Page 102 of Blood Lovers

“Because she’s mine. And I don’t want to share.”

“Who says I want to share?”

I just shoot him a look.

“Fine. I was entertaining the thought. But why not share? We have such fun that way, Ryet.”

“We really don’t.”

“Why do you lie like that? You know you love me. Maybe even more than I love you. Why do you refuse to accept that we are special together?”

“Because… you wiped my memory and turned me into your bitch?”

“You asked me to do both of those things, Ryet.”

I take a breath, then turn away and put my head under the hot water, letting it slide down the front of my body like one of the little waterfalls outside.

He comes up behind me, pushing his naked body into mine. Then he turns me toward the tiled wall, urging me to take a step.

I do. I don’t fight him. It’s stupid and pointless. He gets his way every time. All he has to do is bite that lip of his and I’m out of control.

“Ryet.” He whispers my name right into my ear. “Do you hate me?”

“Do I hate you?” Even if he wasn’t pressing me into the wall face first, I still wouldn’t look at him right now. Because the truth is, I do. I absolutely do hate him. And even though I have told him that hundreds of times, this time is different. Because all those other times he dismissed it, and this time, I can tell, he won’t.

And I’m not going to say that to him. Not because it will piss him off and he might hurt me, but because despite my hate, I don’t want to hurt him.

And that’s all it would take for me to hurt him.

Just words.

He is vulnerable. But only with me.

Why?

That’s what I say. “Why, Paul? Why the fuck do you love me so much?” It’s same question I asked him—what? Yesterday? “Why? Just tell me why without using the word ‘pretty.’”

He rests his head on my shoulder, his fingertips stroking up and down my stomach, and I’m not gonna lie, he turns me on like fucking crazy. And it’s not just his blood, either. It’s just… him. “When I first took notice of you, it was two towns over.”

My brow furrows. “What?”

“In a bar. Well, outside of a bar. You were fighting.”

“When?”

“Before… well, before.”

My mind is spinning. He’s never told me anything about how he chose me. And just as I think these words, he leans in and kisses me on the neck. His fangs scraping my skin. Opening it up. And then he’s licking the blood off me.

It’s the purple. So none of this is real. That’s partly why I don’t stop him. But it also feels good. I can fight him off over the phone, or even in person if he’s not bleeding and he doesn’t touch me. But this? No. I have no interest in stopping him now.

Even if it wasn’t a dreamwalk, if he got this close to me in person, I’d be all over him like a fucking addict.

“Do you want to hear more?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”