Chapter 63

Mandalay returned just as the sun began to set.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, lying down beside her.

Lilitha rolled away, but he rolled after her, pulling her into him, curling his big body around hers. “How is your face?” He rested the backs of his fingers against her cheek. “I really am sorry, but you just”—he sighed—“you just don’t know what’s good for you.”

He pressed his face into the back of her neck and gripped her hip. “How is the pain? I want to make you feel better. What can I do?”

Lilitha bit back her retort: ~Leaving me alone would be good.~

“I know what will make you feel better,” he murmured huskily into her ear.

He rolled her onto her back. Lilitha didn’t have the strength to fight, her anger having fizzled into nothing. All day she’d been in a daze, still sleeping off the effects of the sedation, regretful and mournful, thinking only of the comfort of death.

Lifting up her skirts, he dragged down her underwear, then thrust up her legs, spreading them wide. Lilitha turned her face away as he kissed her inner thighs, then began licking her, tonguing her clitoris, using the barest tip of his tongue to drag over her slit. She tried not to react, but she shivered.

Lilitha closed her eyes as he gently pushed his finger inside her, mimicking intercourse as he masturbated her. Lilitha pressed her hands to her face. She felt herself clench down hard upon his finger, over and over again, even as she willed herself to stop. The mix of feelings made her hate him all the more.

Mandalay looked cheerful as he pulled out his finger and fixed her up. Then he wriggled up into the bed beside her and held her tightly to his chest, his breath warm against her neck.

He squeezed her. “I do love you. I ~really~ do. Like no other.”

She could have killed him that night—and eaten him. She could have allowed herself to wander the streets mindless, heart empty, filled only with coldness and darkness, clothes stained with blood as she waited to be captured by the authorities. Maybe she should have done it.

The next day, Lilitha could hardly move. She could hardly walk. She didn’t dare take the bandages off. Numb, she stared at herself in the mirror. Mandalay had taken her key and had locked her inside for the day.

“For your protection,” he’d said, pocketing it.

Lilitha had watched him leave on Agaroth, then stared down the street for a long time, unseeing, unthinking, knowing nothing but the dreary hours waiting ahead.

As usual, sunset announced his return. Thick dark clouds were gathering; the air felt heavy and stuffy. Lilitha was pacing the living room, trying to walk away the familiar sickly feeling gathering in her stomach. It had been days since she’d eaten, and so much had happened. Her hands were shaking. She felt hot.

She tried her best to conceal it as Mandalay stepped through the front door. He was holding a bunch of flowers, grinning over the top of them. As though it could fix everything. Or ~any~thing. He lowered them, frowning. Lilitha felt a rush of satisfaction that almost made her smile.

“It hasn’t worked. Not yet, anyway.” He put down the flowers, then went over and touched her cheek. They both turned at the distant crack of thunder. “I suppose we’d better move quickly. Come.”

Taking her hand, he drew her toward the door. He pulled on her cloak, then pulled on his. As they stepped through the door, a jagged bolt of lightning slashed the sky. Lilitha squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them next, she could only see white.

Then it began to rain.

Mandalay dragged her on ahead. Lilitha was panting. She was gasping in pain. At every second step, fire burned through her backside. Mandalay noticed and slowed down his pace.

The rain was pounding now. The sun had vanished, the clouds so thick it almost seemed like night. The sprinkling rain turned to pounding. Already, they were splashing through ankle-deep water. More water was flowing like a flood down the gutters.

And then she smelled it. For several moments, Lilitha thought it simply the smell of the rain. But it was growing stronger—and it was making her heart pound. Soon, it was so intense it was like a slap in the face. Not blood. Not flesh. Something much more exciting. Something much more terrifying. Something that made her hips ache fiercely.

Lilitha turned to look behind her and discovered the cloaked figure following. She imagined she could hear his footsteps. Her body began to prickle with nervous energy. The blood whooshed through her veins. She found herself dragging against Mandalay.

He turned, frowning. He said something, but his voice was lost amid a crackle of thunder. Wrenching out of his grip, she spun around. She couldn’t see him, the street apparently empty, but it felt like he was there. It felt like he was everywhere.

“Damon!” she called at another crack of thunder.

Mandalay grabbed her again before she could run. He yanked her behind him.

She fought against him, throwing her entire body weight into him so that he stumbled and fell to the ground. She tried to run again, but he seized onto the end of her cloak and wrenched so hard Lilitha fell to the pavement directly onto her butt.

And then there was red and black and the roar of blood rushing in her ears. She thought she was screaming, but everything was blurry and muffled, like her head was submerged underwater. It felt like she’d fallen on a spike, and it had impaled her right up between her hip bones.

It was hard to tell if she was crying as the rain fell upon her face. Somebody was grabbing her, pulling her to her feet, but she couldn’t stand, knees buckling, the pain so intense her vision kept turning black. All she could see was the glow of Mandalay’s white hands.

Then she heard a roar. “Lilitha!”

And it was like something in her brain switched on, similar to the electricity in Mandalay’s home. Just like that, all her senses came into sharp focus, everything except the pain which seemed to throb distantly, as though it was coming from somebody else’s body.

“Damon!” Lilitha screamed back.

There was a flash of lightning, a crack of thunder, and then he was there. Right there. He stood in the middle of the street, cloaked and hooded, rain puddling beneath his boots. It was as though it didn’t matter that he was a monster. As though he did this every day.

Suddenly, it all came rushing back: the feelings, the smells, the memories. Being part of the clan. It was as if she’d never left, as though she’d simply traversed time. Mainstry had never happened. Mandalay didn’t exist.

Lilitha didn’t think; she threw herself toward him. But something was holding her back—Mandalay, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist as she squirmed and writhed and growled. She was snarling and squealing like an animal.

“Keep back!” Mandalay bellowed, his voice tight with fear, staggering backward against her furious struggling.

She’d forgotten how tall Damon was, how intimidating. Her chest and hips seemed to pull toward him. The urge, the need—it was like she was starving. Even her hunger felt far away when pitted against something as raw as him.

“Damon!” she screamed. She was bellowing and roaring and snapping. Finally, she wrenched free from Mandalay’s grip. She staggered toward Damon but fell to her knees, her legs so weak they felt like sticks.

Mandalay rushed toward her. Damon did the same. Mandalay got to her first, sword drawn. His hood had fallen back, and his golden hair was plastered to his head. His eyes looked so bright in his white face. Lilitha stared up at them both, blinking against the pattering rain. She tried to get up, but the bottom half of her felt so numb she could hardly move.

The pain was coming back in fits and starts, making her gasp and pant and moan. “Damon,” she murmured. “Careful.” Mandalay’s sword was pointed right at his chest.

Damon reached up to push off his hood. Mandalay’s face drained of color. Lilitha’s heart stomped around her chest. She’d forgotten how dreadful he looked, how utterly wonderful.

“What ~are~ you?” the knight said.

Damon snorted through his nose. Mandalay’s sword started to shake. He looked down at Lilitha, then back up at Damon. He took a step back. Then another. Then he turned and ran.

Damon glared after him, body stiff with tension, hands fisted at his sides, prepared to chase him. But then he looked down at Lilitha, and he seemed to forget his rage, his face softening into something more human.

He crouched beside her. “Are you okay? Can you get up?”

“You’re back,” she croaked.

“Always.”

Another crack of thunder. More lightning.

Lilitha nodded. Slowly, she stood. He grabbed her around the waist to steady her, but her knees kept buckling, and all she could manage was a slow, hobbling walk. Damon hoisted her into his arms. And then they were sidling between the shadows.

“You shouldn’t have come for me,” she gasped.

“I had to. Of ~course~ I had to.”

“You forgive me? The others?”

“They’re waiting for you.”

Lilitha started to cry. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Then she thought of Clara, and it was like a stab in her chest. She didn’t have the courage to tell him to stop. She didn’t have the strength or will to fight him.

It hurt like hell.