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I glance up to my best friend, who towers over me between her five-eight height and her four-inch heels.
We’re night and day, she and I. I am pathetically short, and today I opted for combat boots, so I barely reach her tits. My skin’s cold and pasty, hers, deep and warm. Her hair’s deadly straight and pure black, although she doesn’t dye it. Mine flies all over my face in reddish-blonde waves.I’m rail-thin where she’s all soft, voluptuous curves.
What we both have in common is that we catch the eye.
“You wish you knew.” I smirk.
Most of my visions are dull. People walking around, arguing, playing the flute.
They aren’t regular people, though. I don’t imagine anyone who quite looks human.
Rain knows me too well. One of her eyebrows inches up. “Is it dirty?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say, my eyes returning to the unabashed couple.
Seriously, what is that about? I don’t usually see people fucking.
I don’t consider lying to Rain. She doesn’t judge me—and I certainly don’t judge her, either. Besides, unless the imaginary people try to make me jump off a high tower, she’d never snitch about it to anyone who’d lock me up again.
“Hopefully, you’re visualizing my future.” She sighs. “I need cocks, stat.”
She makes it sound like an emergency, and in her case, it is. It’s Samhain tonight, one of the pagan festivals, which means that most sups around the entire world are having sex right now, releasing energy that makes many species go wild. Witches, shifters and vampires, for sure.
Maybe that’s why I’m having filthy visions.
We don’t really know how many non-human creatures roam the Earth. While the general population has moved on to accepting the fact that this world contains mysteries the previous generations had no clue about, some—few, but very vocal and brutal—humans protest the very existence of people who aren’t like them.
It doesn’t matter to big, bad, centuries-old vampires, too hard to find, impossible to kill, but others are more vulnerable. Rain, for instance. She might be a witch, but she still bleeds, and feels as much pain as anyone else.
I can’t blame the things that choose to stay in the shadows.
And others just don’t know what they are in the first place.
I’m not affected by the festivals at all. One of the many ways I’m the most boring sup alive.
I smoke another puff of weed, eyes darting back to the lovers, who are still going at it ardently, though they’ve changed their position. The man’s now pounding into her from behind, standing, while she does her best to avoid falling head first.
The new angle allows me to get a good look at him, and my mouth drops.
What in the ever-loving hell is thatthing?
He is…ridiculous.
So tall he’d make Rain look as tiny as me, even with her heels. Defined, perfect muscles glisten in the moonlight. He dispensed with a shirt, despite the chill in the air—another cue that none of this is real.
But the most obvious proof is that he’s impossibly, unbearably gorgeous.
He has the kind of face no one can turn away from. Knives for cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a mouth sculpted by Satan himself to tempt saints into sin. His hair’s dark, and messy, falling over his forehead, brushing his nape. I want to push it back. Run my hands through it.See if it’s as silky and soft as it looks. The desire to cross the street and do just that is overwhelming.
And then there’s thatcock.
No wonder the girl’s happy to get railed out in the open. I’m fairly certain anyone,anything, would just bend over where they stood if he asked.
I know I would.
“Darina, you’re being weirder than usual,” Rain informs me, her voice cutting through the fog.
I shake my head, willing myself to get my head out of there.
