Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Not when she’s struggling and turning redder by the second.
There’s no hesitation.
“Sorry, lady,” I whisper, right before I bend over and fit my mouth to hers.
She goes stiff.
Her hands come up, clutching at my shoulders almost comically.
I know what this looks like.
What it feels like.
But when I gently pinch her nostrils shut, she gets the message.
I only leave a single airway for us to manage.
She relaxes slowly as I exhale into her mouth.
Normally, we use CPR for someone who’s unconscious, but right now, what she needs is to get her breathing under control until the inhaler works.
Breathe with me, woman, I’m beaming into her with my lips.
Fucking breathe!
One breath at a time, I take control of her.
In, out. In, out!
Our mouths fuse together so perfectly there’s not a single molecule of air lost between us, the heat and friction building with each wet slide like a kiss.
Her lips taste like citrus, sweet and tart.
With every passing second, we slowly taste the same.
Every time I exhale, I force another breath down her throat. We separate for just a minute, our lips parting with a damp sound before I seal them together again.
Over and over, taking my time, razor-focused on her alone.
Slowly, her rhythm matches mine.
Her rapid panicked breathing softens until it turns slow and steady, each breath more measured and controlled than the last.
It’s almost weirdly intimate.
The people around us watching silently, the sunlit morning square, all of it falls away.
There’s only that rhythm.
That heartbeat.
That push and pull.
Here, there’s only her, while her eyes slip shut and she goes slack like she’s surrendering to me.
When the fear and tension go out of her, I feel it.
With the next breath, I touch two fingers to her throat, feeling her pulse through her artery. It flutters under my fingers, a little start.
Thankfully, it’s acceptable. No longer the panic-rush that was beating frantically against her pale, slender throat.
Now it feels safe to let her go.
So I do, releasing her delicate nose. As I draw back this time, I don’t go in for another breath.
My lips hover over hers as I tell her, “Good girl. You’re all right. Just keep breathing, nice and steady.”
I straighten, slipping an arm under her, coaxing her up until she’s resting in the crook of my arm, half-draped across my lap. Her breath turns a little shaky for a second, then evens out.
She swallows hard before letting out a slow, controlled exhale that looks almost practiced.
Like she’s dealt with this a lot, but she just wasn’t ready for this kind of chaos.
I still need to call dispatch and make sure the EMTs are coming. I’m just not sure if it’s safe to let her go yet.
I force myself to give her a once-over, taking in her flush, her paleness—some of which I realize now is just her natural color.
She’s so warm in the crook of my arm.
So small, so breakable.
Her bones feel finer than a bird’s wings against her wrist, and in the exposed dip of her collarbone just visible past the collar of her soft-pink suit coat and button-up shirt. Her skin shines like moonlight, even in the morning, spattered with cinnamon-colored freckles across her face and throat.
She’s got the kind of round, high cheekbones that make her jawline look like a porcelain sculpture. Her hair is a wild cloud, deep red like embers, long and pouring down her shoulders over my supporting arm.
And those eyes—fuck.
They’re the darkest blue I’ve ever seen. Dangerously close to conjuring up very unprofessional thoughts.
Especially as she looks up while I clear my throat.
“Are you with me now? Are you feeling all right?” I ask.
Her lips part, but she doesn’t answer.
Her mouth is cherry red from my CPR kisses, making the bright cobalt-blue of her eyes stand out so much more sharply. They’re wet and glimmering, her curling lashes beading with tears.
There’s something brutally innocent in her gaze.
I’m fucking arrested. Lost for words.
For what I was trying to do.
For what I should even be thinking in this situation.
Think, Micah. Find your brain and quit fucking staring.
I should be thinking about her safety and nothing else. She’s a flushed, disheveled mess and I don’t even know her name.
Only, right now, I’m gutted.
An unhinged thought cuts me open.
I’m staring at the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.
3
DARK WHISPERS (TALIA)
I’m being kissed by a vampire.
That’s the first thought clouding my foggy mind as the pale man leans over me. Maybe I’m hallucinating from low oxygen, but he looks—
Inhuman.
Imaginary.
Dangerous, with his red, red mouth descending toward mine.
His skin glows like moonstone.
His hair, too, a pale silvery-white like ice teased into sideswept strands. His face is so beautiful, so angular. He’s like some dark elven prince from the dirtiest fantasy books, smoldering and strange.
And his eyes—Oh God.
They’re somewhere between desert blue sky and arctic grey.
Twin moons on a hollow night, holding me hypnotized.