by Lynch, H. G.
The change in topic surprised me, but I went with it. I shrugged. “He killed your uncle. If I were you, I wouldn’t pay him a fucking thing.”
Softly, he sighed, as if my answer relieved him. Then, suddenly, he cupped the back of my neck and laid his forehead against mine, his eyes burning with intensity. “I need to know something right now, Kester. Did you mean what you said before? About having feelings for me?”
I nodded. “Yes. Yes, Brogan, I have feelings for you. It seems stupid, since I barely know you but—”
“You know me better than anyone else has since my parents died,” he murmured.
My breath caught. “Your parents died?”
He nodded, sadness etching his face into harsh lines. “When I was ten. They were killed in a home invasion. I’d been staying with my uncle when it happened. That’s the only reason I am still alive.”
My heart ached for him, and I stroked my fingers through his hair. “Oh, Brogan,” I sighed. “Did they catch whoever did it?”
“Yeah. Two guys got life in prison for it.” He tried to shrug it off. “It was a long time ago. I don’t think about it much. My uncle took care of me as best he could but…”
I remembered what he’d said before. I’m scared that I’m going to lose my job and end up working as a whore again to pay the rent. “Brogan…did you…I mean, you said…” I bit my lip, unsure how to phrase the question without offending him.
He seemed to know what I was getting at. “I used to whore myself? Yes, I did. When I was younger, I was just learning to feed, I was full of hormones, and I’d just gotten kicked out of school for “inappropriate behaviour toward the female students”. My uncle Brent was off getting high, so I had to fend for myself. I thought selling myself was the perfect solution. I could feed my cravings for Lust, and get paid for it. But it didn’t take long for it to start eating at my soul. I felt dirty and used, and I hated myself after every client. So once I had enough money, I quit. I found a job, and a flat, and didn’t look back.”
A spasm went across his face, and I rubbed my thumb over his cheek soothingly.
“Well,” he added, “Not until Brent came to me for help a couple of weeks ago. He told me he was in debt to Red, and he needed money. I didn’t have enough, and I knew Red would kill him if he didn’t get the money, so I…looked up an old client.”
The pain and disgust on his face hit me like a punch to the chest, and I kissed his forehead gently. “It’s okay, Brogan. You did what you thought you had to in order to help your family. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
He just frowned, and I hated the self-loathing in his eyes. I had to do something to ease his pain, and I could think of only one thing. Sitting up, I pushed him onto his back and reached for his jeans button. He went to stop me, but I smacked his hand away.
“No. It’s my turn.”
I flashed a smile at him, and his eyes darkened as he realised my intention. He didn’t fight me as I undid his button and fly, and slid my hand into his boxers. He tensed, groaning, as my fingers circled his hard length and pulled him free of his boxers. I knelt between his legs and tossed my hair back over my shoulder, need awakening deep inside me again—but this was a different need. A need to pleasure him. To make him forget his past and his pain, at least for a little while.
I placed my hands on his hips and bent my head, taking him slowly into my mouth. He jerked under me, gasping, and I slid my mouth down, taking as much of him as I could. Then, slowly, I pulled back, working my tongue around his length, and then slid back down. He put his hands on the back of my head, breathing hard, urging me to go faster, so I did. I sucked him hard, grazed my teeth along him, twirling my tongue around his tip.
He moaned my name, rocking his hips, driving himself deeper into my mouth until he came hard, spilling himself into my mouth. I swallowed the salty liquid and licked my lips clean, leaning back. He looked at me with awe from under his lashes, and his face relaxed into blissed-out lines. I smiled, stretching out against his side.
He murmured into my hair, nonsense words I couldn’t make sense of, but I thought it sounded like, “Thank you.”
Tipping my head back, I kissed his lips. He smiled lazily, but it died quickly. “Kester?” he asked in a quiet, serious voice as he tucked himself back into his boxers.
“Yeah?”
“The reason I asked…about you having feelings for me…” He hesitated. “Look, I don’t know what this is exactly, but I do know that I want to find out. But I know that all this is a lot for you to handle. Not just me being what I am, but everything else as well. You’re already in danger because of me. So, if you want out of this now, if you can’t live with the danger of my life, if you don’t want to risk what could happen if I ever lose control of my Hunger...I’m telling you that you’ll have to save yourself, Kez. You’ll have to save yourself from me. Because I can’t let you go now. My beast won’t let me.”
My heart fluttered in my chest, a mix of panic and something else, something I couldn’t—or didn’t want to—put a name to. He sounded so sure, as if he was already mine in body and soul, and it was so fast. But I couldn’t deny the thrill at the thought of riding this out, of seeing where it would take us, despite the danger. Still, I couldn’t give him an answer just yet.
So, instead, I asked, “Your beast?”
“My Hungers. The beast is me, but it’s the darkest, most primal part of me. And my primal instincts are screaming that you’re mine. I feel it in every inch of my body.”
“Wow,” I whispered meekly.
He frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to scare you, but I thought you should know what you’re getting into if you decide to stay.”
Curling myself against his side, absorbing his warmth, I laid my head on his shoulder and stayed quiet. How could I tell him that I wanted to stay, more than anything, that his Hungers didn’t scare me? How could I explain that I didn’t think I’d be able to save myself from him because I was already falling for him?
Chapter Twenty-Two
** Brogan **
The room was dark, and the flat was quiet. It was peaceful, but my body was not. My Hunger was starving, making me restless. I was too hot and slick with sweat, my hair was sticking to my temples, my head throbbing. My throat felt parched—god, I was so thirsty.
Pushing my damp hair off my face, I slid out of the bed, careful not to jostle Kester, who was curled up on the other side of the bed, wearing one of my t-shirts, sound asleep. Padding to the kitchen, I filled a glass with cold water and guzzled it down, but the icy liquid did nothing to help my thirst. Instead, it made my stomach cramp, and I doubled over in sudden pain, almost dropping the empty glass. Pressing my forehead against the fridge door, I wondered if I was sick. I’d never been ill a day in my life, but then, I’d never been addicted to a particular girl’s Lust before either. Clearly, there was something funky going on in my body.
Deciding to play it safe, I popped a couple of ibuprofen and dragged my ass back to the bedroom. I paused in the doorway as my eyes fell on the bed. Kester had rolled over, and she was tangled in the duvet, one leg sprawled over the top of it, an arm tossed across the pillow over her head, her gold hair bright even in the darkness. The t-shirt was hiked up around her hips, giving me the barest glimpse of the triangle of curls between her legs. Her breasts were outlined by the loose, soft fabric, and her lips were damp and parted as she breathed evenly.
My stomach cramps faded as I grew hard, achingly hungry for her. I walked quietly to the bed and lay down amidst the wreckage of sheets, skimming my fingertip down her long, slim leg. Her skin was smooth and warm under my touch, and she murmured in her sleep but didn’t wake. I tickled the spot behind her knee, and she twitched, her breathing getting heavier as I stroked my fingers slowly back up her leg to her hip and between her thighs.
She whimpered, already wet, and her eyes fluttered open, dark and sleepy. “Brogan…” she breathed, parting her legs further for me.
The s
mell of her Lust filled the room, flooding my senses, the taste of honey and wine slipping down my throat. It made me feel dizzy and happy as if I was flying high, and my Hunger begged for more. I watched her face over her heaving chest as I touched her, her mouth open, eyes half-closed, chin tilted back. She moaned my name, and I couldn’t take it anymore.
Swiftly, I stripped out of my jeans and boxers and slid between her legs, pushing the t-shirt up over her breasts to expose her firm, round assets and flat, toned stomach. My erection was throbbing, twitching, painfully hard as I sheathed it in her, her hips arching off the bed as she took me in. A fresh wave of Lust assaulted my nose and trickled into my mouth, and I knew that was what I had needed.
Moving slowly, I bent to suck on her nipples, loving the mewling sounds she made, and the way she hooked her ankles behind my ass to urge me on faster. God, she felt so good around me, so tight and slick. We fit perfectly together, as she was made for me.
Soon, I was pounding into her, and I could feel my orgasm building, her breath panting against my neck. Yet, the climax wasn’t the only thing building. The ache in my gut was back as if my stomach was being coiled around a hot iron rod, and the Dark Hunger gripped me so hard, I lost my rhythm. Kester groaned, clawing my shoulders until I picked it up again.
My attention was fixed on her throat, on the hammering vein in her neck, so clearly visible with her head tipped back the way it was. I could see each pounding beat pulsing through her skin, the beads of sweat rolling down her throat. My fangs bit into my lip, long and sharp, and I couldn’t help myself. The Hunger was killing me. I had to feed.
I struck like a snake, my fangs bursting through the skin of her neck and puncturing her vein. Hot blood gushed into my mouth faster than I could swallow it, and my body exploded. I trembled as I guzzled her fine blood, rich and salty with a tang of honey, the liquid seeping out of the corners of my mouth and staining the bed sheets. A small part of me knew I had to stop, but I couldn’t. I just kept drinking, sucking out as much as I could when it stopped spraying onto my tongue.
Eventually, I’d had my fill, and the Dark Hunger went quiet, sated. I opened my eyes. Kester lay under me, two raw holes in her neck, her eyes open and dull. My heart stopped. I touched her cheek, and her head flopped to the side lifelessly.
Horrified, I flung myself off the bed, and only then did I realise I was covered in blood. There was blood all over the sheets, too, soaking the ends of Kester’s hair and seeping through her t-shirt onto her pale skin.
Oh. Oh God.
I’d killed her.
I killed Kester.
I’m a monster.
My stomach heaved, and I ran for the bathroom, ramming open the bedroom door. Suddenly I was falling, falling into darkness…
I jolted awake, sweating and my stomach roiling as it had in the dream. I bolted to the bathroom and knelt over the toilet as my guts came up. Pizza. Not blood.
When I was done, I washed my mouth out with mouthwash and looked at myself in the mirror. My reflection made me wince. I looked like hell. Pale, sweaty, bags under my eyes, about a week’s growth of stubble, and a couple of small plastic stitches still stuck above my pierced eyebrow. I peeled them off, since the cut Kester had fixed them with was already healed up into a neat little scar.
I sighed heavily, fogging the mirror so that all I could see of my reflection was my eyes—a pale heather-colour, somewhere between grey and purple. Eyes I’d inherited from my mother. I could still picture her face as clearly as my own. She’d been beautiful, with long chestnut hair and a ready smile. Dad had been handsome in a gruff sort of way, with the same thick dark hair that I’d inherited and bright blue eyes.
I remembered the day the cops came to Uncle Brent’s door to tell us my parents had been killed when a couple of rough guys had broken into the house. Dad had tried to fight back, and they’d shot him in the head. Mum had attempted to flee once her husband was dead, but they’d shot her too as she ran for the door. As a Succubus, Mum couldn’t Flash, and Dad wouldn’t leave her behind.
I’d stood behind Brent, clutching his big hand, as they’d told us it all. I had been so small then, so young and naïve, untouched by grief or horror. I hadn’t really processed it at the time—as if my ten-year-old mind had been trying to protect me from the full impact of the truth. Brent had broken down and fallen to his knees. It was the only time I’d ever seen him cry. After that, he’d taken me in, and turned to booze and drugs to deal with his grief.
If my parents hadn’t died, Brent wouldn’t have gotten in with the seedy crowd, he wouldn’t have been murdered over money, and I wouldn’t be on the hook for it. That one night, the night my parents were killed, had changed everything. More than two people lost their lives that night, but I was determined not to lose mine.
Not when I had something to live for. I needed to stick around to see where the thing with Kez was going to go. I was already in way too deep, and I wasn’t letting her go. She was the first truly good, innocent thing in my life since I was ten years old. I was going to hang onto that for dear life.
Chapter Twenty-Three
** Kester **
The next few days were surprisingly quiet. Brogan called into work sick. Though after what he’d said about fearing losing his job, I’d told him he didn’t need to, that I’d be perfectly fine on my own because I was a big girl. As usual, he refused to listen to me.
So we ended up spending the days watching crappy zombie movies that he liked and making out, and spending the nights swapping songs and arguing about music choices. He liked Metallica; I liked Slipknot. Then we made out some more. We groped, and teased constantly, but we didn’t have sex. Brogan seemed spooked every time I brought the subject up. I knew he was still afraid of hurting me, so I didn’t push, even though it was driving me crazy. Half the time, it was all I could think about.
I’d never thought of myself as sex-crazed, not the way Evie was. However, being so close to him all the time, and with the flat to our ourselves most of the time, since Jet was still working, it was hard to find anything to distract me. Even watching zombies with rotting flesh and missing limbs stumbling about chewing on people, couldn’t turn me off, and I knew Brogan could sense it. I think it was driving him a little crazy too, and my constant Lust-output had to be making it harder for him, but I couldn’t help it. Once or twice, he actually got up off the sofa, halfway through a movie, to go and take a cold shower.
So, I wasn’t surprised when, as soon as Jet came home from his day job as a bartender to get ready for his night job as a bouncer at Grimshade, Brogan sprang off the sofa as if someone had lit a fire under his ass and disappeared into the bathroom.
Jet frowned in confusion until he heard the shower running, and then he shot me a wry smile and shook his head. “You know, if he doesn’t start putting out soon, you can always come to me for some relief,” he said, winking at me.
I’d gotten used to Jet flirting with me over the last few days. He only did it when Brogan wasn’t around to hear because he got a little jealous and defensive. I just smiled back at Jet and said jokingly, “I might just take you up on that.”
It still seemed a little weird joking about my sex life with his roommate with a Norse demi-demi-god, but Jet was so laid back and easy to get along with. Sometimes, I wondered if he was the great-grandchild of the Norse god of mellowness—if there was such a thing. In fact, I didn’t actually know who he was the great-grandchild of, didn’t think even Brogan knew, but I was curious.
“Hey, Jet?” I asked cautiously as he grabbed a can of Pepsi from the fridge and cracked it open.
He glanced at me. “Yeah?”
“Which Norse god is it you’re related to?”
He smiled thinly. “I wondered how long it would take you to ask. Brogan never has, and I’ve always wondered if it was because he was afraid of the answer, or if he was afraid of my reaction. But unlike him, I don’t have a temper that rests on a hair trigger, and I’m not bothered by personal q
uestions.” He took a sip of his Pepsi, watching me over the rim of the can with rich blue eyes. Then he sighed. “In answer to your question, I’m the great-great-grandchild of a god called Forseti. He is the Norse god of justice.”
I blinked. “Wow.” I’d never heard of Forseti.
Jet smirked. “I think Brogan believes I’m the grandson of Thor or Odin or one of the big guys like that.”
Thor and Odin I’d heard of, and Loki too. And Freyja. That was about the extent of my knowledge of Norse mythology. Well, that and Loki’s son, Jormungandr, the giant serpent who was said to encircle the world, biting his own tail, and if he ever let go, the world would end, bringing around Ragnarok—the Norse version of the apocalypse. Jormungandr was an ouroboros, and I knew that because I had it tattooed around my ankle. I’d had it done because I liked the idea of a snake being responsible for the beginning and the end of the world. Plus, it made a hell of an ice-breaker.
“So, do you ever, you know, get to see Forseti?” I asked Jet casually.
He shook his head. “Nah. Apparently the travel from Asgard to Earth is a real bitch.”
I blinked hard. He cracked a grin. “I’m joking. I have actually met him…once. When I came into my powers at thirteen. He basically told me I was his great-great-grandson, and as such, I’d better not embarrass him, and that I had a responsibility to uphold peace and justice…blah, blah. I think he wants me to be a cop.” He shrugged. “That’s not going to happen. At least, not while I’m living with Brogan. The other officers might not take it well that I’m living with a criminal.”
“Hey!” Brogan said, emerging from the bathroom with a towel around his waist. “Ex-criminal! And I did my time in juvie.”
Jet snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause fleeing from the scene of a crime after beating up two known criminals, and stealing evidence from another crime scene is really the height of civil innocence.”
