by Reinke, Sara
You touch Pilar again, and I’ll do more than kick your ass, Brandon warned Téo. I find out about you messing with her, bothering her—so much as looking at her—one more time, and I personally guarantee that you’ll walk with a limp the rest of your life. You got that?
Téo blinked at him in dazed surprise. “Are you shitting me?” he exclaimed again, looking at Pilar in disbelief. “First you hook up with that piece of shit human chota and now you think this pendejo…” With his hand, he gestured disdainfully at Brandon. “You think he’s your pareja?”
She doesn’t think it, Brandon said. She knows it. We both do.
Turning around, he hooked his hand against the back of Pilar’s head and pulled her toward him. Her eyes were enormous, shell-shocked and stunned and he felt the sharp intake of her breath against his mouth a split second before he pressed his lips fiercely against hers.
She stiffened reflexively in surprise, but after a moment, relaxed in his arms, her lips parting, the tip of her tongue first brushing against, then tangling with his own. His body responded instantly, every nerve ending electrified and aroused. There was nothing else, no one but Pilar, and he felt the rapid-fire pounding of her heart through her shirt, her breasts, hammering in time with his own.
Téo tackled, knocking him sideways. Brandon struck the side of his head against the floor hard enough to leave him seeing stars. He felt Téo’s fist close against the collar of his T-shirt, while as he straddled Brandon, he readied the other to pummel him in the face.
“Yo mataria tu, mamabicho,” Téo seethed, his fingers balled into a tight fist. Brandon may not have understood the words, but he got the meaning behind them loud and clear.
Fuck you, too, he seethed, as, brows furrowed, he shoved his knee into Téo’s gut, meaning to punt him off. Two of the other Nahual rushed forward, grasping Téo beneath the arms, hauling him forcibly away from Brandon. They were both taller and stronger, but Téo thrashed furiously between them, his own pupils dilated in full, his fangs gnashing wildly.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” he shouted, blood-tinged spittle flying from his lips. “I’ll kill that huelebicho! I’ll rip his motherfucking head off!”
Come on, then, asshole! Brandon limped to his feet, but Jackson caught him from behind, clapping one heavy hand against his shoulder in firm restraint. I’m right here. What the fuck are you waiting for?
Break it up. Valien strode directly between them, his brows narrowed, his hands outstretched like a crossing guard. Both of you. Right now.
“Are you going to stand for this?” Téo cried at him, still struggling. “Who the hell is this pendejo? I’ve got a bad sense about him, Valien—I’ve told you that from the start. El no es trigo limpio—he’s trouble. He comes from out of nowhere and suddenly, he’s got his hands all over Pilar. We don’t even know him!”
“Jackie knows him,” Valien replied coolly. “That’s good enough for me.”
“Jackie’s a human,” Téo shot back. “Are you saying you believe his word over mine?”
Valien met his gaze evenly, his brows crimped, the angle of his jaw hardened and clenched. “I guess maybe I am.”
At this, Téo’s brows furrowed and he spat again. “Chingate, cabron,” he seethed. “So much for my family’s loyalty this whole past year. I see now what that’s been worth.” He shrugged himself free. “Get your fucking hands off me.”
Sparing another murderous glare at Brandon, he then turned and stormed out of the tavern. For a long moment, everyone in the room remained motionless in his wake, and then at last, Valien heaved a long sigh, the tension draining from his body. “Lopito? Carlos?” He turned to the two Nahual who had tried to restrain Téo. “You guys mind to follow him? Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”
“Sure, Valien,” one of them, Lopito, replied with a nod.
As they left, Valien then turned to Brandon and Pilar, his expression weary, nearly pained.
I’m sorry, Brandon began.
“It’s alright.” Valien shook his head.
I was only trying to… Brandon began. His voice faded, and he asked himself angrily, Trying to what? Stake a claim on Pilar? Win some kind of goddamn pissing contest? What the hell’s wrong with me?
He glanced back at Jackson, who remained close behind him, his hand on his shoulder, more protective than restraining. It was obviously a tremendous deal that Valien had, for all intents and purposes, voiced his favor of Jackson—a human—over Téo—one of his own kind—and although Brandon couldn’t be sure what kind of clusterfuck Valien had just set himself up for, it was apparent from Jackson’s grim expression that he did.
CHAPTER TEN
Lina.
Her eyes opened in the dark as she roused from sleep beside her mother in bed. She lay on her side, facing the bedside table and a digital clock: 2:37 a.m., it read.
What the…? Groggy, grumpy she lifted her head, her hair drooping into her face. Glancing over her shoulder toward the bedroom doorway, she saw a shadow-draped figure there, and realized what had woken her.
Brandon? Pushing the covers aside, she sat up fully, then swung her legs around. Leaving the bedside, she went to him. He leaned heavily against the doorframe, his head hung, his hair a tousled mess.
Has he been out drinking? she wondered, even though she couldn’t smell any alcohol on him. She and Latisha had gone to bed before he and Jackson had returned home and she hadn’t heard them come in. Brandon was dressed for bed—sweatpants, no shirt—like he’d been back awhile.
Hey. She touched his face gently, thinking something was wrong. His breathing sounded ragged to her, strained and hoarse, and when he lifted his eyes from the floor, she could see he was in the throes of the bloodlust, his pupils engorged, his fangs descended in full.
I’m sorry, he said. His skin glistened with sweat; his hair clung messily to his face in damp strands. It felt like an electrical current thrummed just beneath the surface of his skin.
What is it? she whispered, alarmed, cradling his face in her hands. Brandon, what’s wrong?
I don’t know. He shook his head helplessly. I don’t know, Lina, I just…I feel like I’m losing my mind…losing myself. Clutching at her shoulders suddenly, fiercely, heavily, he nearly knocked her over. Help me!
I will, she promised, smoothing his hair back. I’ll help you, Brandon. Tell me what to do.
Be with me, he begged. Please, Lina, I…I need you now…so badly…please…
He started to kiss her, pushing his mouth against hers. He was clumsy, pawing and groping, and she tried to push him back.
Not here, she said with a pointed glance back at the bed where her mother, mercifully, remained asleep. With a nod, Brandon pulled her in tow, practically dragging her from the bedroom doorway and into the living room. She saw Jackson’s door partially closed, with darkness beyond the threshold, and heard her brother snoring from within. Brandon brought her out onto the lanai, then clapped his hands to her shoulders again, shoving her down onto the futon mattress.
Brandon… she began, worried for him, because she’d never seen him like this before. He fell down onto his knees in front of her and buried his face in her lap, like a small child seeking comfort. He was trembling, shaking so hard, he rocked her body beneath him, and she folded herself over him, clinging to him in an embrace.
Brandon, it’s okay, she whispered to him, kissing his skin, alarmed anew by how hot he was—he felt like he was spiking one hell of a fever. It’s okay, she said again, wondering if she should call Tessa or—God forbid—Augustus. Everything’s going to be alright.
He moved so fast, she didn’t have time to draw back in start. In an instant, he was up, seizing her face with his hands, kissing her again. He pushed her back against the futon, pressing himself atop her, shoving her legs apart to frame his hips. His hands fell between them, ripping at her panties, tugging his sweat pants away from his waist.
Brandon, wait, she said, then uttered a startled gasp as he speared into her
anyway.
I can’t. He jerked up the hem of her T-shirt, then his lips slipped from hers to her nipple, his tongue playing against the sensitive nub, encircling it hungrily. I want you, Lina. I need you…so bad.
The throaty sound of his voice in her mind, ragged and hoarse with desire, left her wet and wanton for him in an instant. As he moved inside of her, she matched his pace, tangling her tongue with his, kissing him deeply, fiercely. Within moments, she closed her fist in his hair, arching her back as she climaxed.
Just like the night before, he didn’t come with her—but seemed hell-bent on trying. He caught her ass in his hands and leaned back, rearing up and lifting her hips from the bed, driving her in to meet his every pounding stroke. Still, he wouldn’t come. He flipped her over, speared into her from behind, sent another orgasm shuddering through her. He pulled her into his lap, her legs locked around his middle, and let her ride him until she came, but still, he found no release. He pushed her onto her back, hooking her knees over his shoulders and plunged into her from that vantage.
Brandon, stop, she said at last, gasping for breath, exhausted and sore. Her body hadn’t fully recovered yet from the previous night’s frantic lovemaking, and she felt raw all over again. They’d never been at it that long before, not non-stop and all in one sitting, not without him coming.
No. He looked down at her, bracing himself with his hands on either side of her head, his eyes round and black, his breath wheezing through clenched fangs. No, no, please don’t ask me that…not now, God please…I’m so close…
Lina had never seen Brandon so fully enthralled by the bloodlust before—not without him feeding from her or finding sexual release. It had left him exhausted, flustered and—she realized suddenly—frightened.
Because he’s never seen himself like this, either.
“Brandon,” she whispered, reaching up to press her palm to his cheek. God, he was burning up, his skin hot like the side of a glassworks furnace. “Feed from me.”
Don’t ask me that, he gasped, shaking his head. God, Lina, please. I can’t!
“Yes, you can,” she pleaded. “You have to try. This isn’t working.”
It has to! he cried. Shaking his head his head to dislodge her hand from his face, he then seized hold of her, locking his fingers through hers, pinning her hands down against the bed. You don’t understand, he seethed, his brows furrowed. He leaned down enough for her to see herself—her sudden, visible alarm—reflected in the obsidian pools of his eyes. This has to work—it has to. If I bite you now, I won’t be able to stop. Do you get it? Do you hear me? I won’t be able to stop myself!
He began to move inside of her again, shoving himself into her. I have to do this. Please. I don’t want to hurt you.
Ashamed to admit it, but grimacing now in pain at every furious thrust, she planted her hands against his belly and pushed him firmly back. You’re hurting me now.
Brandon blinked at this, as if shocked out of a stupor, and immediately recoiled, withdrawing from her, sitting damn near bolt upright in the bed, all round and gleaming black eyes. Oh, Jesus…!
He stood from the bed and stumbled backwards, away from her. I’m sorry, he said. Even in the dark, she knew the bloodlust had overwhelmed him, that he was desperate for release. She could hear it in his voice, his breathing, see it in the sudden, rigid strain that had gripped his body. Oh, God, Lina, I’m sorry…I didn’t mean…
She sat up. “Brandon,” she whispered, reaching for him, wanting to comfort him, to tell him to feed from her, to ease his obvious suffering.
Don’t! He shook his head and she shied back, uncertain again. Please don’t touch me. Forking his fingers through his hair, he shoved it back from his face. He stared at her, stricken, pleading. I’m sorry but I just…I can’t…
Spinning on his heel, he stormed from the room. From beyond the living room, she heard the bathroom door close, then the unmistakable sound of water—the shower running.
Oh, Brandon, she thought, worried and frightened. After a long moment, she reached for her fallen clothes, wincing as she stepped back into her panties and sweatpants. Between her legs felt swollen and sore, and all at once, she was glad motorcycle riding had become Jackson’s hobby of choice, not hers.
I’m sorry but I just…I can’t… Brandon had said, and even though he’d left this statement unfinished, she’d understood. I can’t stop myself, can’t control it, he’d meant.
What’s happening to you? Lina thought, sitting on the side of the futon and shivering. She felt on the verge of tears. Oh, God, what’s happening to us both?
****
I have to get out of here, Brandon thought as he stood in the shower, letting ice cold water hit him in a stinging spray. He stood with his hands braced against the tiled wall, his teeth tightly clenched as he waited. It took nearly ten full minutes for the frigid water to dissipate every last lingering hint of the bloodlust in him, and at first, to his wild and absolute horror, he’d worried it wouldn’t work at all, that this time it had progressed too far, that he couldn’t stop it.
Because it’s different now, he thought. He’d always relied on making love to Lina to relieve the bloodlust—finding sexual release in exchange for feeding. But that night, he’d come to realize that somewhere along the line, things had changed—he had changed—and it was no longer the bloodlust that was his enemy. He’d been fighting physical lust as well, something intense and overwhelming inside of him, yet equally as intrinsic and inherent as his need for blood. And he’d been sorely tempted to feed from Lina, to try and slake that incessant need, despite the enormous risk to her.
Because I would have killed her. In his desperation, he could have easily drained her dry. And his mind had been so clouded, so delirious with need, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. I won’t be able to stop myself, he pleaded with her, because he’d been terrified; the temptation too great, his need too immense.
My need for Pilar, he thought. Because as he’d kissed her in the bar less than an hour earlier, he’d felt this instinctively. The frustration he felt with Lina, the insatiability within him, it would be relieved—blessedly, mercifully so—if he made love to Pilar. His body wanted hers; every instinct in his very nature pulled inexorably toward her, no matter what his heart and mind offered in pleading, futile protest. And no matter how desperately he’d tried to force himself to find that same relief with Lina, he’d been unable to.
And I hurt her in the process, he thought in dismay. Oh, God, she told me to stop, but for a second there, I wasn’t sure that I could.
In fact, in that moment, he’d been seized with the urge to clamp his hand over her mouth to stifle her protests, to take her anyway, no longer making love to a willing partner, but fucking her in the most primitive, brutal, bestial sense of the word; taking what he wanted, what he needed, what his body demanded. It had lasted no more than a few seconds, this vile and uncharacteristic urge, but it had been enough to horrify him almost as much as the realization he’d hurt Lina.
What am I going to do? he thought. Frustrated and upset, he combed his wet hair back from his brow with his fingers. He hadn’t even bothered to turn the light in the bathroom on. His pupils had been so distended, even the faint glint of light filtering through the textured window glass from the window above the tub had been enough for him to see. Now, as he reached down, shutting off the water, leaving him to shudder with chill, he couldn’t see for shit. The bloodlust had been washed away, at least for the time being, and his eyes were normal again, their previous hypersensitivity gone.
Blindly, he groped for the vinyl curtain, pushing it back so he could step out of the tub. His teeth chattered as he fumbled for a towel, then, in the darkness, rubbed the coarse terrycloth fervently against his skin, trying to warm himself.
What am I going to do? he thought again, helplessly. Without the Wellbutrin, there’s nothing I can take, nothing I can do to stop it.
He looked up into the vanity mirror above the sin
k, discerning a shadow-draped hint of his reflection against the backdrop of shadows in the glass. Nothing but Pilar.
He’d left his clothes in the lanai, and crept hesitantly back to reclaim them. I’ll leave, he told himself. I’ll grab my shit, take the rental car and go back to Tahoe. I can’t take the chance of losing control, hurting Lina again. And I sure as hell can’t take a chance on being near Pilar anymore.
To his surprise, he found Lina still sitting on the edge of the futon, waiting for him in the dark. He froze at the threshold, wide-eyed and hesitant. He’d only just reined the damn bloodlust under control again and didn’t want to take a chance that it might surge inside of him again.
I think we need to talk. Lina’s thought was tentative and soft.
It felt for all of the world like his heart shuddered to a pained, painful stop. Yeah, he agreed at length with a heavy, unhappy sigh. We do.
He retrieved his sweatpants from beside the bed and put them on, noticing as he did that Lina took great pains not to look directly at him, instead studying her hands as she folded them in the nest of her lap. Dressed again, he sat down beside her, each of them stiff-backed and visibly uncomfortable.
He meant to tell her that he was sorry. He wanted to tell her everything—how he had kissed Pilar that night, how he felt like he was losing what precious little and tenuous control he’d had over his nature to begin with, and that he needed to leave, to go back to California where he could be among the Brethren again. Feeding from them kept the bloodlust in check, that’s how he’d explain things to her, he’d decided, and being away from them—being without them—put her at too great a risk. And I can’t live with that.
Michel told me something when we flew out from Tahoe to Kentucky to try and rescue you, Lina thought to him, beating him to the punch in opening the conversation. He pivoted slightly, glancing at her, but found she still looked down at her hands.
He told me about these theories he has about how the Brethren breed, she said. He told me some of them were meant to be with each other. Breeding pairs, he said. And others were meant to be with humans—pair-bonds, he called them. Either way, they’re bound to each other, that’s what he told me—body, heart and mind. They’re meant to be together.
