Loving the story? Place gems and leave a review to show your support! Update information can be found in our F B group, but will be updated multiple times a week until completion!
The sandwich hits my lips, but all I can taste is her sweetness. She's enjoying this. Watching me with the same rapt attention that’s present during each feeding. It’s the only reason I allow it. It's the same look she's going to wear when Trent's blood is coating her skin. The small tastes she's giving me is enough to keep the cravings at bay, but she doesn’t understand what kind of monster she’s keeping. I had every intention of turning her attempts at feeding me away, but I can never keep myself from her for too long. It’s becoming a problem. ‘Don’t fuck this up, Pierce.’ I pull back abruptly, but not without feeling the sting of her sadness over it. Those black depths of hers look me over, but I also can't be this close to her for long. There’s no place in between for me. I need to be all out, or all in… except I can’t be either… so while the war wages inside of me, I’ll take full advantage of every lick of her skin I’m offered. ~~~ She’s refusing to look at me.
My back hits the mat and hot embarrassment floods into my cheeks. My foot is still caught in the mesh, and the only thing that has me opening my eyes is the promise of his lick-able grape hands helping me out of this, but I’m met with hazel eyes instead. Heaviness in my chest lands harder than I did, my stomach twisting up my insides as the worry swirls around. “Trent!” I scramble to my feet, my heart racing with my mind as I hope he didn’t witness anything that came before the graceful actions that landed me stuck in this mesh and still staring at the roof. “Dee,” he sighs, helping me up, untangling my foot for me, but letting go of me as soon as I’m standing on my own. “You’re back early,” I smile, moving toward him, but his face bunches up as he looks at me and backs up. “What… what’s wrong?” The shame I felt over my foot’s betrayal seems so minor compared to what's flowing through me right now. It’s uncomfortable as I shift on my feet and I wish I was anywhere but here. Th
My eyes open, but the distinct sound of a girl screaming is sending waves of chills down my spine. Turning my head slowly to the side, Brixton is pacing in my room and maneuvering a tiny knife under and over his fingers. How hasn't he cut himself? How- The blade stops, cradling between two of his fingers and when I look up, his frosty hues draw me in, taking any ability I have of speaking away from me. It's so silent between us, so silent in the room… was the screaming just in my night- The distant plead’s of a girl interrupt that thought, telling me otherwise. I slide out of bed, but when I reach for the door, it's locked.
My nose burns with the smell of rotten fruit. The acidity of it burns my lungs with every breath I don’t want to take as I look at Brixton. He’s looking past me to where Trent is standing, and to anyone who doesn’t know him, he looks calm and collected, but I see the storm behind his icy blues. I see the way his shoulders are flexed, holding more tension than they normally do, and how his mouth is open slightly, allowing room for if his canines drop, without revealing that to the room. I see the way his eyes are shifting shades of blue so subtle that it’s easy to miss. The storm in them is raging, begging to be unleashed as his hand flexes over an area I know he strapped a knife to earlier. I know I shouldn’t be looking at him, watching to see what he’ll do, as his words from this week are on a
I can't stop myself as I approach her door as soon as the Beta leaves. I know I shouldn’t, that I need to keep my distance, but I’m desperate to see her and make sure that she's ok myself. Devlin gasps as I open the door, her eyes as dark as my soul and on mine immediately. So attentive, even in chaos… just like the way she sought me out first, even when she knew the risks. Oh, Pet. You would let me destroy you willingly, wouldn’t you? The lollipop in my mouth isn’t helping the way it used to. It isn’t sating the need to chase her down and sink my teeth into her sweetness. The urge to shift is pounding wildly against every p
*** Pitch black. Nothingness. There are whispers on the wind that are light and making me spin as they berate me from one direction and the next. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but tiny bumps are raising all along my arm, and there’s a ripple of electricity that makes its way up, pulsing against my neck. The darkness opens up, dropping me from where I was and into more of it until something catches my ankle and that deep, raspy chuckle is back. It’s slow, echoing around me as the sound of waves seems to crash into me. No. My heart thumps so loudly that I can hear it before I’m submerged in the water, and I go back to flailing my limbs to get out. I’m ripped from the water, dangling upside down over it as the tightness in my skull returns, spreading up and over until it meets in the center and it becomes so uncomfortable that there’s no other option for me when I scream. “STOP!” My voice fills the silence, echoing back in a thunderous tone I don’t recognize as
There's an ache… everywhere. The feeling of tiny cuts hasn't gone away, only intensified, as the pain of ice slicing across my skin continues. Such a stark contrast to how I spent my afternoon. Even with the lingering fear of Trent returning, the time after my bath was the most peaceful I've felt in a long time. Brixton's frosty hues tracked my every movement through the day… but I liked it. It felt safe and comforting, but the sweet scent of grapes I’m longing for isn’t here. It didn’t… couldn't… linger on my skin for long after Brixton’s mouth gave me everything I didn’t realize I was missing. Trent’s dirty blond hair is hanging in front of his face as he leans over where he’s sat me, staring at
Corbyn pushes against the middle of my back, hurrying me along, as he guides me back down to my room. He’s pushing me so fast that I’m practically running to keep up with his pace, and no matter how hard I try, my feet start to trip over themselves. “Corbyn,” I huff as I stumble for the eighth time, but he effortlessly collects me mid-stride and carries on. “All that running…” he says, looking down at me as he keeps the same pace, “… I thought you’d be speedier. Especially since you were in such a hurry that you couldn’t even manage to sit on the roof.” “If I’m such a disappointment, why even bother?” I trip again, and while Corbyn could catch me, he doesn’t bother this time. He watches as I land on my hands and knees, slowly walking around me until he’s facing me, before grabbing my hair. Corbyn pulls my head up just far enough for me to sit on my knees before him, fully extended, but not far enough that the pressure where he’s holding my head with his fingers entwined with m