Jess Haines - Forsaken By the Others

Every part of me ached. Though I was wrapped up in blankets, curled up on my side in bed, I was cold, too. Maybe it was my own shivering that stirred me out of sleep. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to move right away.

Then something cool and spidery shifted under the covers, brushing over my stomach.

Startled, I screamed and twisted away, flailing at the sheets to bat it off. It only tightened against me, yanking me back against a hard, male body.

A clearly naked— quite hard—male body.

“Shush, now. You’ll wake the whole building.”

Oh, hell.

My voice was a lot more gravelly and perhaps a touch more peeved than it needed to be. “Let go.”

“Hmm. Someone is not a morning person.”

Annoyed for no reason I could readily put my finger on, I shoved at Royce’s arm, trying to get him off me.

It was like trying to move a boulder. The rumble of his laughter vibrated through my body, my hot skin pressed to his cold. It was only when he took hold of the wrist of the hand I’d locked on his arm and rolled so he was on top that it struck me how easily he overpowered me.

Which served as another reminder. The belt was gone. I wasn’t turning Other.

I should have been happy, I suppose. Maybe the twinge of disappointment I was feeling came from trading one version of my own personal idea of hell for the uncertain future of being a legally bound and contracted vampire’s toy.

Bitter? Me? Perish the thought.

Wriggling, I pushed at Royce’s arm with my free hand again, wincing as the pressure of his body rubbing against mine revealed a whole slew of hurts from my battle with Wesley—and more than likely from the far more pleasurable activities that had come after.

He didn’t let go, one hand coming up to tweak one of my nipples. “Much as I enjoy that delightful squirming you’re doing, I wish you would relax. I know you’re feeling regrets—don’t bother trying to deny it; I can feel it as well as you can—though I’ll be damned if I understand it.”

That did it. Snarling, I slammed a fist against his arm. Most likely it was surprise rather than pain that made him move, but he finally let me go and pulled back, putting enough distance between us for me to whirl on him. I twisted around onto my knees, leveling a shaking finger at him.

“Don’t even pretend like you don’t know. You feel what I’m feeling, don’t you? Don’t you know just how damned creepy that is? How invasive? ”

The thought alone made me ill. I was his property now, and not just on paper.

He owned me, body and soul. Not only had I abandoned my morals and common sense last night, I’d liked it. Liked the feel of his lips and tongue and fingers and other parts so intimately pressed against mine, all over, inside me, all while he drank my blood. What the hell was wrong with me that I’d liked being wrapped in Death’s arms and pounded into the mattress while my life was siphoned away a sip at a time?

Images of all of the ways he could take advantage of me while I was unable to defend myself whirled through my head like a maelstrom of horror-show terrors, a painful reminder that now I was just a blood whore, a plaything, and that I’d willingly put my life in his hands. Something very close to terror warred with the anger, but I wasn’t about to give in to the desire to run screaming from his bed. The things he could do to hurt me ran far deeper and were many times more intimate than the threat of what he could do with his fangs or physical strength, and running from them—from him—wasn’t an option.

“Shiarra, I’m hardly—”

“Oh, fuck ‘hardly.’ You know exactly what you’ve done. Instead of being Other, I’m just Other property now. A toy, right? One you can use or discard or bleed dry—”

“Shiarra. ”

The sharp tone of his voice cut right through the head of rant-fueled steam I was working up. He could have stopped a charging bull with that tone.

I shut my mouth and glared at him. He met my gaze squarely, his dark eyes narrowed and unflinching.

“You know better by now. You know you’re not just a meal on legs. You know you’re more to me than entertainment.”

That was . . . not what I had been expecting him to say.

“You,” he continued, and this time I didn’t withdraw as he leaned forward to gather my shaking hands in his, “have continued to frustrate and fascinate me since we first met. Do you realize that not one of my people noticed anything was wrong with me when I was under the influence of the Dominari Focus? Not one of them, Shiarra. Yet you, someone I could have hurt or destroyed in so many ways, chose to save me rather than leave me to my fate. Why would I ever hurt someone who did something so selfless on my behalf?”

A growing lump made it too hard to squeeze any words out in answer. I turned my eyes down, unable to meet his stare, focusing on our entwined fingers instead. He might have had a point, but it didn’t mean I was ready to put my trust in him.

His grip tightened, just a bit, before he pulled one hand free and shifted on the bed. He brushed the back of his hand against my cheek before sliding his fingers under my jaw to tilt my head up so I would look at him. Stubborn to the end, I closed my eyes.

“I’ve been over this with you before. You still have doubts. Why?”

After taking a few moments to swallow the emotions clogging my throat and to collect my thoughts, I attempted to answer him. He was being candid with me. Even if the only way I could get the words out was slow and halting, I’d try to do the same for him.

“Doubting is one of the things I do best, I guess. It’s just that being with you like this—like last night—it means my dad was right. I’m not a Waynest anymore. Not myself anymore. Just another vampire’s puppet.”

I peered up at him through my lashes, trying to figure out if that damning little tidbit had upset him. Royce’s expression was unreadable, his gaze burning into mine. I wasn’t sure if he was angry with me for being honest with him, but it was far too late to take the words back, and I’d never been good at hiding my thoughts from him. Especially when he was staring at me so intently, like he could see right past my eyes to the darkest thoughts buried in the back of my mind. Like he knew all the horrible things I didn’t want anybody to know. He might not judge me for them—but that didn’t mean I wanted him to know every thought inside my head as intimately as he’d come to learn the secrets of my body last night.

Practically vibrating with tension, I buried my face against his chest so I wouldn’t have to think about how he was already in my head. Maybe I could pretend when I wasn’t looking into his eyes that it made some kind of difference. It was as dumb as wishing for some way of taking back all the stupid things I’d done in the last month or so, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t make a valiant effort at denial.

I think he got the picture that talking about the situation was only making things worse. His voice, when he finally spoke, was strangely gentle, and made me feel like an even bigger fool for finding comfort in it.

“Even after last night—you still think that I was only using you, or would abandon you once I got what I wanted?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. He ran his fingers through my hair and down my back, not saying anything for a time. It took awhile, but after the worst of my trembling tapered off, he slid a hand between us and nudged my chin up again so he could peer into my eyes.