Girl, Bitten

by Graceley Knox

  Arsen meets my steady stare for a moment, the look in his eyes conflicted.

  "And what do you want, Sasha?" he asks at last, running his fingers through my hair.

  I look back at him, trying to find the words to explain how trapped and out of control I feel. Learning that vampires were real turned my entire world upside down. There's no reality to ground myself in any more, no solid science I can cling to in order to be certain of what's real and what isn't.

  Someone could come through the door right now and tell me the Earth is flat and being carried through space on the back of a giant turtle and I'd have to give them the benefit of the doubt because at this point literally anything is possible.

  And now, on top of all that, I'm being told that my future, a future which now conceivably includes eternal life, is going to be decided by some medieval show down between two dudes I've only known a few days, and that I have precisely zero say in any of it.

  Couldn't Arsen understand why that isn't acceptable to me? Wouldn't he have fought too, if put in this position? But I don't know how to say all that. And even if I did, I don't know what to do about it. It isn't as simple as choosing Arsen or Niko.

  I want the option to choose neither. I want to be able to choose myself, or someone I still haven't met. I want to see where things go with Arsen. I want to learn from Nikolai. I want to choose one for a while and then change my mind in a few months or years or centuries. I want to flip them both off and go travel around Asia for a while. I want to not be locked into one impulsive emotional decision for the rest of freaking time. I want to explore my new powers, my new self. I want to be human again and ignorant of all this confusing garbage.

  I want a hundred different conflicting things. I want freedom.

  "I don't know," I say at last, because finding the words is just too difficult.

  Arsen's fingers slide through my hair to the back of my neck and he pulls me closer into a soft, tender kiss, held for two perfect heart beats.

  "Withdraw from the challenge," he whispers against my lips. "Choose me, here, tonight. Everything else is just a formality."

  He doesn't understand, and I can't make him. Instead, I kiss him again, and push him towards the bed. He seems to take that as a sign of surrender, his hands moving eagerly to squeeze my hips, rather than the ploy to distract him. I don't want to think about it anymore. I just want to be held. To forget about everything for just a little while.

  His kisses move down to my throat, the graze of his teeth making me shiver. My thighs press together, excitement mounting. I slide my hands under his shirt, tracing the planes of his muscles. To a human his skin might feel cool but to me it's the perfect warmth.

  His fingers knead the small of my back, then slide lower to squeeze my ass, sending a brief rush of heat through me before he lifts me, laying me out on the bed. He takes a moment to kneel on the edge of the bed, looking down on me. Admiring his prize, maybe. I try not to let the thought ruin the moment. Because he does look damn good from here.

  “Kiss me.” I whisper.

  The slide of his velvet tongue against mine is a delicious promise. He holds my face in his hands, thumbs stroking over my cheeks. He's being extra gentle, extra slow. I'm almost tempted to tell him to be rougher, but this is nice too. This attentive caution.

  He slips my shirt off over my head and showers kisses on the tops of my breasts, the touch of his hands tantalizing through the lace of my bra. He flicks a finger over my beaded nipple and I arch my back, pressing up into his touch.

  Perhaps I shouldn’t have closed my eyes. Perhaps it was silly to slip into a dark place and relish the sound of his breathing as his lips trailed over my collarbones, back and forth, and then down the center of my chest. My ribs ached. My heart beat hard against it like a drum as he pressed flush with the rest of my body, his kissing peppered right over my heart, over my lungs, driving my breath out in a small shock.

  I open my eyes and he’s there, the top of his head, his soft hair hiding his eyes and his features as he moves southward still, kissing warm and slow over my body, down my stomach, and then my navel, lingering there for a moment, as if teasing the butterflies swirling inside. I drop a hand, caress his cheek, and try my best to find words. There are none. Not right now.

  The thought of him kissing just a little lower is a good one, but it’s not what I want right now. I pull him up over me instead. I need to see his eyes, to see the emotion there. I steal a kiss, hungry and desperate, trying to drown out the doubts still crowding the back of my mind. I ignore it all and grab him hard, hands squeezing at his shoulders, my back arching, giving in to the animalistic urge beating in my chest, letting it overwhelm the part of me that still wants to think too much.

  I reach down, fingers fumbling with his waistband as he drops impatient kisses over my throat and shoulders. I grip his thighs, pulling him closer. He rocks into me, grinding, and suddenly clothes are the most hateful things in the world. If I don’t remove the layers between us immediately I’ll lose my mind.

  “Sasha…” he says to me with a low growl in his tone, like soft smoke billowing around me. It pulls another moan from me as I rock against him. “Sasha…”

  I shift, raising my shoulders off the bed long enough for his fingers to find and release the hooks of my bra. Gravity has only a moment to catch my body before he does, hands squeezing, leaving eager kisses over the newly exposed skin. But I’m far from satisfied, still struggling to get his pants out of the way. But he’s not cooperating, content to touch me, to kiss every inch of my skin, like he could spend all night worshipping me. He’s still trying to convince me to stay, to give up and be his and damn it I don’t want to be convinced right now, I want to be fucked!

  “Stop stalling,” I say with a groan. “I want to feel you, inside me.”

  He shakes his head at me. “Greedy.”

  “Tease,” I snap back.

  “Impatient.” He tsks.

  I slide my hand into his pants to show him just how impatient I am, squeezing him just a little harder than I know he likes. He’s almost molten in my hand and I’m desperate to feel him burning inside me.

  He groans, his breath hot against my throat. “Little minx.”

  I smile against his throat. I’ve got him now.

  I push his pants down, my grip on him gentler now. The soft skin of his cock is like silk over marble. Then I grab his ass, dragging him against me, feeling the heat of him grinding against my bare stomach. He’s not a small man, and weight of him is one of the things I love most about this. He feels made for me. We fit like puzzle pieces.

  “I love the weight of you on top of me.” I wrap my leg around him and wiggle my hips.

  He scrambles to remove my jeans, revealing the simple boy shorts I’m wearing underneath, and suddenly slightly embarrassed of. Maybe I should have invested in those fancy Victoria’s secret lace ones instead. But he seems to like them, judging by the way he ruts against me like he can’t help himself, staining the simple cotton with his precum.

  “I love the sight of you beneath me, wanting me. Wanting this.” The hunger in his eyes sends a thrill through me.

  No one’s ever wanted me this much. This desperately.

  At least, I think he wants me. For a moment I feel like an idiot as my insecurities come roaring back. But he rolls his hips into mine and thoroughly distracts me again.

  I arch up and into him, rocking into his motions, hungry for any friction, any closeness. Maybe this is rushed and dumb. Maybe I’m making a mistake. But this feels too good to be ruined by my foolish worries. I wrap an arm around his neck and pull him down into a crushing kiss as he drags my underwear down. There’s a moment, our limbs tangling as he tries to pull my underwear off without separating our bodies, when I feel so ridiculously, naively, human. Ironic, considering I’m not anymore. I laugh, and he kisses me, smiling against my lips.

  “What is it?” He asks, rubbing the head of his cock against my wet center, pulling back when my
hips move upward, seeking more of his touch.

  I shake my head, unable to form a response when he’s doing that. He chuckles and continues teasing my entrance with just the tip of his dick. I moan, greedy for all of him.

  “Be patient.” He hushes me, rubbing his hands up and down my thighs.

  I take a deep breath, trying not to jump him and for a second, I smell roses. I think it’s the detergent they use on the sheets here. It’s dumb and romantic and I feel like a sappy school girl. Like I really could just choose him, choose to be here and be his, and let the rest be a formality.

  His bare body and mine tangle and we’re moving together like currents in the ocean. I feel the heat of him against my folds, sliding between them, just feeling my heat for a moment before I reach down to direct him, to open myself to him.

  “So wet for me.” He exhales as he slides home and my breath catches, my heart clunking in my chest.

  “Mmm, yes.” I relish every last second of the slow slide, the pressure and the stretch, the delicious fullness, the weight and heat of him inside me. My hands scramble along his shoulders and his back, looking for something among the angles of his muscles to hold onto, to cling to, to stabilize myself with. I’m flying, dizzy.

  “Arsen.” I sigh his name in bliss.

  “I know baby, I know.” He moves, rocking deeper, and I move with him, taking him in.

  There’s a song stuck in my head, some acoustic indie folk ballad. Tonight, we’re the sea and the rhythm, it croons in my head. We’re moving like the tides, like the gentle beat of a love song. He’s still so slow, so gentle. Still trying to persuade me. But he’s already won. I can’t be here, can’t feel him inside me, and not feel like this is exactly where I’m meant to be. I could lay here in his arms, in his bed, forever.

  He takes his time, and the minutes stretch out for what seems like an eternity. The slow roll, the swell of pleasure. But the tide has to come in eventually.

  “Arsen, I’m so close.” He speeds up, rhythm faltering, his hand on my mound, thumb rolling circles over my clit as he pushes deeper, harder, whispering my name under his breath like both a prayer and a curse.

  “Fuck, Sasha.” He kisses me hungrily. “The way you ripple around me. So good.” He bites at his lip and for a moment I’m jealous that I’m not the one biting it. I lean up, replacing his teeth with mine and lick at his mouth, sipping from it like it’s a fine wine.

  He angles his hips, hitting that elusive spot inside of me, and the rush of heat brings me close to the edge. His hand and the last few rolls of his hips take me the rest of the way and he swears again as I tighten around him, my thighs squeezing his hips, riding out the waves of pleasure.

  “That’s right, Sasha, baby. Come for me.” He mutters something else against my skin that sounded like stay with me, but I can’t be sure. He pumps into me, nipping at my neck and then he stills, his hot release pumping inside of me.

  As I catch my breath, he showers kisses over my face and shoulders. Slowly, he pulls free, leaving me feeling sadly empty without him. But as he lays beside me, pulling me into his chest, the pounding of his heart against my cheek, I know it won’t be for long.

  We have all the time in the world.

  Chapter 13

  I wake around mid-morning the next day, Arsen still sleeping soundly beside me. Only a sliver of pale light filters through the blackout curtains on the windows. The house is quiet, most everyone else asleep for the day. I'm not used to the nocturnal schedule yet and my circadian rhythm still thinks now is the time to be awake. I yawn and slip out of bed, finding clothes and dressing quietly. As long as I'm awake anyway, I might as well get some research in.

  I’d spotted the compound's library the other day and frankly I've been waiting for an opportunity to raid it since. They've been holding these stupid Provokar challenges for centuries, so there's bound to be some records about them. Tips that will help me make sure I win my own hand.

  The library is in its own small building across the gardens. Thankfully the cobble stone path to it is covered. Rain in the pacific north west is just par for the course, and today, it’s drizzling. The building is a beautiful gothic revival construction complete with an unnecessary amount of finicky little spires and ornate windows with stained glass windows. Inside, the hush is almost reverent, like entering a church. The heavy oak shelves, deep and tall, with cabineted bottoms and carved lacework on top, resemble pews and confessionals arranged in a maze across the library’s stonework floor.

  I expected to be alone, coming at this time of the day. But I've only been inside a minute when I spot someone else. Two men in black cassocks, like priests, appear from between the shelves, both carrying books and talking quietly. They pause when they see me and the younger of the two smiles, taking a hand off the books to wave.

  "How unusual!" he says. "We don't usually get visitors at this hour. Do we, Elder Smythe?"

  Elder Smythe grunts irritably. And I try to hold back my smile at the younger man’s enthusiasm and his older counterparts’ grumpy demeanor. He looks to be in his early fifties but well-aged, dignified, with salt and pepper hair and a thunderous frown. His companion is only a little younger and reminds me of the teacher I'd had a crush on in high school. He has a kind, responsible face and chestnut hair touched with silver at the temples.

  "Sorry if I'm interrupting anything," I say, holding my hands up to prove I'm harmless. "I was hoping to find some information on The Provokar? Any tips on where to start looking?"

  "Ah, yes." The younger man clears his throat, smiling though he looks a bit embarrassed. "We did hear something about that."

  Oh, I’m sure they did. Vampire covens, I’m learning, gossip at the speed of light.

  "What Elder Farrow means is that the entire compound has heard," Elder Smythe says with a scoff. "How you spit in the face of tradition with that ridiculous display."

  Oh Jesus, here we go. Another stodgy vampire rooted in tradition. "I don't think wanting to have some say in my own future is ridiculous," I reply, defensive.

  "We'd be pleased to help you find what you need," Elder Farrow says quickly, stepping in front of Smythe. "As the newest member of our coven it's good that you're taking an interest in our history."

  "I'm not part of your coven yet," I point out.

  "Well, still," Elder Farrow laughs a little.

  “Yeah, I know. Still.” I rub at the back of my neck, working out the knots of tension there. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. Lot of things happening lately.” I shrug, offering an apologetic smile.

  "I understand. We are sworn to protect, preserve and share the knowledge in these halls. Even to an undeclared free agent like yourself." Farrow replies.

  "If I don't put these books down soon I am going to preserve and share some choice words about your mother," Elder Smythe gripes with a glare at Farrow. I giggle, quickly covering my mouth to hide it when Smythe’s shrewd gaze falls on me.

  I follow the two men as they hurry away through the shelves to a nearby clearing where several large wooden tables are arranged for studying. Elder Smythe sighs with relief as he dumps his stack of books on one and flops into a chair. He pulls out a pair of small glasses, drags an open ledger already on the table towards him, then grabs the first book off the top of the stack and sets to work notating something about it in the ledger.

  He seems to have already completely forgotten my presence. Elder Farrow puts down his books and then gestures for me to follow him again.

  "Forgive Elder Smythe," he says. "He has a fifteenth century mind. Literally. Turned in 1492, I believe. Of course, that's no excuse, but we Elders occasionally have some difficulty keeping up with the changing world.”

  “Yeah, I could see that.” I hustle after the fast-moving Elder. He moves around stacks of books without even looking at them, his attention on me as he continues talking. How he doesn’t fall flat on his face, I’ll never know.

  “Elder Freeman has been begging us to upgrade to a digital
card catalog for a decade but the others won't have it. It took them long enough to accept the Dewey Decimal system. Though, in all fairness, computers still give me the shivers, so I probably wouldn't use it if we had it.”

  I nod, biting my lip to keep from laughing at his old turn of phrase. Computers give him shivers. I can only imagine what a peek inside my lab would be like for him. Probably something out of a nightmare.

  “Elder Garret once had an idea about keeping birds trained to retrieve and reshelf the books. Ravens, most likely. Only things big and smart enough. But then Elder Ulysses brought up who would be responsible for cleaning up after the birds and that argument lasted three months and led to Elder Tevan retiring to his tomb for the next hundred years and we never did get any birds. Oh, this is in the wrong section. That's the last time we let Elder Timothy handle returns alone." He rambles on, and I absorb everything he’s saying. Sounds like these Elders bicker like a bunch of old ladies in a knitting circle. It’s charming.

  As Elder Farrow chatters on he leads me through the library, pulling books from the shelves, frequently without looking, or with only the most cursory of glances. I suppose after working in the same library for hundreds of years you get to know it pretty well.

  "You know what happened the last time he put a whole collection on Baetal formal etiquette in the zoological section?" Elder Farrow whispers in outrage.

  I couldn't help a small laugh. I shake my head. “No, tell me.”

  "He thought it an amusing joke," the Elder continues, "Until we were hosting a dinner for the Baetal prince and insulted him with an inappropriate table setting. I haven't seen a dinner that disastrous since the Samhain dinner that Elder Rothbart tried to cook a whole roast pig. Elder Israel did not appreciate that, and let Elder Rothbart know it, with such enthusiasm and at such length that the neglected pig caught fire and burned down the kitchen.”

  “Oh no. I hope no one was hurt.”

  Farrow waves me off. “We had to use the kitchen in the main house until it was repaired and Elder Corbin, who does most of the cooking for the Elders, was all out of sorts because he's never worked in a modern kitchen with microwaves and running water and such and I'll tell you we ordered a lot of pizzas those days..."