by Liza James
Even in the midst of my panic, her words are still replaying in my mind, reminders of the horrid decisions I’ve made, the pathetic ways I’ve offered myself to others for tiny shreds of validation and desire.
Oh my god, I’m sick. I’m desperate for attention in ways that ruin myself and those around me. I’ve made everyone hate m., I’ve never been good enough for anyone to choose me over someone else.
I’m not good. I’m not worthy. I’m lost.
I’m lost.
I’m lost.
I dig my fingertips into the open wounds, deep enough to tightly grip a shard and yank it free of my skin. When I toss it to the ground, I go back for the next, but it doesn't feel like I’m making any progress and far too quickly, I’m covered in my own blood and collapsing onto my back as I continue mangling my own flesh even further.
“Skilla!” I hear the muted sound of my name being called from a distance. The terrifying fear that it’s my reflection once again forces my mouth to remain shut aside from my own cries and whimpers of agonizing pain. My heart has slowed considerably, the beat feeling weak in my chest while my skin stains with my own blood and sweat and tears. “Skilla! Where are you?”
I’m dying. And I can’t say I’m too upset about that. I deserve this. After everything I’ve done, every stupid and disgusting mistake I’ve made—this is what will be best for everyone.
So I keep my mouth sealed tight, refusing to let anyone know where I actually am.
I don’t want to be found anymore.
Blood.
Everywhere. Far too much and flowing far too quickly for it to be anything but deadly. Her slowing pulse is another indicator that I’m already too fucking late.
“If you bond her, you can save her,” Elijah, a Fallen Angel who has bonded with his Fated reminds me as he races through the forest by my side. I’ve only spoken with him a few times, and he wasn’t supposed to come with me. But I knew I’d need someone to tell me exactly how this works and who can stop me if I go too far in feeding from her.
“Save her? Or kill her?” I ask, anger straining my words like a vice. We’re running, and I’m leading us through Lucifer’s sick and fucked forest as I follow the scent of her blood.
It’s different, right now. The scent I mean. Usually sweet and thick with honey, this is sour and poisoned with something toxic.
Fuck, I let everything get the better of me. My own need to prove to Lucifer she meant nothing, ended up revealing the exact opposite. He knew the moment I pushed to use Brielle in her place, this was different.
Fucking Hell. I hate him.
We move deep into the forest when I finally hear the sounds of Skilla’s cries and muffled words. Small whimpers escape her mouth as my entire soul, my body naturally draws toward her sounds. I can feel it, everything inside of me calling to her like a beacon, and it’s the first time I wish more than anything that I had given into the idea of bonding her as soon as I realized she was my Fated.
As my eyes scan the thickly forested area, I focus intently on her voice, as painful as it is to hear her like this and trust my own instincts to take me closer and closer to her. I let my feet guide us, trying to ignore the logical ways my mind attempts making sense and determining my path. I know that is not how I’ll be able to find her here, in a forest dictated by dark magic and illusion.
I scent her blood, relying wholly on my ability to seek her out through my own addictive hunger and thirst for her. My need to devour her runs rampant as I allow it, knowing its power will help me find her.
We quickly move forward, shifting left and right in the places that take me closer to her. It’s only after her cries have become quiet, but close, weak yet nearer that I finally see her small body come into view several feet ahead of me. I rush forward, her name falling from my lips as pleas of hopeful life. I fall to my hands and knees, moving over her pale and lifeless figure as I pull her into my arms.
I immediately feel my own hunger explode through my veins and darken my vision. I can smell her blood and watch as it spills from her arms where clear lashes have injured her flesh. The thirst, the power overwhelms my flesh like vines choking every ounce of strength I have inside of me. My hands begin trembling and Elijah quickly rests his hands on my shoulders as his low voice begins speaking my name.
“Look at me,” he bites out hastily, his hard grip forcing my face up to meet his when a savage hiss falls from my fangs. “She will die. This is The Devil’s Mirror. It looks like the shards have already embedded themselves into her skin.”
Shaking, I focus every bit of my own strength, of my awareness to look down over her body again. I reach for her wrists, and watch as whatever life she still carries has her head turning toward my body and seeking me out. “Skilla,” I whisper, pulling her even tighter against me, as I watch her blood turn black when I touch it.
The mixture of her blood with mine, a Fallen, causes it to turn black when connected.
“I’m here, I’m here. Hold on for me and I’ll fix this.” Tears spring to my eyes as I feel the thin, veiled tether we carry without being bonded pull tightly within me. I can tell she’s fading quickly, and my eyes meet Elijah’s in desperation when I urge him forward. “Tell me what to do, what to say. I need her, Elijah. I am nothing without her.”
His eyes soften in easy understanding before hardening again and moving directly into instruction. He pulls out his own knife from his back pocket, gripping my own wrist and cutting my flesh without a second thought. He moves again, to another portion of my other arm and does the same, the slices barely even registering as pain even while deep enough to quickly draw blood. Adrenaline courses through me, and my hunger for her blood edges any sting I could possibly feel.
He moves quickly, cutting me in several places that rest against her skin and her own wounds while I hold her. “You’ll need to bond her and then feed from her, remove the toxins from the Devil’s mirror that have already poisoned her. Otherwise she will continue living in a prison of the worst parts of herself, cages of misery and rage of not purged from her blood. Do you understand?”
“Yes, of course. I know what the mirror does, I just need her to live before I can drink from her. I won’t take her blood if it will kill her.” I frantically say as I lift her in my arms and press my ear to her open mouth, listening for her breath. It’s subtle, barely there but thankfully present none the less.
“Ol, Na’amah, Throne Angel C Arcadia, allar ol cnila de yours g sibsi. Old arbs de a etharzi c ge congamphlgh ca el.”
I repeat the words and the ritual falls from my cold, parted lips as I shift my own blood over hers. Nothing happens at first, and panic strikes my mind when I worry that we’re already too late.
“Come on, Skilla.” I beg her, dropping my head to hers as I search for her breath once again. The scent of her blood fills me, and I groan out as I bite down hard on my own tongue to force my painful hunger back down. “Do not abandon me now.” Rage bursts under my skin as I helplessly rock back and forth with her in my arms. Elijah continues urging me to repeat the words and they fall from my mouth like prayers as I await any kind of change in her body.
My eyes rake over her form, over the mixture of our blood melding together dully. Nothing changes, and I collapse over her form as tears stain my cheeks and fall into our blood. “Please,” I beg her, words falling limply into the universe, into whatever power can grant me this need.
Because I do, I need her. Her soul, her blood united with mine. Our Fated tether coming to life between us. There is nothing I want more in this world than to relinquish everything I’ve built and give it completely to her.
In the next moment, as the Enochian bond continues being spoken over her form, I scent the faintest change in her blood over mine. Unexpectedly, a breath of sweetness hits my lungs, subtly and hardly noticeable, but thankfully evident. My head snaps up and my eyes rake over her body, catching the tiniest place over her wrist where her blood has turned black when mixed with my own.
“Keep going,” he snaps, shifting Skilla up onto my lap even further as I cling her against me. I speak the words over and over again, until her back slightly arches and I hear the greatest inhale of breath I could have ever imagined hearing. “Do not stop.”
Slowly, incredibly, everything begins shifting between us. I can feel it, the thin, faint rope that runs between her soul and mine tugs gently between us. As if it’s coming to life, a current of electricity that draws me closer, enchanting my hunger to incomparable proportions. Her fingers suddenly stretch and then lunge for my arms, clinging tightly to me as the bond begins growing stronger in each passing moment.
My eyes race over her injuries, watching as her blood, as mine pool together and move over her flesh. It’s in those moments I realize what’s happening in her healing process as well, the physical shards of the mirror shifting under skin visibly before purging themselves from her wounds. It’s painful, and I literally feel her excruciating sting as if it’s in my body as well. Her back arches off from me and a quick explosion of a scream rips free of throat and collides with the air around us.
I hold on to her, tightening my grip as the pain moves roughly through the both of us. I want to surrender completely, but I hold strong, knowing I’ll be the one to drag us through this torment until she’s healed and I’ve drank the poison from her blood. My nature will naturally consume it, dissolving it until it’s erased entirely. The Vampire’s Venom being the only cure to the madness it creates.
“Na’amah,” she cries, her voice thick with agony as she clings to me. Her eyes snap open wide, and the terror I feel and see within her destroys me on it’s on. My hand immediately reaches for her face, forcing her to look at me as her body convulses and writhes while the glass continues moving and slashing under her skin. Her nails dig into my flesh, pulling me toward her in the same desperate need I hold as well.
“I’m here,” I whisper to her on heavy words, colliding my lips with hers as I press us tightly together. When I pull back, she’s screaming again, breathing so heavily that I worry she’ll fall unconscious. We ride out the purge together, clinging to our bodies as I fight the hunger and she fights the havoc of poison under her skin.
Slowly, everything begins settling just slightly. As I watch what I believe is the last piece of glass falling from her open wounds. Every slash, every cut begins closing, the redness around her skin changing into a faded olive tone she naturally carries. I can see the scars, but I know over the next few days those will disappear entirely.
Skilla is still trying to catch her breath, her eyes pressed tightly shut as her chest heaves and falls in shallow, rapid, inhales. My hands remain on her body, moving over her skin and feeling her warmth while my own chill spills forth. It melds together, and with her healed injuries, the sudden eruption of our bond overtakes every single aspect of reality we’re experiencing.
In one single moment, I feel all of her. Every emotion, every ounce of pain, her exhaustion, her desires. All of it, we’re the same heart united in our bodies, blending together in a masterpiece that begs devotion and passion in every part of our souls. Her hands quickly lunge toward my face as I move to hers, her mouth crashing against mine as she kisses me with such ferocity, such power, I want to lose myself entirely within her.
I want under her skin, between her legs, buried in her mind and heart in every possible way imaginable.
“Skilla,” I breathe out against her heated moans and whimpers as she sits up and shifts to straddle my lap. I want to kick Elijah out of our fucking space, but I know we aren’t finished here yet. “I have to clean your blood of the poison.”
Her lips are already moving against my skin, her hands frantically ravaging over my body with the intense need to simply connect in every possible way. “I just need to feel you,” she whispers, her hand gripping my neck tightly as she slows her movements and rests her head over my shoulder. She forces steady breaths, that urge of wanting to be even closer running as current in our bond between both of us. “I feel you everywhere though, at the same time. I want to be closer, and yet you’re already living in every part of me.”
I wrap my arms tightly around her waist, losing myself to the passion and craving desire flooding our connection and souls. “I know, Kitten. I know. Let me finish this, and we can disappear.”
The relief that floods the both of us next is literally tangible, but it’s quickly interrupted when a new shock of pain and shame fire in bursts within Skilla right away. She cries out at the pain, caught completely off guard when the remaining poison sends waves through her blood. I immediately move into action, sliding my hand up and around the back of her neck as I tug her close to me.
“What do you have to do?” she asks, her voice so innocent and unknowing, I think she’s forgotten what’s next.
“Oh, sweet Kitten.” I breathe out against her skin as ice lightly frosts her flesh. My fangs move along her throat, feeling for the thick vein running along the side column. “Now, I Bite you.”
There is not a single chance I’m truly mentally and physically prepared for what’s coming. My body is weak, exhaustion claiming every portion of my energy after nearly dying and now binding myself to Na’amah through our Fated bond. It’s another world all in its own, the reality of having this unit, this special tether and place that no one else could possibly ever experience with her aside from me.
She’s mine.
And I’m hers. In every possible way, and I want to lose myself as we vanish from this place and the people around us. Just for a little while, I want to let go.
But the quick and sporadic rushes of agony, the continued slurs and reminders of my darkest parts are enough to have me wishing for death all over again. So the moment Na’amah mentions biting me, erasing the poison from my blood—I can hardly process it clearly.
My hands are already clinging to her frame, my neck elongated with my head tilted to the side as her lips finally fall over me with a huger that already devours my soul. I can feel it within our bond, the thirst she so starkly craves when around human blood. But even more so when she’s with me.
My blood.
My taste.
My body and soul and mind and heart.
Just as it feels as though she was designed specifically for me, I feel as though I was created for her in every way. Down to the fucking minuscule details.
“Do it,” I whisper over her skin when I feel her hands tighten drastically over my lower back. I vaguely remember someone else being near us, but I believe he moved farther away some point with disappearing completely. “I want you too. I need you too, Na’amah.”
“Begging for my Bite is far more intoxicating than you begging to come, do you realize that?” she releases breathy words, scraping the tips of her fangs along my flesh before pausing and then sucking on me in a seductive kiss.
“I do now,” I moan, rolling my hips against hers as my core wets with my own arousal. The total power and union of our bond has every single one of my senses firing on high alert, my emotions riding an ultimate peak. “I can feel it. Feel how badly you want this.” My voice drops even lower as her soft growl vibrates over my skin. “How much you’d like to fuck me.”
“Fucking Hell,” she whispers, and her hand shifts into the long strands of my hair as she wraps it tightly around her fists and yanks my head harshly to the side. “Do as you’re told, let me feed and purge your blood, and then I’ll make you come again and again and again while I fuck you. I’ll go slow and hard and then devour you myself, tasting your orgasm on your pussy and in your fucking blood.”
I can’t help it, a moan escapes loudly, whimpers and quiet begs as I whisper the words in her ear. Her hands move heavily, tightening and tightening until I’m gasping and clinging to her for my life.
“Don’t pull away from me when you feel it. I’ll know when to stop, I can feel your pulse as if it’s my own. You’ll be able to
warn me in slowing down as well if necessary.”
“I’m ready.” My tone takes on a quality of madness, the incredible need I have to feed her in the ways she needs as well as purge the poison from my own body. “I promise.”
It’s when the next wave of pain wracks through me that Na’amah finally pierces my throat, her fangs ripping through my skin in a sudden sting that outweighs every other pain I’ve ever felt in my life.
I whimper, and if it was possible to beg even more, I’m doing it now. I can’t get enough of this, and I can literally feel the poison dragging to my blood as Na’amah claims all of it for herself. Her hands quickly begin sliding over my body, each swallow of her mouth coinciding with another touch of her hands. In one moment, she’s holding my jaw still, drinking long, thick swallows before moving her hand to the front of my chest and slipping over my hard nipples.
God, I want to be alone with her. My pussy is soaked, pulsing and desperate for her to fill and fuck me. I want my own fingers inside of her, feeling how wet she is while she’s feeding from me at the same time.
She pulls out of my throat suddenly, and I collapse forward as I gasp for breath. “Don’t stop,” I beg her, pulling her forward once again and toward my neck. She doesn’t even hesitate, and she’s immediately sinking her fangs into me once again as she draws from my vein.
“You are the greatest I’ve ever had, the best I’ve ever tasted, Kitten.” Her words are soft and yet sexual all at the same time. She pulls out and bites me a third time, each one eliciting a new wave of euphoria and elation running through me. “I am nothing without you. My Fated, my other half. I will never regret stealing you away that night, claiming you as mine the second I saw you.”
