Page 13 of Molt

August’s eyes flick toward it as horror fills his face. “Don’t move.”

“What?”

“Lenora.” His voice trembles. “Don’t touch it.”

I reach behind my neck.

“Lenora, don’t!”

My fingers find something loose beneath my hair. An edge…and I pull.

He lunges toward me as skin separates from the back of my neck with a long, wet tear. My knees nearly buckle as pleasure rolls violently down my spine. A moan escapes me before I can stop it.

August freezes.

So do I as the strip hangs between my fingers.

His eyes close and blood begins pouring from his nose.

“August?”

He opens his eyes and whispers the words like a prayer he fucking hates. “It’s starting.”

Chapter 2- August

She always pulls every fucking time.

I’ve begged her not to.

Tied her hands once–even cut her fingernails down until there was nothing left to catch beneath the edges.

In 1944, I wrapped her entire body in linen and slept beside her for six nights with my arms locked around her waist.

In 1967, she made me promise not to stop her.

In 1988, she didn’t give me the chance.

But Lenora always pulls and my body always answers.

Blood pours over my mouth as the strip separates from the back of her neck.

I taste iron as I stare at the piece of herself hanging between her fingers.

Too much. Too fucking soon.

“Put it down.” I spit.

Her eyes flick between me and the skin. “Why are you bleeding?”

“Put it down, Lenora.”

“Answer me.” She huffs.

I grab a cloth from the table and press it beneath my nose letting the blood soak through immediately.

Fuck.

I thought I had more time. I always think I have more time.