Shattered Promises 02 - Fractured Souls by Jessica Sorensen (motivational books for students TXT) 📕

my teeth. I have no idea where my emotions are coming from at the moment. Whether it’s from the disturbing environment, or if Laylen’s manipulating my emotions. I turn to Laylen and tip my chin to meet his eyes.

I’m trying not to get angry, but the idea of punching Kameron in the face right now is really appealing. He’s the one thing getting in my way of perhaps learning something about my mother’s whereabouts.

“Bite me,” I tell Laylen and his eyes nearly pop out of his head. Before he can argue, I add, “Just scuff my skin with your teeth. You don’t have to drink any of my blood, just spill some out.”

“Now that’s not fun.” Kameron pouts as he crosses his arms and leans against the doorway. “I want to see a show.”

I glare at him. Sick, twisted, pervert.

“It’s not for fun,” Laylen says, and my attention returns to him. His eyes locked on me and his brows are furrowed. “It’s only so you have to let us in.”

Kameron rolls his eyes. “Fine. Scrape your teeth against her and prove that she’s a mere mortal... so fucking boring.”

Laylen’s lip twitches as he stares down at me. His body spasms as he struggles to keep his expression tranquil and I wonder what I’m getting into; how dangerous will this really be? Will he lose control? Drink my blood? Kill me? Do I care?

I stick my trembling arm toward him and his gaze instantly snaps down to it, zoning in on my wrist. In the moonlight, my skin looks white and the bluish purple vein below it is visible.

Laylen’s long, cold fingers curl around my wrist and he wets his lips with his tongue. Then he lowers his mouth to my arm and my heart slams inside my chest as his lips part, his neck muscles tensing as a pair of fangs descend from his gum line. He lets out a growl that makes my heart leap and then a groan that makes my stomach somersault. I try to hold as still as I can, but a flurry of emotions—some dark, some fearful, some needy—whisk through me as I watch his mouth brush my wrist.

He bites on his bottom lip, sucking his lip ring into his teeth, and strands of his blond hair fall into his eyes. Seconds later, I feel a sharp, fiery sting as his fangs delve into my wrist and pierce through my skin.

“Ahh…” The pain mingled with bliss in my voice shocks me. My muscles tense as blood seeps out of my wrist, two pools of blood trickling a path down my arm.

He doesn’t put the fangs in deep, but he doesn’t pull back, either. His eyes shut and he lets out a deep, throaty groan that sends a shiver of pleasure through my body. I bite down on my lip hard to keep myself from begging him to sink his teeth into my pulse. It feels so Goddamn good and the idea of them being in further—him being in further—is driving me crazy. My skin is humming, my pulse throbbing, and my mind as well as my body are spinning out of control. I reach up and clutch onto his shoulder with my free hand.

“I can’t…” he whispers, his breath hot against my skin. “I need to stop…”

“Can’t what…” I breathe, forgetting where I am, what’s happening. Nothing other than his teeth and my blood seem to matter.

He pulls away, looking euphoric, like he’s high on my blood; his pupils possessive and out of touch with reality. The look makes my pulse hammer even faster and I can feel an emotion drizzling through my veins; a comforting need to surrender myself to Laylen. The lesions on my wrist continue to trickle out blood, a red trail rolling down my hand and onto the pavement below my feet. I cover them with my hand, trying to limit the amount spilled, but only because of Kameron and the fear that the sight of it might cause him to attack me.

Laylen’s fingers are trembling as he opens his eyes and releases my wrist. He holds my gaze for a moment and the atmosphere intensifies between us as a connection forms. Ripping his gaze off me, he turns to Kameron. “Now get the fuck out of the way,” he orders in a stern, yet subdued voice.

Kameron’s demeanor is casual as he steps back, sucking in a breath and breathing in a mouthful of air. “Are you sure you don’t want to share?” he asks. “We could each take a wrist.”

Laylen says nothing and shoves his way inside the warehouse, slamming his hand against Kameron’s chest hard enough that he crashes into the door. I hurry in, pressing my hand to my wrist.

“Oh, fine. Take the fun out of my job.” Kameron shuts the door and walks around us, heading for a spiral stairway in the middle of the empty concrete room. We follow him and, with each step, the air grows colder and the atmosphere darker as the roof shifts from dingy, broken skylights to rusty, metal beams. I can hear music playing from somewhere, smell the potent scent of salt and sweat, and feel the ground pulsating below my boots from the rumble of the bass.

When we arrive at the top of the stairway and halt as Kameron begins to unlock the multiple padlocks on a solid steel door. Laylen’s head is down, his chin tucked in, and I’m worried he’s upset about what he’s just done. I hook my finger under his chin to get a better look at his expression.

He’s not upset. More like intense. His fangs have retracted, his blue eyes appear shades darker, almost like sapphires, and there’s blood on the bottom of his lip, a thin trail just beside his lip ring. My blood, waiting for him to lick it.

“You have blood on you lip,” I mutter. I reach forward and slowly swipe my finger along the spot of blood. I smear it