Anathema (Causal Enchantment #1)(78)
I didn’t think it would work, my novice attempt at seducing him. I assumed he’d push my hand aside, listing—yet again—all the reasons why we were impossible. Maybe he’d even laugh at my ridiculousness. But when he opened his eyes, when I saw the intensity burning within them, I knew I was far off in my assumption. I heard the low, feral groan in his throat and he closed the distance between us, responding whole–heartedly.
I had no idea what time it was and I didn’t care. I only cared that I would have to leave Caden at some point and I dreaded that reality.
We had spent all night on that blow–up mattress. Things had gone out of control shockingly fast and I hadn’t minded one bit, abandoning all my anxiety and self–consciousness the second his lips touched mine. But, with clothing torn off and bodies tangled, Caden must have realized where we were headed because he stealthily bound me up within the sleeping bag.
“To keep us out of too much trouble” Caden had whispered.
“No. I want trouble,” I’d pleaded shyly.
“I don’t,” he responded resolutely, his jaw set. “No, no, you don’t understand,” he quickly added when he saw my wounded expression. “No, that’s not it. I’m … afraid.”
“What? Like virgin–afraid? Same here!” My eyes widened, relief flooding me at the revelation that I wasn’t the only one.
He chuckled. “No …”
Drat. My face flushed.
“But later, if … when you bring us to your planet, you’re going to see what I turn into.” Something like shame flitted across his face. “I don’t want you to have regrets,” he added in a whisper.
“There’s no way I’ll regret any of—”
He stifled my argument with an intensely passionate kiss and I forgot what I wanted to say. I may have forgotten how to speak altogether.
The sleeping bag remained a frustrating but effective barrier between us for the rest of the night. I tried to wriggle out countless times but he kept me pinned tightly underneath it until I was too exhausted to fight him.
At some point in the wee hours of the morning, when I could see the faint arrival of early dawn outside, I dozed off. It wasn’t something I had planned, but with my face nestled euphorically against Caden’s chest, enveloped within his strong arms, his hand therapeutically drawing circles over my back, sleep was inevitable.
“Aren’t you hungry? Or thirsty? Or whatever it is you call it,” I asked, peering at Caden.
“I’m okay until you leave.” He nuzzled his cool nose against my neck, causing another stirring deep within me.
I slid over to rest my head on his chest, my hand creeping to glide down the ripples of his stomach muscles.
“They’ll be back soon.” Caden’s hand clamped over mine, holding it in place.
I groaned in frustration but stayed my hand. “They’ve been gone awhile,” I suddenly realized. “How many animals can they possibly kill in one night?”
“It’s the hunt as much as the kill,” Caden answered, chuckling. “As a human, Amelie condemned flyswatters as cruel. Once, when she was seventeen, she was driving along the road when a chipmunk darted in front of her. She swerved to avoid it, slamming into a giant oak.”
I gasped, but he shook his head dismissively. “Oh, she was fine, surprisingly. Only a couple bumps and bruises … She was driving one of the big pickups that we used to transport horses. The truck and the tree were goners, though.”
“Was the chipmunk okay?” I heard myself ask with grave concern.
Caden laughed, the deep vibrations tickling my eardrum. “Yes, I believe he made it. Amelie swore the rodent waved at her from a tree.”
I giggled. “I don’t doubt she did.”
“She explained it all to my parents later. I thought my dad was going to wring her neck.” He chuckled again.
I raised my head and propped myself up on my elbows so I could see Caden’s face. “Do you still miss them after all these years?”
The seconds ticked by before he had an answer. “Being what we are, it’s easy to lose yourself in the moment, in your immediate desires, as overpowering as they become. But there’s always downtime, when that hunger is satiated and you have time to think. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. Or years. And in that time, your memories—which are never–fading and vivid enough that you could relive them just by closing your eyes—can overpower you. If you let them.” He rolled over to press his lips against my folded hands. “I wish I could get that last image of my father out of my head. But every time I think of him, that one shows up. Like a parasite attached to my brain.” He began playing with my fingertips.
“Well, hopefully we can fill your head with lots of new memories—ones without wars and jungles and mountains.”
He turned to look at me with a grim expression. “There are so many things that can go wrong with this—with us. I want you to understand them all before this goes any further.”
“Like what?” I asked warily, though inside, my heart was doing a full acrobatics show because he said “with us.” It sounded positive, as if he was finally coming around, as if he might stop using the word “impossible.”
“Like, if we figure out how to get back to your world with you and if none of us attack you—those are already two massive obstacles—I’ll be focused with fighting the urge to feed off humans, regardless of whether it’s what I want. We all will be.”