THIRST (The Elite Book 3) by Hanleigh Bradley (read the beginning after the end novel .txt) 📕

good way as all the fear I’ve been shoving away returns.

He wants to say something, but I have no idea what because he doesn’t say anything. His hand circles my wrist as I try to pull away.

“Farah,” he says, “please don’t pull away from me.”

Everette sounds almost desperate. Like he’s actually scared I might leave. As if that’s actually an option. I say nothing. I have no idea what I’m supposed to say to him. My mind is full of contradictions. I want him, but I don’t want this… this world. His world.

The problem is, I don’t think I can have one without the other. And what’s worse is that his world and my world are one and the same.

“I love you.” The words come out in a hurry and I can barely believe I’m speaking them before they’re out of my mouth.

He looks struck. Horrified. And I wonder if he never considered that eventually I’d come to feel something for him. Was that so very hard to believe? That I might care for him. Love him, even. His hand releases my wrist and this time it’s him trying to get away from me.

We’re a strange pair. Never close enough together. Never far enough apart.

The rejection bites, but the haunted look on his face gives me a bizarre sense of satisfaction. The immovable Everette has shown no end of cracks today. Today he’s been almost human.

“You can’t.”

“I do.”

“You’ll regret it.”

“I already do.” There’s very little point in lying to him. I regret ever meeting him. I regret ever stepping into this house. And I definitely regret loving him.

But I had no choice. He decided most of it. He caught my damn scent in the rain and decided he had to have me. He brought me here.

I don’t suppose I can blame him for making me love him. He’s certainly not done anything to encourage those sort of feelings. Except love me back.

Blinking up at him, I see it in his eyes now. He loves me. He hates that he does, but I know it’s true. He can’t hide it, not in this strange moment of vulnerability.

“I love you,” I say again, not that I know for the life of me why.

“You can’t. I’m going to kill you.”

“Yes.” I’ve long since accepted that fact.

“I’m a monster.” He sounds almost broken, his voice catching in his throat. And I wonder if he actually means it.

“No. You’re not.”

“You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about killing you,” he says, his eyes moving to the pulse point on my neck. “How I’ve craved it. Thirsted for it. I’ve imagined doing it a thousand ways.”

His words are harsh, perfectly mirroring the violence I see in his swirling eyes.

“Even now, my fangs are aching to bite you. Rip you flesh from flesh. Hurt you even.” He doesn’t sound apologetic. Far from it. It should scare me. “I’ve wanted to drink you dry. Drink every last drop, bring you so close to death that you see the fucking pearly gates, only to pull you back.”

He’s off the bed and across the room before I realise that he’s moved.

“I’ve imagined it. Killing you. But don’t you see…” The violence in his eyes is pure agony. “I can’t kill you. I can’t give you to the darkness or whatever the hell is waiting for us after this existence. God can’t fucking have you. The devil can’t. I won’t allow it.”

His head rolls back as he releases an angry bark of laughter. But there’s no humour in the sound. Then his eyes find mine again.

“You’re mine.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Everette

“Even the Mother can’t have you.” I square my shoulders defensively. “I won’t allow it.”

“The Mother?”

Farah climbs down from the bed, pulling a sheet around her as she moves towards me, but I pull back. I don’t trust myself with her. Not now. Not when I feel so completely out of control. Not when my thirst for blood is overwhelmed by a thirst for something else. A thirst for violence.

“She wanted to send you to fucking Scotland.”

I can see panic in her eyes. The silly little thing forgets to be scared of me when she damn well should, but the idea of going to Scotland… That terrifies her. Either that or she’s finally realised that I should scare her. That doesn’t seem likely though.

“Don’t worry,” I say, my voice softening. As much as the vampire in me likes her scared, there’s another part that doesn’t. And somehow that smaller part keeps fucking winning today. “I said no.”

“And she accepted that?”

“She did.” I still can’t quite believe it myself. Perhaps the Mother has a soft spot for Farah or maybe it’s just her grief making her weak. Either way, I will not question it. Not if it means I can keep Farah.

Even though I know I should keep my distance, I pull her into my arms. I’m less controlled than I’ve been in years. Unadulterated anger coursing through me. But I need her, the way she needs air to breathe.

“So what are you going to do with me?”

“Damned if I know.”

She giggles. Actually giggles as if her life isn’t threatened by my mere existence.

“Does this mean you’re going to change me?” I can’t hear anything in her voice that suggests that’s what she wants me to do.

“Maybe.” It’s the closest I’ve come to saying yes. It might be the closest I’ll get to it too. I still don’t know that I want to change her. Even if I do love her. Even if she loves me back.

Even if she is mine.

She laughs outright at that. “We really do keep going round in circles.”

“You’re not wrong.” I grin at her, as if this whole situation isn’t