ONE
Oswald
Sweet blood dripped down my chin as I hurriedly sucked it down, not bothering to savour it. There was something about this blood that was different, and I couldn’t put my finger on what.
Maybe it was the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon and pastries hazily drifting around me and the man I was attached to.
It might have been how the blood itself tasted on my tongue, rich and flavourful like the most delicious of desserts.
Possibly, it was something else entirely that made me feral with need.
In any case, I sucked fiercely, pressing closer to the man with every big gulp. As my haziness faded a bit, I heard him making little noises of pleasure and a purr rumbled in my chest. He needed me.Wantedme. My hands, which were numb but regaining tingles of feeling as I drank my fill, wandered to the bulge in his pants and the back of his neck. He whimpered. I growled, running one hundred per cent on instinct.
Voices spoke in the background, but I only heard vague mumbles as I detached my teeth from the man’s wrist and looked up at his face. He was familiar, and I didn’t know why. Freckles. Orange hair. Blood on his clothes.
And, gods above, hisfucking scent.
My fingers curled around his erection and his pale green eyes widened, lashes fluttering. Did he feel the same insane lust for me that I felt for him? I leaned forward, closer to his face, my hand on his head stopping him from moving away. He didn’t try, anyway. His breaths sped up, chest heaving, and our lips brushed.
The people behind me got louder, and a hand touched my shoulder.
I whipped away from the man to push away the person touching me with a hiss.
Well, an attempt at a hiss. It was a cross between spitting and a growl, in reality. Why couldn’t I hiss? Why did I feel the urge to in the first place?
A winged man stepped back with his hands raised in surrender, gently maneuvering himself to stand in front of the other people in the room. He didn’t smell horrible, or threatening, but his scent wasn’t cinnamon and fresh baked pastries, and I didn’t want him anywhere near what was mine. Turning my attention back to my delectable snack, I pressed close again, clutching him and inhaling at his neck.
An urge hit me. Not a desire for his blood, but a desire for more. To own him. No one could smell this good and not belong to me. My fangs throbbed, decreasing in size a fraction.
This time when they sank into his skin, it wasn’t so I could draw more blood from him. Instinctively, I knew taking more would harm what was mine. Instead, my fangs pressed into him and a bond snapped open, desire flowing through it in both directions. My little mate cried out, body jolting. With my hand pressed to his bulge I felt him come, felt the dampness seeping through the fabric. I would have come too, if half my body wasn’t still oddly numb.
When I removed myself from him I licked the wounds closed, purring at the mark it left behind and nuzzling against his neck.
Hands touched me again, but they didn’t give me a chance to react this time. I was pulled away from him by multiple people, despite my thrashing and growling. Every part of me was slowly waking up, giving me more range of motion to try and escape their hold and get back to what was mine. The only thing stopping me from losing myself in rage was having him in my sights and knowing there was no one else by him.
He wasmine.If they touched him, I’d kill them.
“Oswald.” A feminine voice came from in front of me, and I refocused my attention away from him.
The woman was familiar, too. I had a niggling feeling I should know who everyone here was, but her especially. A deep inhale had her scent filling my nose, somehow a touch more tantalizing than even my cinnamon mate. She was vanilla and coffee, sweet yet bitter, and she went so well with him.
Clearly, she was meant to be mine, too.
I tried to surge forward but was held back. A rope of brilliant light wrapped around my torso and burned, and I renewed my struggles. The woman glared at one of the men holding me, and the rope didn’t last long. My enhanced healing took its time on the injured flesh, forming the burns back into my unmarred dark skin. “We need to feed him some more,” a man said behind me.
A second later, the scent of blood overwhelmed my nostrils and I wrinkled my nose in distaste. Not that the blood was bad, but it wasn’t from the silver-haired beauty. Regardless, when a sliced wrist was shoved in front of me, I latched on. Each gulp made the tingling of my skin recede more, the fog on my mind lifting.
I growled when the wrist was removed from my mouth, but wasn’t annoyed for long. It was replaced by another one, skin a faintly different shade, blood welling. I drank and drank until this one was pulled away too, and the woman offered her wrist to me. Eyeing it warily, I had a lot more hesitance than before. Something told me I shouldn’t be drinking from her, as delicious as I knew she would be. With the tiny drops of blood welling on her pale skin in front of me, my body restrained from going anywhere else, I gave in to the temptation quickly.
The moment her taste touched my tongue I groaned and my bare cock jerked, spilling cum onto the ground in front of me. Pleasure flooded my being, more intense than I recalled experiencing before. All the tingling vanished and I strained against the arms holding me back, trying to get closer to her. She was temptation given human form, the manifestation of every desire I’d ever had.
As I gulped down her blood, my memories came back to me, triggered by her.
Freya.
That was her name.
Nolan.
