And now, what I feel for her far surpasses anything I ever felt for Allison. It should bury me with guilt, that knowledge, but then I remind myself that Allison never actually loved me, either. Our bond was something that came out of nowhere, with neither of us really looking for it.
The sound of cotton brushing against skin heats my blood, so I force my attention onto anything but the woman behind me as she dresses quickly. It’s been far too long since I’ve fed, far too long since we reinforced the bond.
And even longer since I fucked.
That has to be why I’m feeling the way I do. Why my body reacts to hers in a way it shouldn’t. None of this should be possible, and yet, here we are.
“Can I have some?”
Without turning to her, I hand my glass back, and she retrieves it before coming to stand beside me. It’s now that I risk a glance at her. My shirt falls to her mid-thigh, the white cotton blending perfectly with her creamy skin.
Her hair is wet, and the droplets slide down her chest, disappearing into the open top of the shirt.
My cock hardens, blood hammering in my ears as my gaze settles on the pulse at her throat. I can see it in tandem with the sound of it pumping.Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
“You okay?”
I force my gaze up to her face as she rips me from the tunnel vision. “Fine.”
“What is it?” A line forms between her eyes, her nose scrunching up in an expression that is pure Bronywyn. No other person on this planet—living or dead—has ever been able to rip the truth out of me so swiftly as the woman before me.
In fact, lying to her is physically painful, though it is necessary. For now.
“I’m exhausted.”
She studies my face for a moment then drops her chin in a nod and turns to head into my living room. I don’t follow, needing some distance between us to keep my resolve from snapping and burying my face at her throat.
Her fucking perfect, slender, creamy neck.
I’m just turning when the scent of something so divine it knocks the air from my lungs slams into me. I blur across the room, appearing just before where Bronywyn stands in my kitchen, knife in her hand. Blood wells up on her wrist, the red a droplet of crimson against her skin.
The predator in me urges me forward, demanding I sink my teeth into her and drink until I’ve had every single drop. My reaction to her is more than I’ve ever experienced, whether it’s because of the freshness of the blood or the dark magic running through her veins, I’m not sure.
All I know is that it calls to me, beckoning me forward. A red flag waved in front of a bull.
