8 - Syrsee
I’ve had them both now.
We fucked and he drankand now Ryet is tired. But I’m having trouble sleeping. And I want company. So I design a conversation to keep him awake. “Do you think I’m enchanted?”
“Hmm?”
I can tell his eyes are closed even though I can’t see them. He’s got his arms around me, all pulled into his chest, and all he wants right now is to sleep.
I feel his weariness. But for some reason, I’m amped up. “Did you enchant me?”
He leans into my neck, chuckling as he kisses it. I feel the sharp teeth graze lightly across my skin and for a moment, I hold my breath, wondering if he will drink again.
Part of me wants him too. It feels… good. I hate to admit that, even if it’s just to myself, but it does. I like it. It makes me want him. Sexually. Which is… hot. But also… cringy. Because Iamenchanted. I must be. That’s the only possible explanation for how he makes me feel.
“You’re the one with the magic, Syrsee.” His words are mumbled and soft. Like he’s already half asleep.
“So I enchanted myself?”
His arms loosen and then he’s turning me to face him. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself. Sorry to wake you. I’m just…”
“Worried?”
“No.”
He stares at me for a moment. And there is a weird glow in his eyes. The red, which I have seen before, but which has been hiding recently. “Unsettled?”
“No.”
Now he closes those eyes again, smiling in the soft light that filters in from the living room through the open door. “I enchanted you.”
“You did, right?”
He nods. Eyes still closed. “Sure.” And then he really does fall asleep.
But now I’m trying to pin down why my mind can’t slow down.
Maybe I need a drink of blood.
It’s a throwaway thought. A joke. But once I think it, I can’t help but wonder if maybe Idoneed a drink of blood. Not mine, of course. His.
And then my thoughts are drifting back to that night in the tower bedroom at Paul’s estate. And how I drank Paul. And how it felt. And how he’s not even the man I love.
“Ryet?”
“Hmm?” His answer is far less audible than my question.
“Can I taste you?”
I feel him go stiff, then his eyes are open again. “What?” And this one word is not in any way whispered or sleepy.
“Never mind?—”
“No. Do you… are you… asking me to give you my blood?”
I really don’t want to say yes. But itiswhat I’m asking.
