Blood Bound [Book 1 of the Bound series]

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Twelfth Blood

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His tears scarred her mind. The dark purple bruises on his soft neck, reminded her of her rage last night. Crescent-shaped angry red marks of her nails added to that and the sight of them made her regretful.

Why was she feeling this way? She had remorselessly killed numerous innocent beings, why was she feeling this way for hurting Roman? Why did his scream swing a hammer at her cold heart?

Why did she feel the need to get away from him when she saw the bitter symbols of pain flow out of his eyes?

His eyes.

They were the most beautiful blues she had ever seen. As much as she hated to admit it, she loved them. A human’s eyes are the most appealing when they hold happiness. Yet Roman’s held happiness only on the first day they met. They majorly held fear inside them now, every time she saw them, and maybe even a little bit of anger.

But last night, when he injected her with flames, and she lay there weak and defeated, she had expected to claim his victory at defeating her, but instead, the man apologized helplessly for the pain he was causing her. He had done nothing but take care of her, and he couldn’t blame her for tying her up with the silver either.

It shocked her to the point of not being able to speak.

Evette brushed her fingers over the burns over her wrists, which now had begun healing. But she needed blood. Only blood could heal her completely. And only her blood would heal Roman’s injured arm.

She had almost let him know how she died. About Edouard. About Gratien. Roman’s kindness and his blind trust in her were getting the best out of her, revealing all her secrets before she decided to stop herself.

This is exactly how it happened with her little doe.

And she cannot let that happen again.

She cannot suffer that kind of heartbreak again.

Roman’s sobs had stopped around three hours ago, and his cat had long disappeared into his room since then. Both of their bodies were decrepit, and she knew that they needed each other to heal.

She stood up, ache running all over her body due to the juniper that remained in her body. Smart boy, that one. She thought as her weariness reminded her of how her teacher had found what was lethal to her, and how he had used it to take her down. She took long, quiet strides to his room and her eyes fell first on the white cat at the end of the bed, who stared holes into her soul, upon her sight.

Stupid cat.

Evette sighed and walked over to the bed, gently picking up the protesting creature and setting it down on the carpeted floor.

“Go!” she ordered and enlarged her eyes to appear threatening to the cat. Surprisingly, it obeyed her, running away into the living room in search of food.

The sun was blazing outside, and she hadn’t taken her potion, so it wouldn’t be long before its dictating rays would begin causing those raging blisters on her porcelain skin. And there was no way she could get to drain some bodies until the sun went down.

Evette licked her dry, chapped lips.

Each mark on his body, ranging from the tender purple flowers to his damaged forearm, aroused regret inside her. And she hated it. She hated feeling that way because they meant no good.

She wasn’t meant to feel regretful.

Roman was human. He had a short life, while Evette on the other hand, was meant to live forever until someone decided to drive a stake through her heart or rip off her head. She didn’t want to live with the hurt of losing someone near and dear to her, once more, for that feeling was the one that wrecked her more than Edouard’s betrayal.

She ran her fingers through his damp raven hair, brushing off the stray strands. His jaw twitched at her cold touch, and his electric blues slowly unsealed from the confines of his eyelids. They widened. Fear screamed out of them.

“Please...” he whispered, at her.

His voice was rough and hoarse, due to the strain she gave him last night, but now, it was rougher.

“Please what, Cherie?" she asked, as she continued brushing his hair.

“Don’t hurt me,” he wheezed, fearfully but she smirked at him. Evette wanted to cause him to hurt. She wanted to hurt but it was all for her own selfish reasons. If she hadn’t kept on taunting and hurting him, his curiosity about her kind would attract her to him.

And she didn’t want him anywhere close to her.

Roman was one of the mortal satyrs. The kind that could venture deep into her mind, exploring the complex person that was Evette Bellerose, and discover her deepest secrets. Her little doe was one of them.

But she wanted her doe to be the only person who did that.

“I’m going to feed you my blood, Roman. It will heal you.” She whispered as she lifted his head into her lap. He hissed when his arm moved, the pain flaring up again.

“And don’t resist,” she warned before she brought her wrist to her mouth. Roman cringed when he saw her canines elongate into long sharp fangs, and tear open the skin on her pale wrist, but didn’t resist when she directed the oozing scarlet liquid into his mouth.

He licked the blood off her skin when she pressed her wrist into his mouth. The metallic flavor of the blood spread inside his mouth, as he tasted the salty, sour, thick liquid dance on his tongue.

“Suck,” she instructed, and he obeyed, sucking the blood off her wrist. His other hand weakly held her stone arm in place, clutching tightly and he kept drinking her blood, his lips moving like a little baby’s.

This is exactly how my doe drank my blood. Evette recalled as she looked at her teacher, sucking blood from her wrist as his eyes stayed closed in bliss. She felt the pulsing of his fleshy tongue on her skin when he licked the puncture points on her flesh, slurping in more of her gore.

The weak man moaned as he felt his muscles relax when the magic of her blood began acting on his body. He couldn’t control himself, when he pressed her wrist further into his mouth, gulping in each stream that flowed out of her open skin. His eyes were closed in relief and an inexplicable pleasure flooded him, as her blood flowed into him.

And Evette didn’t seem to be resisting so he didn’t stop either.

He felt her other hand caress his jaw, trailing her long nails across his stubbles, and his hot cheek. It traveled downward, softly stroking his broken arm, and Roman tensed when they stopped at the badly bruised skin at the junction of the two pieces of his bone.

Within a snap of her hand, she put the bones in place, releasing a choked sob of pain from Roman as his body jerked forward. But he didn’t stop sucking since it didn’t hurt as much as he had expected it to hurt when his arm was to be put together.

The bruises on his neck were long gone by now, and after a minute longer, Evette pulled her hand off him.

Roman jerked up, releasing a whine of protest.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked, wiping off the crimson that remained on his now pink lips.

“You shouldn’t have too much of it.” She said, standing up but Roman grabbed her punctured wrist.

“I want more,” he declared, tugging on her wrist like a little kid.

Little kids yearning for my blood!

Evette’s face turned stern and she yanked off her arm from his grasp, and lightly cupped his cheek. “Go to sleep, Roman,” she said, “There is something you have to do in exchange for my blood.”

She harshly pushed him back into the bed, and stormed out of the room, spending the next five hours sleeping on the couch.

Now that she had lost some blood, Evette was weaker than she had ever been in the past hundred years. Her body ached when she twisted uncomfortably on the couch, a groan escaping her lips. Her throat was dry, and her tongue twitched to have blood rolling on top of it.

And Roman’s sweet scent emitting from his room only made it ten times harder.

Buried into the dark but peaceful world of her slumber, she was only pulled back into reality by the quiet steps of Roman. His eyes fell on a sleeping Evette, a sight which he never thought that he would see. Her arm was resting on top of her eyes, blocking out any light from the surroundings.

He took quiet strides to her, even noticing Slizzle fast asleep on her cushion, before crouching down to level his eyes with Evette’s head on the couch.

“What is it, Roman?” she asked suddenly, and Roman jumped back, surprised that she was awake.

Good, God!

“I..I...you’re awake?” he stuttered, scooting away from her.

She took her arm off, opening her eyelids to show her golds. “Yeah, what?”

“I...just...” he said, and then took a deep breath, “I feel better now.” He declared.

She sighed and closed her eyes again. “I hope you learned your lesson.”

He didn’t. He knew what the lesson was, but he didn’t want to learn it. And he proved it to her by moving closer.

“Why are you so... sadistic?” he asked quietly, and Evette huffed.

“None of your fucking business!” she spat.

“I trusted you, but you hurt me.”

Go, Roman! Before I lose my control around you.

She grunted, “Stop talking!”

“Are you thirsty?”

Evette huffed at the irony. “Yeah, I am,” she said. “And remember when I asked you for something in return for my blood? It was your blood that I wanted. But if I start drinking, then you’ll probably end up being sucked clean, so unless you want that, stay away from me.”

He looked around helplessly, thinking of the various ways she could feed. Blood bags. But how can he get them? The only animal he had at his disposal was Slizzle and there is no way he is giving her up. And that left him with no choice.

And now he wanted to help her, given that she was weaker after he drank a portion of her blood.

Although, it was her who broke my bone in the first place.

He placed his warm hand on Evette, finding it to be warmer. “Feed on me.”

Evette glared at him, “I swear on creator--”

“Trust yourself, Evette.” He interrupted. “Maybe you can stop.”

“I know myself, Roman. I am beyond thirsty and if I start drinking then you’ll be good as dead.” She declared. “And this conversation is over!”

But Roman Berkshire was not the kind that gave too easily.

“Even when you go out once the sun goes down, won’t you kill someone?”

“So?”

“You’ll kill someone, Evette!” he emphasized.

“And has that ever been a big deal to me?”

“You can’t keep killing people. Maybe if you drink some from me, you can have the strength to last a few days.” He deduced.

Honestly, why is this boy so stupid? She thought.

“If I start drinking from you, I’ll kill you.” She said.

“Just... try.”

His scent was overwhelming her. And paired up with his urging to feed on him, she was close to losing her control. Her jaw was clenched tight, her fists ready to swing at his pretty little face and break it for being such an idiot.

He was such an idiot.

“Go, Roman. Before I lose my control.” She growled, and Roman flinched at the sound. “Your scent is clogging my senses.”

“But...you’re...you’re too weak.” He protested.

And that was it.

She lounged at him, roaring as her fingers wrapped around his throat and squeezed tightly. But this time, it wasn’t his breath that she cut off. She was blocking his jugular and carotid.

“I said, go away!” she growled in his face. “I. Don’t. Want. Your. Blood!”

Roman wasn’t hurting like the last time she did this, because clearly, her strength was wearing off. And Evette knew that if she had applied this force when she was fully fed, Roman’s neck would have been nothing but a handful of crushed pulp.

A stubborn vampire and a stubborn human together did no good. The more Roman provoked Evette, the more she resisted him, and the more she resisted, the more Roman wanted her to feed on him.

And hence, he did the worst thing, he could do.

The remnants of last night littered the floor. Pieces of broken china and the glass from his window lied all over the carpeted floor, where the vampiress had him pressed to the floor.

Roman reached for the broken piece of glass that lied right next to his hand, and stretched his fingers, as Evette’s voice boomed in his ears. But before she could sense what was happening, the smart human, dug his palm into the blade, cutting through his skin and making beads of crimson appear.

Evette stilled.

Her roar was silenced, her grip on his neck loosened, and her face twisted with an expression of indecision and losing countenance. The borders of her irises began leaking crimson into her pools of honey, homogenizing the colors to display, bright scarlet orbs.

They were in agony.

A grunt of losing control escaped her throat, before she sank her fangs, deep into his neck.


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