* * * This content is reserved for the website of Wendy Higgins (www.wendyhigginswrites.com) and may not be copied and posted to any other websites or publications without permission from the

* * * This content is reserved for the website of Wendy Higgins (www.wendyhigginswrites.com) and may not be copied and posted to any other websites or publications without permission from the author.

Copyright © 2013 by Wendy Higgins

All rights reserved. Posted in the United States of America.

No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

KAIDAN’S POINT OF VIEW

FROM SWEET PERIL (parts of chapters 17-20)

I can’t explain to anyone the madness that lives inside me.

My father once called me a “caveman” to Anna, and he laughed, but not because he was taking the piss. He laughed because he knows what I feel, nearly constantly, and it’s funny to him. Amusing that I fight for self-control every waking moment. Humorous that at any second I could turn into a raging fucking Lust Hulk.

Only not green. Thank God.

At times I’m afraid to be around Anna—afraid my fraying will-power will shred with a single innocent touch. It was beyond stupid to chase her to the airport and beg her to come home with me. I should have let her go back to Georgia. But as I hold her in my arms, in my bed, listening to the sound of her soft breathing, I can’t bring myself to regret one last night together.

We’d both finally fallen asleep a bit ago, but as always I woke during the night filled with familiar paranoia. It was worse with her at my side, despite the fact that the Dukes and whisperers were in Vegas tonight. I couldn’t stomach the thought of Anna being in danger because of my selfish desire to have her.

She is complex, my lovely Anna. All gentleness. A bleeding heart for injustice. A brilliant capacity for forgiveness which I could use a lesson in, seeing as how I wanted to murder Kope when I found out he’d snogged her.

Arsehole. He knew I loved her. Regardless of what I said on the phone, he knew, and he’d still gone for her. I felt my blood pressure rising at the very thought.

Kope might have the mindset of a saint, but with demonic urges of lust and wrath in his blood, the bloke was capable of transforming into a rampant bear if he lost control. Had he touched Anna while they kissed? Had he been careful with her or rough? How much had they enjoyed it? A pinprick of pain pulsed behind my eyes and I realized I was clenching my teeth and clasping the bed sheets tightly with my free hand.

Easy, mate. Focus on now…

Despite her gentleness, I’ve seen how her hands ball into tiny fists when she’s right pissed off. And the fire in her eyes when she’s lost to the hunger of her demon side. I understand that hunger. That need to lose oneself completely to pure physical sensation with no regard to consequences. That urge to say fuck it all.

The difference is, she wants to lose herself in drugs and I want to lose myself in skin.

But obsession is obsession. To each his own.

Anna mewls next to me like a baby kitten and snuggles closer, her knee rubbing my thigh. And, oh God…her hand lands on my lower stomach. Just a few inches south, and I would be a happy man.

I look over at the Sword of Righteousness hilt lying on the bedside table. It’s mocking me, I swear. The prick. I fucking hate that thing, though I know it keeps her safe. It’s always shaking its damn head at me like it knows what I’m thinking. It knows all the things I’d like to do to its sweet Anna.

Things I daresay she’s not ready for.

The hilt doesn’t seem to give a shite that I love Anna. I do. And I don’t use that word lightly. In fact, I have never used it before.

Never.

I want to tell her. I’ve wanted to tell her for ages. Since the moment I saw her give every dollar she owned to a complete stranger. A homeless woman in Hollywood. I’d never witnessed that sort of selfless act. Anna was beauty personified in a way I didn’t think existed.

But I didn’t say a word because I wasn’t good for her then, and I’m not good for her now. I know that, but I can’t stay away. I’m a greedy bastard and I want her love. I want to savor it every time she looks at me and sees past the Lust in my eyes—sees the boy I once was, and the man who now desperately needs her. She knows the ugliest parts of me, and yet she still accepts me. Still wants me.

I believe they call that unconditional love—another thing I didn’t think existed.

I close my eyes and try to rest, but her hand is quite distracting. So I take it and lift it to my chest instead. In her sleep she prods her nails into my skin, scratching my pec before she stills again, and I think it’s the sexiest and most adorable thing I’ve ever experienced. Then again, I’d thought the same thing when she was cooking meals for me earlier. And when her hands were pulling at my hair as my mouth was on her thigh. And again when she licked brownie batter from the bowl. And oh, God, let’s backtrack to the bit about HER THIGH…

Don’t think about that, mate.

Don’t think about the scent of warm pears that surrounded you like a cognac.

Don’t think about the silk of her skin against your tongue, and how close you were to that place of hers where nobody else has ever been.

Don’t think about the sounds of her moans or how you were just about to blow her everloving mind and how you couldn’t wait to catch her when her knees buckled from her whole body trembling with pleasure.

Definitely do not think of that.

God! I shoved the heel of my hand against my eye to will away the images.

Damned hilt. Have I mentioned how much I hate that thing?

Okay, yes, I’m not perfect when I’m with Anna. I still experience my nasty thoughts about every dirty, naughty thing imaginable. That’s everyday life for me. But she makes me wonder what it would be like to make love. She makes me want to take my time with every millimeter of her body in the most maddening way until she’s begging for more.

I want to make her beg. My little Ann’s desperate pleas would be beyond sexy.

I dig the heel of my hand into my other eye.

Yes, despite those naughty thoughts, she makes me want so much more from life. Things I’m not bloody allowed to want. Things I can never give her.

And that is why hatred will always live inside me. Anna might be too good to be angry about our circumstances, but I’m certainly not. I’m furious enough for the two of us.

I crack open an eye and glare at the hilt for good measure.

Then I let myself relax, and sleep almost immediately pulls me under.

* * *

There is pure terror in Anna’s eyes when her father rings. I don’t know if she’s more afraid of the fact that Belial’s sending me on a mission with Kope, or that he’s sending me on a mission at all. I want to wipe the fear from her eyes, but I can’t promise her I won’t punch Kope in his damn face when I see him. I also can’t promise that we’ll be safe in Syria. I won’t lie to Anna, and she’s no fool.

I want to tell her how much it means to me that Belial has asked me to go, that he trusts me with this, but I’m not sure I can put it into words without sounding like a complete idiot.

I’m not afraid. I face death every day. Life has been a perilous walk along a fine line with my father’s keen eye or his whisperers always watching. But this journey—this mission—it’s dangerous in a way that’s worthy of death. It’s the first time I’ve ever been asked to help, rather than hurt. A chance to die in a way that would bring honor…it’s not something I can explain to Anna. Her father’s belief in me has filled me with so much pride it’s embarrassing.

* * *

When Kope shows, the sight of his hands and lips and everything about him makes me so hot with anger I want to pummel him to a bloody pulp. And if I did, he’d probably just stand there and not fight back, infuriating do-gooder that he is. He brings out feelings of inadequacy in me that I don’t want to acknowledge. He was chosen to be at Anna’s side as she traveled the world in dangerous situations. He was her protector and teammate. Not me. And God, I hate him for it.

I hate him for all the years he’s denied the urge to dive into the bed of every woman who makes eyes at him. I hate him for not beating the shite out of every man who prods his wrath. Why can’t he fuck up, just once? These past few months without sex have been hell for me. I’ve done it out of love for Anna, but I’ve been even more of a bastard than usual.

Anna is Kopano’s saving grace as he stands in my living space all suave and put-together—she’s the only thing keeping him in one piece. Her and the reminder that her father wants Kopano to lead this mission into Syria. Frankly, I don’t want to get on Belial’s bad side, so I shake off my anger and let the make-up lady put a beard on me.

Turns out I’m still sexy with a big arse beard and brown eyes instead of blue.

* * *

Being in the air is relaxing. I know I should be nervous about what’s to come in Syria. Or annoyed by the looks other passengers keep giving me. I want to yell, “I’m not a bleedin’ terrorist, so piss off with the crazy stares.” Tossers. Instead I close my eyes, because the skies are one of the only places I feel safe. Whisperers don’t bother flying up here, and I plan to take advantage of that knowledge by sleeping in peace.

Anna’s words at the airport fill my head: It was always you for me. Only you. And with that in mind I sleep longer and better than I have in ages.

Well, it turns out that Kope is good to have around when you’re in the Middle East. His Arabic is flawless. I can speak fluent French and Spanish, but only know a few phrases in Arabic. So I keep my mouth shut and let Kope do the talking as we travel through Damascus where we meet a human contact to get our weapons, and then we stop near a busy mosque and search the area.

My eyes scan until they land on the bloke with the maroon head wrapping. He stands out because of his boxy body type and the roundness of his face, though he’s been given a brown beard like me.

“There,” I say to Kopano under my breath. “Near the corner.” The man looks over when I speak, just as Kope looks his direction. “Is that you, Flynn?” I ask. He’s too far away to hear us with normal human ears. I stretch out my hearing and open it around him.

The man gives a single nod. “’at’s me, mate.” He rubs a hand over his mouth to hide the fact he’s talking, and in an Aussie accent no less. “I’ll follow you out on this bloody excuse for a bike and keep my distance. I’ve scouted the area already and there’s a hill nearby where I can watch from afar. Maybe thirty minutes outside the city. I’ll give a yell if anything looks suspicious. There’s three guards outside the compound, and it sounds like at least two inside. I don’t think they’re being nice to their prisoner, if you know what I mean.”

Ah, shite.

Kopano goes absolutely rigid next to me. “We must go,” he says. “Now.”

Agreed. The two of us head for the car while Flynn climbs aboard a small scooter-moped contraption. Sucks to be him.

We navigate away from the busy area and head toward a smaller town on the outskirts of the city. It feels longer than thirty minutes on the dry, bumpy road. The city lights and sounds and scents of spices are long gone. The landscape is more barren, though beautiful in its own way. Far ahead of us, Flynn takes a dirt path that leads toward low hills. It’s dusk out, a time of day that can always feel a bit ominous, even moreso when you’re entering a shady area with suspicious eyes peeking out from windows of shanty squat buildings.

I keep a strand of my hearing in a flimsy line behind me, concentrated around Flynn, who’s found himself a high spot with trees to stop and watch. I can see the hill clearly as we take a potholed side street to a small, darkened building with three men in front of a wire fence that goes around the entire compound. They all stand a bit taller at the sight of our car as we pull aside and park.

We’d decided before arriving that I would listen out for warnings from Flynn while Kope focused on the “transaction.”

I don’t scare easily, especially where humans are concerned, but these men with their dark gray auras and semiautomatic guns appear stark raving mad. Not the sort of combination that puts a bloke at ease, yeah? I treat them like the Dukes, not making eye contact, but keeping my shoulders squared as we step out, so as to not show weakness. I’m ever aware of the daggers at my ankle and waist and will not hesitate to use them.

Kopano stands tall, briefcase in hand, and walks forward without an ounce of trepidation or hesitation. He could be a prince of Africa with the air of importance he’s throwing off. And for some reason I’m surprised when he barks out a phrase in Arabic as he approaches them on quick feet, sounding bored and angry. Gone is his gentle spirit. I think I recognize the word “girl.”

The guards exchange glances and frowns. We stop in front of them. Before any of the gits can respond, Kope is barking again as if they’re wasting his time. The three of them jump a bit, clearly frazzled by this seemingly powerful man pretending to hail from Egypt. Kope lifts the briefcase, snaps it open to reveal piles of foreign bills, then slams it shut and says something else in that badass deep tone.

And I can’t help myself. I’m impressed. Maybe he took acting classes at Harvard. I don’t know, but he’s bloody brilliant.

Finally one of the guards speaks. Kope responds, sounding annoyed, but he stands back and lifts his arms. He never lets go of the briefcase. They pat him down, taking a handgun from his waist. I reluctantly lift my arms as one approaches me and I allow him to confiscate my knives. I feel naked when the weapons leave my body—and not the good kind of naked. I take note when he puts the daggers in his left pocket.

And we’re in. Excellent.

They lock the gate behind us and rush into the building with guns in hand, strapped over their shoulders. Didn’t anyone ever tell these minions not to run about with their fingers on the triggers? Unnerving. I’m ready to get Zania and get the hell out of here.

One of the guards shouts something to a man who stands up as we round a dark corner. The new man looks us over, his eyes a little wild. He must buy whatever the other guards tell him, because he gives a hard nod and yanks his head toward a doorway. Kope marches past him and I follow.

Bloody fucking hell.

My stomach sours, just as it always does when we go to Marissa’s and she has a new girl who’s being trained roughly into obedience. But Marissa doesn’t allow the men to beat her girls like this. Zania is little more than a brown pile of bones on a dirt floor. Naked. And no, her nakedness does not rouse my lust. Not a bit.

One of the guards nudges her with his boot and yells something. Kope waves him off with a harsh swipe of his hand and squats beside her. He speaks to her in a rough tone and she curls tighter. At least it’s a sign of life. Kope repeats the phrase, slower and more quietly this time, and I think I understand enough of the context to put it together.

“You belong to me now.”

Kopano takes her wrist and turns it over. He feels her thin bicep, checking her condition. Then he turns his head and gives a curt nod to the bloke standing in the doorway. The man comes forward, sets his gun down with a clatter and pops open the briefcase, counting. His eyes are bright with greed. He shouts something at one of the other men, who runs off and comes back with a black cotton dress. The idiot starts trying to dress Zania, yelling at her when she won’t straighten her arms for him.

Kopano snatches the dress and waves the man away. He murmurs gruffly as he pulls the dress over her head and coaxes her arms through. She tries to scoot away, but he follows and ignores her groaning protests until she’s completely dressed.

All the while I’m silently chanting for everyone to hurry so we can get the fuck out of this hell hole. In the loose pocket of my cotton pants I feel my satellite phone vibrate. I take a quick peek and silently curse. It’s from Flynn.

Think I have a tail but they haven’t come in sight. Also, getting strange looks from 2 local men.

I give Kope the “we-need-to-hurry” eye and he nods imperceptibly.

Before the guy in charge is finished fondling the cash, Kopano scoops Zania into his arms like she weighs nothing. She tries to struggle but he grips her tighter and grumbles in Arabic for her to be still.

The man on the floor lifts his face to give Kopano an evil grin of satisfaction, and Kope snaps something about weapons. Another man comes in with Kope’s gun and my knives. I quickly take them and follow Kope as he passes the men to leave. They’re all huddled around the cash, grinning like they’ve won the lottery. One man drags himself away to escort us out.

I’ve almost forgotten about Flynn until I hear the distant sounds. Arabic words, spoken in a questioning tone. The moped starting. Footsteps running against dirt. Yells and grunts. Sounds of fighting.

Shite! My palms start to sweat. I want to get there and help Flynn, or at least call him, but I can’t with this machine-gunned maniac at our heels.Suddenly the fighting quiets and I hear the scooter zoom away in the opposite direction. Maybe he’s escaped.

We get out of the compound and into the car where Kope lays Zania in the back seat. As soon as we’re on the road I sign to Kopano that Flynn’s been discovered. We’re trying to decide if we should go to him since we’ve got Zania in tow, but she begins to moan.

“Drink,” she says in Arabic.

I unscrew the cap off a bottle of water and lean back, fitting it into her hand as she lays there. She takes one look at it through her swollen, purpled eyes, and throws the damn thing back at me. Water goes everywhere before I grab it.

Obviously not the type of drink she’s after.

It’s clear that we can’t go traipsing through the unknown hills searching for Flynn when we’ve got an injured Zania to deal with. Kope and I agree that Flynn likely got away and will meet up with us later. We hope.

I try to offer Zania something to eat. God knows she needs it. She’s emaciated. But she screams at me in English to leave her the hell alone and not to touch her. I pull out my phone and show her the pictures of Anna and I. She watches me as I look at the photo, feeling warm at the sight of Anna’s smile.

Kope murmurs to her in Arabic as he drives. I imagine he’s telling her that she’s safe now. Reminding her who he is, and explaining who I am. I hear him say Anna’s name.

This seems to calm her. Until her whole body begins to shake and convulse.

Fuck. She’s in withdrawals. I’ve no clue what to do. She dry heaves over the side of the seat, but there’s nothing in her stomach to purge. I feel a bit helpless, not knowing what to say or do.

We get back to the seedy hotel and Kope tells her she must walk on her own so we don’t draw much attention. Her slow gait is painful to watch. It’s late. Thankfully the small walk from the car to the side door doesn’t earn any unwanted, curious stares.

Two men taking a battered woman into a room would not turn out well, so we use our hearing to stay around a corner until our hall is clear.

The daughter of Sonellion is wrecked. She walks with a limp from her injuries, but she won’t let us close enough to see what needs fixing. I run her a hot bath, but neither of us makes a move to undress her or try to help her in. She sits on the floor of the bathroom shaking uncontrollably, begging for a drink.

“Maybe we should give her one—” I begin, but Kope cuts me off.

“No.”

She groans and begins a chattering murmur that rakes my ears. God, she’s suffering.

“Just one fucking drink,” I whisper to Kope under my breath.

“In the end it will only make her want more. She has to make it through this.” His voice sounds certain, but his face looks worried when he says it.

Zania snarls something up at him in Arabic, and I’m fairly certain she’s telling him what he can do to himself. He doesn’t respond.

I squat next to her. “Please, Z. We need to get you out of here before your father returns. You need to eat something so you can be stronger and heal.”

She looks at me, really looks at me, for the first time. “One drink,” she says softly. She’s so pathetic. I want to give in because I’m weak and I keep wondering if one will really hurt. But I can feel Kopano’s eyes glaring down. What would Anna do? I attempt to channel her positive energy before I speak again.

“I know it feels like that’s what you need, but it’s not. We want to help you.” I’m proud of myself for sounding so gentle and reasonable. I open my mouth to continue and she wallops me straight in the eye. I have to catch myself from falling back on my arse. Bloody fucking hell, that stings.

I move away from the Neph girl, who doesn’t appear as if she can lift an arm, much less throw a decent punch. Apparently where there’s a will, there’s a way, because I’m fairly certain she’s blackened my damned eye. Not the first time I’ve been hit by a girl, but it’s the first time I didn’t deserve it.

Still, I can’t bring myself to be mad. Until Kope chuckles.

“Shut up,” I say, standing. “You give it a go, lover boy.”

He frowns at me as I stalk past him and check out my eye in the mirror. Yep. It’s swelling and darkening.

I expect Kope to try the gentle approach, but once again he shocks me. He speaks to her with stern, dominating authority.

“It’s time to bathe, Zania. We will leave and you will bathe yourself. We leave in less than five hours for our flight to the U.S.”

She wraps her arms around her stomach and cries, “You should have let me die!”

“You were not going to die,” he growls. “Your fate was far worse than death.”

“Just leave me here!”

“Bathe. Now. Or I will put you in and clean you myself.”

She eyes him with malice. He takes a hard step forward and she scuttles back.

“Fine! I will bathe. Don’t touch me!”

“When it’s time to leave,” he says. “You will be presentable. We cannot afford to raise suspicions.”

He barges past me from the bathroom and I follow, closing the door behind me. It’s not until he sits on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands that his strong façade cracks and he begins to tremble.

I want to tell him that he’s done well, but I can’t bring myself. Instead I sit on the other side of the bed in silence. We both relax a fraction when we hear Zania step into the bath. Then she begins to cry a mournful sound, complete with a chattering sound as she shakes, and it guts me.

I hate the Dukes. I loathe them with every fiber of my being. I sit there and allow myself to imagine Anna, fierce and lovely, stabbing each of them through with the flaming sword as all of us Neph hold them down. Their souls are extinguished forever. It’s a gorgeous image and does more for me than any sexual fantasy ever has.

Mind you, that’s saying a lot.

And then another thought smacks me and I’m struck with sudden anxiety.

Where is Flynn?

I whip out my phone and try to call Flynn but there’s no answer. Next I text Belial with the code he told us to use. He texts right back.

Get her?

Yes, I respond, but now F is missing.

My heart pounds, wondering if he’ll want us to search for him. I could go and leave Kope with Z. Turns out that’s not what he has in mind.

Leave with or without him.

Damn, that feels hardcore, but I suppose I get it. Better to have one missing than two. At this point, with so few allies, we’re playing a numbers game.

Kope looks over and raises his eyebrows, so I show him the texts and he nods. He looks tense, and I understand. I won’t relax until we’re on a plane away from here.

I wonder if it’s too early to call Anna, and after some calculations I figure she’ll be awake by now. I try to imagine what sort of shenanigans Blake got her into last night. You’ve never partied until you’ve partied with the son of Envy. And then I try to picture what he likely talked her into wearing and if he got her on the dance floor, and I feel a little green with jealousy myself. I hope he at least got pictures of her in all her sexiness.

Now I can’t stop thinking about her, so I dial her number and lay back, grinning at the sound of her husky, hung-over, half-asleep voice when she answers.

Damn, I wish Kope wasn’t in the room. Yeah, I’m a dirty arsehole for thinking such a thing when so much is at stake. I sigh and focus on her voice.

* * *

The rest of the trip is a blur. After Zania bathes and dresses she refuses to speak to us again. Kope miraculously manages to get her to eat three bites of warm flatbread from his fingers.

I don’t need to be a child of Astaroth to see there’s a bond between those two. And I admit I’m fucking hugely relieved by it on many levels. I let him take care of Z for the remainder of the trip, only getting involved when absolutely necessary. He apparently knows how to deal with her the way she needs, and I don’t care for another blackened eye.

Flynn shows up to the airport all ragged and shit right before our flight. He’s got a rip in his shirt, and the corner of his beard has started to peel off. I point him straight to the loo to fix himself, glad he’s okay.

When we land in Amsterdam later that day we all change out of our Arab getups into Western wear. Scanning for whisperers and seeing none, we clap Flynn on the back and he goes his separate way.

Zania looks frail in her jeans, as if she can’t manage to quite stand straight. Her arms are crossed and she taps her foot furiously as she stares into the tax-free store at the bottles of liquor. Kopano steps between her and the glass, and she narrows her eyes which are no longer swollen. They’re now big and dark brown and full of fire. Kopano seems to like looking at those eyes, though he’s clearly not at ease with her unhealthy desires.

They stare hard at one another as if they might break into a round of angry sex right against the duty free shop. That’d be a show. I bite my tongue against the urge to laugh and say, “Get a room.” Saint Kopano might die of humiliation, a thought that would have brought me joy before, but no longer.

I’m glad when our flight is called. One step closer to seeing Anna again.

At one point of the flight I think there’s going to be a problem. The flight attendant sees Zania hunched over, hugging herself, shaking and groaning. Kope tries to play it off, but the flight attendant still seems worried after his explanation that Zania is not feeling well but it’s not an emergency. It certainly looks like an emergency to anyone with eyes.

Kope even tries to rub her back to put on a good show, but Zania yanks away with a yelp. Yeah, these two are going to get this plane landed if they’re not careful. It’s time for me to work my charm.

I smile up at the flight attendant from my aisle seat and beckon her lower, closer, with the wave of two fingers. She’s probably late twenties. European. She swipes her eyes over me and a great deal of her worried aura lightens, suddenly forgotten. She leans down and I sit up taller to get closer and whisper.

“Just between us,” I say. “I think my mate’s lady is up the duff, if you know what I mean.”

Her eyes widen. “Pregnant?” she whispers back.

I nod. Grin. “They haven’t announced it yet, but I’m fairly certain. She’s not been herself for a bit, but it’s nothing to worry about, luv. She’ll be fine.”

I wink for good measure. Then wet my lips. Her aura pops red and my body reacts without permission.

No, I remind it. Sometimes I really fucking hate myself.

“Well, alright then,” the flight attendant says, brushing a hand down my shoulder and arm. My body tightens and I’m holding my breath. “If you need anything, let me know.” She dips closer. “Anything at all.”

Go away, go away, go away, and for the love of God don’t touch me again.

I give her a nod and she finally turns to go up the aisle. A quick glance to the side finds Kope and Zania both staring at me. Or rather, glaring. I suppose they didn’t care for the pregnancy bit, but oh well. I have more immediate concerns. I quickly unbuckle and head to the loos at the back of the plane.

Damned Nephilim urges.

At some point Zania nods off, still bent over, and her forehead ends up on Kope’s thigh. Hahahaha, the bloke is frozen like stone as he pretends not to be affected. I take advantage of the moment of peace and move to the row behind us, which is empty. I lean my head against the window with my arms crossed and immediately fall asleep.

I’m woken sometime later from a vivid dream wherein I’m obliterating Anna’s innocence. It’s quite a nice dream, but I’d rather not be having it in public. The sounds of Zania’s crying and Kope’s gentle admonishments usher me back into reality with an unwelcome jolt. I look down and find that the kind flight attendant has covered me in a blanket. I take the blue bundle and cram it over my misbehaving lap. Then I lean my elbows on my thighs, bounce my knees, and press my thumbs into my temples in an attempt to calm myself.

I try to think of things that are not soft and warm. Things that do not moan and arch and bend. I think of work trucks rumbling through the frozen tundra of Antarctica.

It doesn’t help. I am cursed.

Thinking of Anna does insane things to my body, but it’s also the only thing that calms me. She knows me and she still loves me. Of course, she doesn’t know everything. I’d die of shame if she knew the half of it. But she knows enough.

I press my fingers over my forehead as hard as I can. My knee bounces faster.

I’ve never wanted anyone like I want Anna, and it’s not about the thrill of the chase with her. So it would be my luck that I can’t have her—might never have her. At least not physically. God, that’s fucking depressing. But at the same time, having her heart fulfills me in a way that nothing else ever has. I can’t believe it’s even possible to feel this way. To go this long without sex. But it is possible, because I love her. And she loves me.

We can do this.

I’m filled with a buzz. I can’t wait to land. I want to see Anna embrace Zania—for her to fill that broken girl with the same positive energy she fills me with—energy that makes you believe you can fight the demons inside yourself and the ones outside yourself. Energy that makes you believe you can win.

Maybe I’m a nancy for thinking this, but fuck it.

Love rocks.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04