Refugee Page 0,45

forever before those red eyes shifted toward her. There was no softening in them though, no acknowledgement of her words. Without thinking, she ripped the bandages from her hands to reveal the shallow cuts that had only slightly bled. His eyes flared even brighter as they latched onto the drops of blood glistening on her skin. Was he hungry? Was that the problem? No, this was something more. He was caught up in something, and for the first time ever she wasn't sure that she would be enough for him.

"Braith." It was a low plea, a desperate whisper. He grabbed hold of her arms as she reached for him. His body was rigid, his muscles locked but his grip was surprisingly gentle. She hoped for a moment that he had come to his senses, but then he was moving her out of the way.

"Braith, wait."

Aria strained in his grasp trying to get him to snap out of whatever had him ensnared. Her fingers shoved aside the sleeves of his shirt, she needed to feel his skin; she hoped the contact would bring him back to her but it didn't seem to be helping.

"Here," she breathed fervently. Grabbing hold of his hand she pressed it against her chest, over the spot where her heart beat. She had no idea what she was doing. "Here Braith, feel, I'm fine."

Recognition seemed to shimmer through him, there was a wavering, a softening that sparked some hope inside of her. His fingers splayed against her, they twitched faintly and then curled into her shirt, into her flesh. Pulling her against him, his forehead fell to hers. Relief flowed through her; she clutched his hand as air rushed into her empty lungs.

"Alive," he breathed.

"Yes, of course."

Then, before she knew what he was doing, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her close. His mouth was in the hollow of her throat, his lips pressed against his marks on her skin. Aria went completely still, she would give him whatever he needed, but she sensed more behind this. She sensed something dark and desperate as his lips pulled back. A shiver worked through her as his fangs skimmed over her flesh, pressing against her. His arm latched around her waist, dragging her against him, pressing her body flush to his.

Her heart leapt wildly as she waited for his bite. She yearned for this so badly, perhaps even more so than him. Her fingers curled into his back, she forgot about the others within the hall, she didn't care about them anymore. She was too swept up in him, too caught up in the teasing pressure of his fangs.

And then, just when she thought she might scream from the longing building within her, he finally bit deep. A gasp, more of pleasure than pain escaped her. Her fingers curled into his hair, she held him tighter against her as she felt the tantalizing pull of her blood in deep, slow waves. Her head fell against him, she clung to him as beyond the concern for her safety, the pleasure her blood gave him ensnared them both.

She had just started to lose herself to him when he severed the bond between them. She felt the loss acutely as he cradled her against him. "You terrify me," he breathed.

She managed a small laugh. "The feeling's mutual."

She realized she'd said the wrong thing as he stiffened against her. "I would never harm you Aria," he grated.

She was not surprised to discover that they were alone in the hall; Ashby had been smart to use Braith's distraction as a chance to escape... so had the others. "I know that." She ran her fingers over the firm planes of his face as she pulled the glasses away and dropped them into the sand. "I know you would never hurt me," she assured him. "But Ashby, what was that? What were you thinking? You were going to kill him."

He opened his mouth; she thought perhaps to protest her statement. Instead he closed it again and tenderly rested his fingers over the fresh marks he'd left on her neck. "I would have, yes," he admitted.

She was not taken aback by the admission. "Why?"

He shook his head; his eyebrows drew together as a brief look of confusion crossed his face. "I don't know." She knew it killed him to admit that, but there was no denying it. "I saw you, on that roof, bleeding. I thought you were going to die.