Page 23 of Crimson Elemental
I blink a few times, forcing my sight to switch back to normal, not thermal. I’m not on a fucking hunt. I’m not about to tear into her flesh.
But if she’d ask me again…
I really hope she doesn’t. I don’t know how much longer I can deny her.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s good,” I answer, pushing the plate back toward her.
“But not what you were craving?” There’s a flash of desire in her eyes, a teasing sort of levity and clarity that makes my heart sing. Fuck, she’s brilliant. She’s come so far. Soon, she won’t need me to help her through the nightmares. She’ll be free of me. And once I manage to kill my brother, she’ll be free of us both.
I should be proud. Should be happy about that fact. But I’m a selfish bastard who wants to stay in her presence forever.
“I could help you with that,” she says, rounding the kitchen island to stand in front of me. She’s so close, her scent floods my nose. A low growl rumbles from me, a purely primal response I can’t stop. I lock every one of my muscles, forcing myself to barely breathe.
“Aurora.” Her name is a warning.
She doesn’t heed it, stepping closer. “Saint.”
Fuck me, when she says my name like that, I lose another ounce of my control. She’s offering herself like a five-course meal on decorative silver platters. It would be so easy to dip down, capture her mouth, and haul her against me. I could touch her, make her limp with pleasure before sinking my fangs into her and drinking her down so deep, I’d be living off her alone. Tasting her would be my ruin. I’ve wanted her for so long, how would I ever stop?
“Let me help?—”
“No,” I cut her off and take a step away from her. The idea of having no control with her, of possibly drinking too much…I can’t put her at risk like that.
I won’t.
Her shoulders drop, but she holds her firm gaze, not budging an inch.
I turn around, and every step away from her feels like walking through wet cement.
A bloodcurdling scream rips through the walls.
I’m on my feet and wending into Aurora’s room before I’ve fully registered that I’m awake.
She thrashes on the bed, fighting against an invisible assailant. Relief surges through me for a moment, the breath coming back to my lungs now that I know she’s not under an actual physical attack, just a mental one.
“Aurora,” I whisper her name, climbing onto the bed. “Aurora, wake up.” I catch her fist as it flies toward me, the punch having a bite to it that makes me proud.
Her eyes fly open, darting left and right, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“It’s okay,” I assure her. “It was another nightmare.”
She looks at me, reality coming back to her eyes. Her face crumples. “I hate it.” She drops her head against me, and I automatically wrap my arms around her. She trembles in my embrace, the adrenaline still coursing through her body.
“Was it the same?” I ask.
“It’s always the same,” she admits. “I beg him to stop. Beg him to kill me. He lets me taste death. Teases me with the relief of it. Then heals me.”
Anger sweeps through me in an inferno of hate.
“Make it go away,” she begs.
That quickly, I drop my mental shields, needing to soothe her in any way I can. My power reaches out to her mind in an instant, the two of us so used to this dance we’ve done it in our sleep. I focus hard, not wanting any images I send her to be of my deepest desires. Instead, I paint her a moonlit beach, like the one on Cassandra’s island that she loved so much.
She relaxes in my arms, leaning heavier against me before jerking away. “No.”
I lose hold of the scene, blinking down at her. “You want to go somewhere else?” I ask, desperate to help her. “Tell me. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
