He rose behind her and pulled her to him. Her back pressed firmly against his front from nape to thigh. Biting into his wrist, he opened his vein and held his offering to her lips. “Eawichkeit, Larissa.”
She licked and growled, “Eawichkeit, Eleazar.” Her teeth bit into him as she sealed her mouth over his vein and pulled.
He plunged his fangs into her neck and claimed her. Thick, warm, life-giving blood transferred from one body to the other. Her body constricted around his as they rocked, coming together as one.
Her gripping sex milked his seed, pulling every bit of his essence into her, all of which he was honored to provide. His spine arched and his head fell back. His body shuddered in completion as her body fluttered in his grip. Her mouth still feeding from his vein as they finished together and he hissed in euphoric bliss.
She was fire in his arms. Heat and lust. Desire and satisfaction.
They fell to the bed, eyes closed, fangs still extended, panting as one. When he finally looked at her again, he did not see the timid mouse he’d come to recognize, but a powerful, confident mate watching him through diamond cat-eyes. He kissed her softly and she nestled into him, her acceptance complete and his satisfaction whole.
His powerful lioness.
Chapter 23
It stared at Dane, fangs dripping, shoulders heaving, claws digging into his mom’s gray, lifeless flesh. He couldn’t look away from her eyes. Eyes that had looked at him every day since he was born, only now they were empty, devoid of any life, as if he were staring into two dark wells.
A sharp growl jerked his gaze away from his mother’s dead face, and Dane’s horrified stare locked with something that was not human.
Yellow orbs, flecked with crimson where there should have been white, glared at him, glowing in the darkness. Reaching for Cybil, his hand grabbed only air.
Whirling in search of his sister, he screamed for her, “Cybil!”
The creature purred and Dane spun. It no longer held his mother’s lifeless body as it now cradled Cybil in its clawed hands.
“No!”
Wakened by his own scream, Dane bolted upright in bed. The familiar scent of his grandmother’s home, a mix of sweet powder and dried paint, steadied his senses as his heart hammered.
He rubbed his eyes, taking in the boxes crowding the bedroom that was now his. Boxes. Boxes of baseball cards, boxes of old clothes, and video games. Boxes of his mother’s knickknacks. Boxes of crap he no longer cared about.
Pushing off the heavy blankets, still wearing his jeans, he went to check on his sister.
“Cybil,” he quietly called when he found her bed empty. He knew better than to expect an answer.
Gazing out the window, a drafty chill pressing through the glass, he searched the approaching dawn for a sense of home but found none. The least he could do was find his sister.
Slipping his socked feet into his weather-beaten boots, he crept through the house, navigating the stacks of boxes and the rows of painted canvases wrapped along the walls. The tinkling of a paintbrush slushing in water told him his grandmother was already awake and in her studio.
Thirsty and still shaken from his nightmare, he went to the kitchen and grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge, chugging it down in a few gulps. His gaze scanned the shadows for Cybil.
Tossing the bottle in the recycling, he snatched his jacket from the hook on the wall. No one slept anymore. He understood. He also found himself fighting exhaustion for fear of the reoccurring nightmares that haunted him, but he couldn’t stay awake the way Cybil and Gran could. They were masters of insomnia.
The screen door opened with a whine, its tight springs snapping shut behind him. The December wind cut through his clothes and he shivered, irritated that his sister had once again wandered off.
“Cybil?”
Moving past the plethora of stacked clay pots cluttering the wood-planked porch, he leaned over the spindled railing and searched for her or the dog.
Releasing a frustrated sigh, he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Cybil!”
Colby’s bark echoed in the distance, and he headed in that direction, shoving his fists into the pockets of his jeans and bunching his shoulders against the cold.
“Cyb-illlll! Colllll-by!”
The dog barked again, and he spotted its mangy face and mismatched brindle hide racing over the hill at the edge of his grandmother’s property. His sister’s silhouette sat on the knoll, unmoving and staring toward the bordering woods.
She knew better than to go this far out alone.
He jogged up the hill, starting in on the same old lecture. “Cybil, how many times do I have to tell you? If you want to wander the property, get me, and I’ll go with you.”
She didn’t move or acknowledge his presence, despite Dane’s certainty that she heard him.