Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
The next thing I know, she’s in my lap, Ryet is next to me, and we are both feeding off her neck. One of us on each side of her.
If she were any other Black witch, we could kill her this way. Easily. Within minutes. Because what we are doing right now—feeding on the same girl—is a little bit like the long drink.
But Syrsee is not any other Black witch. She is the one. And she can take us both.
Because not even the long drink can kill her now. Not after she tasted me.
Finally, after hundreds and hundreds of years of planning, and waiting, and failed attempts—Josep has gotten it right.
As my body fills up with her blood, I drift, only half-realizing that she has my cock in her hand. When I look at her, I see myself. Drunk on the sex, and the blood, and the lust.
She has no idea what she’s doing to me, or Ryet, or even herself.
But it’s not the time for explanations because she is throwing her head back, hands pumping up and down our cocks as we suck on her, and she is coming. Over and over again.
And I can’t help but wonder if I have died and gone to Heaven.
And it is in this drunken lust that I make a bad decision.
Isn’t that how they always happen? When you are drunk on evil things?
And my decision is to bite my wrist and put it up to her mouth. She is a creature of Hell and even though she never had the craving for blood the way a vampire does, once it’s offered in quantity, the hunger rears its ugly head and takes over like any other addiction.
She forgets who she is when she draws in my blood. Drips from my lip are one thing. Enough to turn her slutty, and wanting, and willing. But a small stream will do much more than that.
Suddenly Ryet is pushing her off me, pulling her into his lap, growling. “What are you doing? What the fuck are you doing?”
So he’s back. Well, it was nice while it lasted.
“Are you feeding her?”
I smile at him, then touch his face and look into his eyes as I croon, “Go to sleep now, Ryet. It’s just a dream. Nothing but a dream…”
CHAPTER TWENTY - SYRSEE
Naked and bloody.
I am in a room full of haze but it’s confusing me because parts of it are purple and parts of it are lavender. So there is no way to tell how real this is.
But there is no way to mistake what this is.
Ryet and Paul are on the couch, facing each other. Kissing. Hands everywhere at once, like they can’t get enough of each other. One moment they are stroking each other’s hard cocks, the next they are running their palms up and down their legs, over hips, across chests, gripping hair, and faces, and shoulders.
Paul is bleeding all over, staining the cream leather of the couch. It’s all over his hands, and his chest, and all over Ryet too.
They are clawing at each other. Like they are each other’s drug of choice. Like they are about to lose one another and they can’t bear the thought.
They are blood lovers in the truest sense. This is what that phrase means. This is the physical interpretation. Ryet and Paul. Naked and bloody.
I walk over to them and they stop to look up at me. Then Paul takes my hand and his gentle touch is so unexpected, I have to hold my breath. Because he’s pulling me into his lap. And now Ryet is sitting next to him, his hands all over me the same way they were Paul. And now I’m all bloody too. Just like them. I hadn’t realized I was naked until the moment I looked down. I watch Paul suck on one breast while Ryet nips on another.
My legs are open wide, one knee propped on Ryet’s thigh, the other on Paul’s. And just as both of them slip their fingers right up inside me I have time to wonder how the hell we got here.
I don’t remember getting here. I remember Ryet. But… when did Paul get here? And why was I standing apart from them?
But these questions get wiped away when they both start whispering in my ear. “Feed us,” they say. “Feed us, Syrsee.”
Inside my head I laugh. It’s ludicrous. I’m not a feeder. I’m not—
But I am feeding them. They are sucking on my neck. Pulling long draws of blood out of me. And it feels… holy fucking shit, it’s like an everlasting orgasm with each pull of Black elixir from my veins.
I lose myself as they drain my blood and I can’t help but wonder why I’ve been running from this man my entire life. Why haven’t we been doing this every single day?