Twisted. Gena Showalter
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He couldn’t stop her name from rolling off his tongue. The hunger … truly, it never left him. Only grew, slithering around him, clamping down on his soul. Still. He’d take just a drop, the taste he’d promised himself, and then he would at last leave her alone. She could go back to sleep.
Until he needed more.
You won’t take any more, remember? This is the last time.
“Wake up for me, sweetheart.” He pressed their lips together, harder than he’d intended. A kiss for his Sleeping Beauty.
Like the girl in the fairy tale, Victoria blinked open her lids, the length of her lashes separating, connecting, separating for good. Then he was peering into eyes of the purest crystal. Deep, fathomless. Glazed with a hunger of their own.
“Aden?” She stretched like a kitten, her arms rising above her head, her back arching. A purr rumbled from her throat. “Is it bad again?”
The robe gaped over her chest, just a little, but enough, and he caught a glimpse of the tattoo etched above her heart. A faded black—soon to disappear altogether, just as her others had done—with multiple circles swirling into each other and connecting in the middle. Not just a pretty decoration, but a ward, a spell inked into her skin to protect her against death, and the only thing that had saved her life as she’d poured most of her blood down his throat that first time.
He wished he knew how long ago that was, but time had ceased to exist for him. There was only here and now and her. Always her. Always this, the hunger and the thirst blending into a feral, consuming urge.
Her knee came up to rest against his hip bone, and he settled more firmly against her. Such an intimate position. No time to enjoy. They had a minute, maybe two, before the voices would destroy her concentration and the roar of the beast would claim his.
A minute before they both became as dark as their natures demanded.
“Please,” was all he said. Black spiderwebs were forming in his line of vision, thickening, closing in, until her neck was all that he could see. The ache in his gums was unbearable, and he was afraid he was drooling.
“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate. She wound her arms around him, her nails sinking into his scalp, and drew him down for a kiss.
Their tongues met, thrust together, and for a moment, he lost himself in her sweetness. She was rich chocolate smoothly mixed with chili peppers, creamy yet spicy.
If only he were simply a boy and she were simply a girl, they would kiss, and he would try for more. She might deny him. She might beg him to continue. Either way, they would care only about each other. Now, as they were, nothing mattered more than the blood.
“Ready?” she breathed. She was his dealer, his supplier and his drug, all wrapped in the same irresistible package. He wanted to hate her for that. Part of him—the new, sinister part—did hate her. The rest of him loved her immeasurably.
Sadly, he feared the two parts would one day war.
Someone always died in a war.
“Ready?” she asked again.
“Do it.” A growl so hoarse he sounded more animal than human.
Was he human anymore? He’d been a magnet for the paranormal his entire life. Maybe he’d never been human. Not that he cared about the answer right now.
Blood.
The ferocity of their kiss increased. Without pulling away, Victoria flicked her tongue across her fangs, cutting the tissue straight down the center. Nectar of the gods welled, the taste of chocolate and spice instantly replaced by champagne and honey, intoxicating him. His head swam with dizziness as his body temperature rose.
He sucked the blood quickly, before her wound had time to close, taking every drop he could, every swallow ringing a groan of rapture from him. His temperature rose another degree, another still, until fire poured through him, burning him up, scorching him to ash.
He recognized the sensation. Not too long ago, his mind had merged with that of a male vampire. A vampire roasting inside a death pyre. Aden had felt as if he were the one drenched in flames.
Soon after that, his mind had merged with a fairy’s. A fairy with a knife in his chest, the beat of his heart no longer saving him but destroying him, the blade sinking deeper and deeper.
Both instances had been a lesson in pain, but neither compared to Aden’s own stabbing, when his body had been the one violated. And if not for the girl beneath him, he would have died.
He and Victoria had thought to celebrate their victory against a coven of witches and a contingent of fairies … alone, together. From the shadows had jumped a demon in human skin, his knife embedded in Aden’s chest—yes, everyone always went for the heart—before he could blink.
Victoria should have let him go. His stabbing had been predicted by one of the souls. Aden had expected it. He might not have been prepared for it, but he had known he wasn’t meant to have a future beyond that point.
And really, he and Victoria would have been better off if she’d let him go. Fact: you didn’t mess with fate without paying a price. He should be dead, and Victoria should be free of his baggage. But panic had bloomed inside her. He knew, because he remembered the high-pitched tenor of her screams. Could still feel the way her hands had clutched at him, shaking him as life flowed out of him. Worse, he could still feel the white-hot tears slipping from her face onto his.
Now, she was paying for her actions. She might continue to pay until Aden accidentally killed her—or until she killed him. A life for a life. Wasn’t that how the universe worked?
This time, he expected to die from the inferno Victoria’s blood was creating inside him. Instead, he found himself … calming. Not just calming, but thriving, his limbs growing stronger, his bones vibrating with energy, his muscles flexing with purpose.
This had never happened during a feeding. Wasn’t supposed to happen now. They drank, they fought and they passed out. He didn’t recharge like a battery.
When the blood on her tongue dried up—far too soon—he was reminded of his need, need, need now, and he stopped worrying about the repercussions, stopped caring about his reactions.
“Victoria,” he croaked.
“More?” she asked, breath emerging shallowly. Her nails were leaving track marks down his nape and along his shoulders. The hunger must be coming upon her, too.
Even without her monster, the beating heart of her vampire nature and the driving force of Aden’s new menu selection, she craved blood. Maybe because it was all she’d ever known. Maybe because she was as addicted as he was.
“More,” he confirmed.
Once again she razed her tongue against her fangs. A new wound opened up. Blood welled, though not as much and not as quickly. Still he sucked and sucked and sucked.
Not enough, not enough, never enough.
Within seconds the blood stopped leaking. He didn’t want to hurt her, couldn’t let himself hurt her, but he found himself biting her tongue; unlike her skin, this flesh was soft and malleable. She moaned, but not in pain. He’d accidentally cut his tongue, too, and his blood was trickling into her mouth.
“More,” she said, a demand now.
His hands tangled in the silky length of her hair, fisted. He angled her head, allowing deeper access for them both. So good.
She’d once told him humans died when vampires attempted to turn them. She’d also mentioned that the vampires attempting the turning died as well. At the time, he hadn’t understood why.
Now, he understood—but the knowledge cost him.
When she’d taken what remained of his blood and poured her own straight into his mouth, they’d done