Chapter 34

Idon’t answer her. Getting out of the driver’s seat, I open the back door of the van and head inside. Rummaging through the drawers, I get the first aid kit and disinfectant, as well as a towel, a small bowl with water and some clean clothes to change into.

Minnie follows after me and closes the door to the van.

The space is small and seems even smaller from the thick tension clogging the air.

She wants an answer. I’m still formulating one—a more cosmeticized version of the truth that will keep that fascination there and will not turn it into terror. Or worse, contempt.

“Let me,” she murmurs as she grabs the first aid kit from me.

She takes a seat on the bed next to me and opens the kit. Dousing a bandage in disinfectant, she then wipes it all over my hand and knuckles, cleaning the injury and the residual blood around the area. Then she surprises me when she brings her lips to my flesh, her pink tongue peeking out to trace the hard ridges of the cuts from the glass.

My skin hums alive as her hot mouth opens over my flesh. The spot where her saliva touches, the wound slowly closes up.

I stare at her in shock.

“What…”

She smiles sheepishly.

“My saliva has a healing agent, too,” she murmurs. “It’s not as potent as my blood, but it can heal superficial wounds.”

She continues to lick my wounds slowly, methodically, until they all heal.

“Take off your shirt,” she says.

Not one to refuse such a command, I quickly divest of my shirt and throw it on the floor.

She grabs the same bandage, adds more disinfectant to it, and wipes the blood on my chest, neck, and face. Her touch is light but firm. She’s done this before, hasn’t she?

She worked for the Red Cross in 1918.

I quickly push that thought away because it will inevitably lead to Lucien again, and we promised not to speak about that anymore.

Even though I want to.

I want to ask her if she did the same for him. If she cleansed his wounds and put her lips on his skin to heal his injuries.

Did she?

Did those precious lips of hers touch that bastard’s skin, too?

I recall the picture I’d seen of them, and he’d had bad scarring on his face and hand. Perhaps more on his body.

A smile pulls at my lips.

It seems she wasn’t as generous with Lucien as she is with me, letting me feel the warmth of her mouth on me. Though I must admit I’d rather have her mouth on other parts of my body.

When the first bandage is too soaked in blood, she takes another, repeating the process with the disinfectant and continuing to wash me.

Maybe I should tell her that she doesn’t need to pour that much disinfectant on my skin—it will dry it out. But at this point, I can’t bring myself to say anything that might ruin the moment.

I just watch her, keeping this interaction close to my heart.

A strand of hair gets in her face and she blows it away. Her brows are drawn together in concentration.

Every little movement of hers is mesmerizing. There’s a certain grace to the way she glides her small hands down my chest, almost as if this was the prelude to a seduction.

From this view, I can study her at leisure. The way her cheeks flush ever so slightly. The way her lips tremble with a mix of desire and uncertainty. The way her eyes glint so powerfully in the dim lighting of the van.

Fuck. Me.

She’s…stunning.

Absolutely stunning.

As she brings the piece of material to my face, her eyes meet mine.

She stops.

Her chest rises and falls with every labored breath.

Mine does too.

A loud thudding echoes in my ear.

My lungs feel constricted. Every gulp of air is like a poison that seeks to infiltrate my body. But every blink of my eyes that brings her into focus miraculously presents me with an antidote.

She bites her lip.

My lips ache, too.

She leans in.

I meet her halfway.

“Marlowe…” she whispers, her voice holding me hostage.

I stare into her eyes and she stares back. Heat radiates from her body, transferring onto mine and banishing the cold away.

There’s something in her gaze. Something that eludes me, but something that pulls me in all the same. There’s longing, but there’s also fear and regret.

“You’re killing me, Minnie,” I whisper.

A smile pries at her lips and she shakes her head.

“I told you I don’t kill humans,” she adds jokingly.

“I might be the exception to the rule.”

“You’re the exception to everything,” she whispers. “Everything but that. Not when I’ve sacrificed so much to…” She trails off, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Why did you come here, Minnie? To my world?” I pause. “To me?”

Her eyes snap open.

“You know why.”

“You could have escaped to any world. Why this one?”

She licks her lips.

“Because you’re here,” she whispers.

An answer that shoots straight to my heart.

“Minnie… You need to pull away. I’m too weak to resist you.”

“I don’t think I can resist you either,” she murmurs.

“Then we have a problem, don’t we?” I smile as I cup her cheek.

She leans into my touch, closing her eyes and releasing a deep sigh.

“I want you,” I tell her honestly. “I want to kiss you so badly, I’m fucking drowning in want.”

She grabs my hand and lays a kiss in the center of my palm.

“But we can’t do that, can we? We can’t even do that…” I curse under my breath as I take my hand away and move back, putting some distance between us.

She gulps down, her expression troubled.

She opens her mouth to speak, then closes it.

Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears.

She looks away and a tear slips down her cheek.

“No, darling. Don’t,” I whisper. The mere sight of her like this breaks my heart.

She gets up and looks around the van. She opens cupboard after cupboard until she finds what she’s looking for.

A knife.

I frown.

She slowly comes to me, a determined expression on her face.

I don’t get to ask her what she wants to do because as she gets back on the bed, she comes straight for me.

She straddles me, wiggling her bottom as she settles right against the ridge of my erection.

Fuck.

Before I know it, a searing pain erupts from my chest as she brandishes the blade around. She starts from my neck and goes lower, cutting my pectorals, my abs, until she reaches the band of my pants. Right above my belt, she makes a horizontal cut.

“Minnie…” I groan when she leans in and opens her mouth to lick the blood from the last cut. She traces her tongue against the gash, tantalizingly close to my groin.

A shudder goes down my body.

The pain now has a sweet edge to it. And as she continues to swipe her tongue all over that cut until it heals, I want to slash myself from head to toe so I could have her mouth all over me.

My back hits the mattress from the onslaught of sensation.

She slowly moves up my body, licking and kissing the cuts she’d made on my abdomen, then the ones on my pectorals.

When she reaches my neck, she takes her time. She sucks in the blood, healing the cut before making a new one with her teeth.

I wrap my fingers in her hair as I hold her. With every lick, I thrust my hips against her. It starts slow, but as she continues her ministrations, my cock becomes rock hard.

“Fuck, Minnie,” I rasp.

She’s on top of me, her pussy cushioning my erection as I pump against her.

It barely registers that there are multiple layers of clothing between us. There’s only the pure sensation of having her so close to me.

Her scent invades my nostrils, sweet, musky, and needy.

And with the way she gyrates her hips, I know she wants to be fucked.

She needs it as badly as I do.

A low moan erupts from her throat as she punctures the flesh just below my jaw with her sharp teeth. Blood flows into her mouth and she laps greedily at it, making out with my wound the way I’d like to make out with her cunt.

Grabbing the knife from her hands, I roll her over and loom over her.

She regards me with hooded eyes as I cut through the material of her shirt with the sharp blade. The fabric falls to the side to reveal her naked torso. Her tits are full and plump, her nipples puckered and begging for attention.

She bites her lip invitingly, not knowing what that gesture does to me or how it challenges the little control I have left.

“My turn,” I whisper.

I cut a straight line from her sternum to her belly button. Blood pools to the surface, staining her skin. The red is a stark contrast to her milky flesh, and I lean in to catch those errant droplets.

The taste hits my tongue, making me groan in appreciation.

So fucking sweet.

It’s like a nectar from the gods, which is quite fitting considering she is a goddess. But she’s my goddess.

I lick a path from her stomach to her chest, letting my tongue rest between the valley of her breasts.

She’s looking down at me, her pupils dilated with desire.

Her wounds quickly close, but I’m quick to make more incisions so I can feast on more of her delicious blood.

I’ve always been prone to addictions. But I’ve never imagined my most debilitating one would be her.

Her blood.

Her body.

Her soul.

Her goddamn big eyes that look at me as if I were the only thing who matters to her.

This is not just an addiction. It’s gone far beyond that.

It’s become a necessity to my survival.

In the beginning, she was just a breath of fresh air in an otherwise putrid world. Now, she’s the only air I want to breathe—the only air that can keep me alive.

I bite and suckle her flesh, committing the taste of her to mind.

What we’re doing is wrong. Forbidden. But why does it feel so damn right?

Why does it feel like this is what we should have been doing from the beginning?

And it’s not just about sex.

It’s about nearness. Touching. Connection.

She arches her back against me as I trail my tongue up her neck until I reach her face.

I pepper kisses along her delicate jaw.

And in a moment of madness—of needing more than I was given leave for—I bring the knife to my own mouth, wrapping my lips around it and sucking it in until the blade cuts through my flesh. Until my mouth fills with the bitter, metallic taste of my blood—a contrast to the sweetness of hers.

But that’s not enough.

I swirl my tongue around the blade, cutting it in a myriad of places.

The pain is immediate, but the need for her is much greater than any physical discomfort.

Her eyes widen as she sees the blood drip from my mouth.

But before she can say anything—before she can admonish me for doing something so ludicrous—I grab her nape and pull her toward me.

She opens her mouth against mine with a moan. The touch of our lips is not delicate—it’s not what I would have envisioned a first kiss to be like. It’s wild and needy. It’s primal and possessive.

Her arms are wrapped around my neck, her legs holding me in place against her.

She tastes my blood. She steals my blood.

Just like she stole my heart.

I push my tongue inside her mouth and press tighter on her nape so she’s closer to me—so our mouths become a point of fusion until we’re not just two people but one.

One mess of tangled limbs, of tangled mouths, of tangled tongues.

One mesh of blood and eternal longing.

She sucks on my tongue before reaching out with her own, touching it, stroking it.

She whimpers against my mouth and I swallow the sounds, coaxing her into letting me in deeper.

She mimics my previous movement and grabs onto my hair. I do the same.

We both pull and tug, eliciting both pain and pleasure. We wrestle around the small bed, never once tearing our lips from one another.

My body hums everywhere she’s touching me. Heat, hot, scorching heat envelops me.

I’m in heaven, but with the temperature of hell.

I bite her lip. She bites mine.

I suck her tongue. She sucks mine.

I swallow her sighs. She swallows mine.

Her every move matches my own. It’s so natural, so instinctive.

For the first time in my life, there’s no overthinking. There are no crowding thoughts in my brain threatening to drown me. Because the only thing I’m drowning in is her.

She’s the first to draw back.

Her hair is mussed, her lips swollen from the kiss.

She swallows hard and licks her lips, staring at me with a mix of shock and desire.

I stare back at her as I fight my own bodily urges to keep going, to claim her, own her.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” she whispers, though I don’t detect any regret in her voice.

“We shouldn’t have,” I murmur with a smile.

She fights against returning the smile, but it’s a lost battle as she starts giggling.

I let myself crash down onto the bed next to her, linking my fingers through hers.

“I doubt a bit of kissing will change anything,” I say.

“You call that a bit?” she asks, her cheeks scarlet red.

“For my liking? Yes. A bit.”

She laughs.

Turning onto her side, she trails her fingers on my chest.

“I wanted to be good for once,” she whispers. “Resist temptation and show I can be virtuous. I wanted…”

I turn to face her.

“You didn’t want it, Minnie. You wanted to want it. It’s different.”

“Perhaps. But it seems I cannot control myself.”

I raise a brow at her.

“That makes two of us. And I doubt that Primordial Goddess or whatever is going to hold it against us.” I lean in to kiss her naked shoulder. It’s sheer willpower on my part not to look at her tits and get overly excited again.

She takes a deep breath.

“I hope so, Marlowe. Because I want this to work. I’ve banked everything on it working.”

“Even if it might turn out to be just a myth?”

“Even then,” she admits with a sigh. “Because this is the only way we could be together forever. It’s the only way no one could ever break us apart.”

“So it’s not just about you getting absolved for your mistakes?”

She scoffs.

“If I had been that worried about those mistakes, as you call them, do you really think I would have committed them in the first place?” she asks, her expression suddenly serious. “Sure, it might be nice for once not to be chased around by an army of soldiers sent to capture me and ultimately execute me. But no matter how much it might seem like I was naive, or that I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, I promise you that I always knew. I was as prepared to face the consequences back then as I am now.”

I frown at her words.

“Then…”

“The only variable is you,” she states unequivocally. “So what if I get caught and killed? I’ve never been worried about my own death, though it seems quite daunting. But I’m afraid of losing you. That’s my biggest fear, Marlowe.”

“Minnie,” I murmur as I squeeze her hand.

“So you see”—she pauses as she gives me a sad smile—“it might seem ludicrous that I’m holding out for a myth, but I’m willing to bet everything on the infinitesimal chance that it might be real than not try at all, and eventually, lose you.”

“It’s not ludicrous at all. I’d do the same if I were you.”

Her lips tip up.

“But isn’t sharing blood just as intimate as sex?” I raise a brow.

Her eyes flare up in surprise. I suppose she hasn’t considered that.

“It is… Oh damn, why didn’t I think of that too?”

She hides her face in her hands.

I chuckle at her reaction.

“Holding hands like this, too, can be incredibly intimate,” I continue. “Being in the same bed, sleeping together. All of these are intimacies too. Depending on the person, they might be even more intimate than sex.”

She drops her hands, her brows knitted together.

“What do you mean?”

“Twenty-first century, remember?” I laugh. “For some, sex is just an activity, whereas actually sleeping next to someone might be more intimate. It’s all about the perspective.”

She blinks, then purses her lips.

“Not in my world,” she mutters with a sigh. “I told you, there’s little contact between the sexes before marriage. And because all the unions are arranged, feelings don’t exactly factor in.”

“So no kissing? Nothing?”

“Well… I suppose some engaged couples could get away with that. But no female would let herself be seduced before marriage. A female’s firstborn is the most powerful. So males who take a female as their mate want to ensure that the firstborn will be theirs, which is why the chastity clause is so important. There have been a lot of cases where the male found out his mate had carried another child before and accused her of deception. Some were even executed for it.” A shudder goes down her body.

“That’s…fucked up,” I add, shocked.

“Right? It is! Unmarried males have a lot more freedom, and a lot of highborn males frequent bawdy houses.”

“What about your brother?” I wiggle my brows. “I’d be shocked to learn he goes to bawdy houses.”

Minnie laughs.

“Molokai? Never. He’s dedicated to his job. He’d never do anything to jeopardize his position. My other brother, though…” She trails off, screwing her face in disgust.

“You have another brother?”

That’s news to me.

She nods.

“His name is Maledo. He’s the oldest and the heir to the King of Cryos. He’s been married for”—she uses her fingers to count—“six thousand years? Maybe seven. It’s been a long time, anyway. They have two kids, so they’re done procreating. They’ve mostly gone their separate ways now. Maledo is a w-whore. I don’t think there’s a maid in the palace he hasn’t slept with.”

She shakes her head in disapproval.

“And his wife knows?”

“She probably has a lover too, so she doesn’t care. The children are grown up as well. I believe the eldest is about to get married too?”

“Your world sounds insane.”

“It is.” She laughs. “You know, I used to be in the demon-hunting branch of our military under my brother. Even though we often traveled to other worlds to vanquish demons, we were never allowed to linger or interact with the native population. So to me, everything in Aperion was completely normal until I learned that it can be different.”

“In 1945?”

She nods tightly, her lips pressed together.

Her eyes find mine, and she’s probably wondering if I’m going to break my word and bring Lucien up again.

But I won’t. I have no desire to mar this precious moment between us with the memory of that fucker. Let him rot in hell.

I clear my throat.

“You asked me when I became like this,” I start uncertainly.

If we’re going to lay the cards on the table, I might as well come clean with everything too, no matter how shameful the past might be.

She raises her brows in surprise.

I look away and inhale deeply.

“I don’t know if I told you much about my father.”

“You never said anything about him.”

I give her a tight smile.

“He was not a good man. He was an addict with a temper. When he was sober, he would only beat my mother lightly—and by that I mean that he would make sure the bruises could be hidden under her clothes. When he was drunk or high, he didn’t care about that anymore. He beat and beat and beat her, and sometimes he raped her too.”

Minnie gasps.

“And sometimes he beat us, too. Julien took the brunt of it until he went to boarding school when he was twelve. After that, I was next.”

“Marlowe…”

“She had ten, twelve miscarriages? I lost count. She’d get pregnant after he raped her, but then she’d miscarry when he beat her to a pulp. My earliest memory is of coming out of my room and finding my mother in a pool of blood, barely able to move.”

“Did she try to leave him?”

“She did. A few times. But my mother’s family was perhaps worse in that their only response to her cries for help was to bear it. They told her to fucking bear it, otherwise it would look bad on the family name.”

“What?” Minnie’s eyes widen.

“I remember at least two distinct occasions in which we ended up at the police station. But because my father had money and influence, the police never investigated.”

“What about Giles? Didn’t you say he’s been with the family for years?”

“He started working for the family a couple of years after that. But he was only a driver. He was twenty-three, fresh out of college, and looking for a summer gig before applying for big boy jobs.” I smile as I remember the way Giles had told the story.

“Twenty-three?” Minnie frowns. “And your mother was…”

“Thirty.”

“She’s older than him? Wow! I wouldn’t have thought so.”

“She’s actually the reason why Giles never went on to apply for his big boy job. I think he must have fallen for her around that time. But he didn’t know about the abuse, or how bad it was, until later on.”

“But how? Surely he’d be able to see the injuries and…”

I shake my head.

“We were isolated. Giles was Father’s driver. My mother and I weren’t allowed to leave the house without a good excuse. She homeschooled me, and we spent most of my childhood inside the house.”

“That’s…”

“Bad, I know.” I chuckle. “My mother was pregnant with Irene around that time, and I think my father knew the baby wasn’t his. I remember that night perfectly. Mother had just started showing when my father confronted her about Giles. He’d installed cameras in the house, you see, and he’d caught them in the act.”

“Your mother had an affair with Giles?” Minnie asks.

I nod.

“I think in those years, Giles was the only one who kept her alive. I was becoming more and more withdrawn, and I think she felt…alone. I can’t blame her for it since I could have been a better son. I could have spent more time with her, helped her more?—”

“How old were you?” Minnie interrupts me.

“Eight.”

“Eight? You were a kid, Marlowe!”

“Was I ever?” I muse. “Even as a kid I knew more than a child should ever know—had seen more than most adults, too. I could have done better.”

Minnie shakes her head at me.

“Even in my world children are children. We might age differently than you. But a child is a child.”

I shrug.

“I heard them arguing that night, and I knew what was going to follow. He was going to beat her and she would have another miscarriage. I don’t know what I was thinking, or if I was thinking at all. But when their voices became louder, I went there. I usually went there when they’d fight, which wasn’t to my benefit since his blows didn’t really discriminate.” I give a dry laugh. “But this time it was different. They were in the hallway by the kitchen, and I remember grabbing a knife as I passed through the kitchen. I grabbed it and I snuck up on him.”

I close my eyes as I visualize that moment.

“He was too busy yelling to hear me approach. The first stab was at the back of his knee. I was quite short for an eight-year-old.” I chuckle. “But he quickly fell to his knees, and I administered the second stab. Then the third. And the fourth. Quite frankly, I lost count of the number of times I stabbed him.”

“You…killed him?”

“I did. Although it didn’t really register as such at that time. I only wanted to make him stop. I didn’t want my mother to hurt again.”

“Marlowe, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry,” Minnie whispers.

I hold her closer to me.

“I didn’t speak for four years afterward. Trauma and all that.” I chuckle. “It didn’t register what I’d done for a very long time. Until I was seventeen, and I did it again. And then again at eighteen. And since then, I haven’t stopped.”

“Your mother and Giles helped to cover it up, didn’t they?”

“Yes. They tried to help in their own way, but ultimately, they realized that I’m just…not quite right in the head.” I smile.

Minnie’s eyes flare in shock and she pinches me.

“Don’t say that!” she exclaims.

“It’s the truth. I don’t know whether I was born like this or I slowly became like this. Either way, there you have it. I killed my own father.” I pause. “And then went on to kill a hundred and sixty-something people. I think I’ve lost count now, especially after that demon attack.” I chuckle.

“That’s not funny, Marlowe.” Minnie frowns. “Your father was a monster and he deserved what he got. I just can’t imagine you… An eight-year-old stabbing a grown man. You poor thing,” she murmurs, stroking my cheek.

“I didn’t tell you this so you can pity me,” I say between my teeth. “You’ve shared so much of yourself and your past, and I… Well, I wanted you to know me better.” I attempt a smile.

“Truthfully? I suspected something like this might have happened in your past,” she admits shyly.

My brows go up.

“Your kills are very specific. They’re all abusers in some way, aren’t they?”

I slowly nod.

“And only men,” she continues.

Another nod.

“You’re still killing him, aren’t you? Every man you kill is a stand-in for your father.”

I freeze. My blood runs cold.

I’m about to deny it. But as I open my mouth to speak, I realize there might be some truth to that.

“You’re quite the psychotherapist, aren’t you?” I fire back in a playful manner.

Frankly, the last thing I want right now is for my lover to psychoanalyze me and tell me I have daddy issues. Perhaps I do, but that’s not something I want to think about now.

I’d rather think about Minnie and her delectable little body. Especially since her tits are still out in the open, begging to be touched—and licked, sucked, and kissed.

I lean in and lay a kiss on her brow. Trailing my lips down her face, I stop when I reach her mouth.

Using my thumb to part her lips, I kiss her.

This time without blood. This time without an excuse.

This is a kiss for the sake of a kiss.

She melts into me, returning the kiss and joining her tongue to mine, stroking, probing, exploring.

She doesn’t protest that we shouldn’t do this anymore, that we should both be virtuous, chaste, and abstinent. No, she meets my passion with her own fiery one.

We kiss for moments on end, for hours on end. All we do is kiss.