Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“You really want more blood?”
“If you’re offering.”
I have a thousand questions. But mostly, I’m thinking about fucking her while she drinks me. She is, after all, naked in my lap.
She’s obviously reading my mind because her hand slips down to the zipper on my jeans. The button is still open so it’s an easy thing for her to just reach in and pull out my cock. I’m already hard, but when she starts stroking me, it gets even stiffer.
Syrsee is bold tonight. She doesn’t even hesitate, just lifts her hips up and presses the tip of my cock up to the entrance to her pussy. She’s already wet and the next thing I know I’m slipping inside her and she’s got her mouth pressed up against mine, whispering. “Let me drink. Please, let me drink.”
I bite, taste the blood for just a moment, and then her tongue licks it up. It’s over too quick. And then she’s asking for more. “Give me a real drink, Ryet. Give me what I give you.” These words come out low and sultry. Almost like she’s trying to seduce me into it.
I know this is a bad idea. I’ve spent the last sixty-five years listening to Paul tell me how drinking too much is a very bad idea. But when she starts moving on top of me, I suddenly don’t care. I want her to drink me. And I want her to do this while we fuck.
I bite the palm of my hand, letting my new fangs sink deep into my flesh so the blood will flow easily, and then I put it up to her mouth, letting her take a good suck. And all the while she is writhing in my lap. Her hips grinding on me. I grab them, squeeze tight at the bones, urging her to move faster.
Suddenly, there is a swell of feelings inside me. Warmth, and chills, and fire, and ice. And while all this is happening a light, golden mist begins to swirl up from the floor.
We come at the same time and I’m absolutely sure the whole world can hear us. But the only thing on my mind right now is her. Her blood, specifically.
And the moment that the craving hits me, she’s offering me her neck.
I don’t hesitate. I’m not even capable of hesitating. I sink my teeth deep into her neck and she recoils from the pain. But I’ve got her arms pinned to her sides and I don’t relent.
The first draw is magic. And this is when I realize what we’re doing. We’re drinking each other. We’re mixing our blood. Her inside me, me inside her. Over and over.
Is this what it means to have your own personal Black witch? Someone who was made for you, and only you? Are we doing it right?
But I’m too distracted by the taste of her blood to give these questions any more thought. It’s sweeter now. More enticing than it was, if that’s even possible.
Flashing red lights are going off in the part of my brain that is still capable of logic, but I ignore them. Paul’s face is there too, and then suddenly his words are loud in my head. “Be careful, Ryet. This is Black magic you’re doing. You’re making something here.”
But Syrsee is moaning in my lap and we taste too good to care about consequences.
I must pass out, because the next thing I know I’m waking up on the couch. I don’t even know how I got here. Or Syrsee, either. She’s lying alongside of me, her face pressed into the cushions. The euphoria of the drink is gone now and there is a feeling inside me that I can’t quite place. It’s not shame, exactly. It’s not regret, either. But it’s something like that. Something worrisome. Something that lingers in my gut like a mistake not yet realized.
I close my eyes again and start trying to make sense of things.
Syrsee is drinking blood.
I’m eating food.
She’s getting visits from the Guild.
I’m growing wings.
When I woke up in the truck out in the desert, I thought it was pretty much over. I mean, I knew the wings would be coming in. But that was all I was expecting. A physical change, which the craving of food is. But I don’t think it’s over. Whatever’s happening to me, these wings are just the beginning.
And Syrsee isn’t just some feeder I need to keep around to eat. Something is happening to her too. She’s sexy. I mean, she’s always been sexy, but she’s more than that now. She’s provocative.
She reminds me of—I sit up. Blinking into the darkness. Unable—unwilling, really—to finish that thought.
But there’s no way to deny it. Syrsee reminds me of Lucia.
“Holy shit.” I say this out loud. Then I say it again. “Ho-lee. Shit.”