Page 99 of Tracking Snow

Because Mother is right. We are wrong. We are broken and sick.

Snow drops in front of me. She looks at us with pity as she reaches out and brushes her fingers over our cheeks. We’re crying.

We feed on her pity. We drink it in. We are ravenous for all her pity, to allow ourselves to be pitiable. It’s disgusting and weak, but we fold into her arms as she holds us. She strokes our hair and murmurs that it’s okay. That we are so lovable. That she’ll never stop loving us. All of us.

Taking her love hurts, but we can’t stop. We claw at her, needing to take it all.

Chapter 31

An Orgy of Two

SNOW

He's everywhere.

They are everywhere.

This is all one man split into seven pieces and all seven parts are fully focused on me in one concentrated force. Eyes flashing different colors, as our mouths collide in a hot tangle of tongues and need.

"Baby," Four rasps against the shell of my ear, sending hot shivers through my body. His fingers greedily pull my hips to his, so I can better rub against his hardness.

My shoulders hit the bedroom wall, and the framed photo of me and Ariel rattles on its nail. I don't know who kissed who first out there on the living room floor, whose hands started pulling at whose clothes. I just know we left a trail of them down the hallway and now he's got me in my tiny bedroom, the door shut on a living room full of sleepy, fed flutterbuns, and every ounce of tonight is pouring out of him and into me. And I'm giving it right back.

Tonight, I'd gone out looking for a fight, and I got one. It just wasn't the type I'd expected. The Seven and I were both left bleeding, but this time it was all internal.

My lips on his throat, his hands dragging me closer, this is us pressing on each other's wounds. Trying to stop the bleeding the only way we know how.

My eyes roll up into my head as I claw at him. It's so good. It's not enough. But fae fucking hell I can't stop long enough to take off my tank top or panties when I'm already driving myself higher on jean-clad hardness, winding my body up like a toy that will snap and release at the end.

In a blink, I'm underneath One. His pupils have eaten the pale right out of his eyes, and his whole face is drawn tight with the effort of holding on. Like the feelings he has for me are threatening to crack him in two. Minutes ago, he was shaking apart on my carpet. Now he's holding me to the bed like I'm the only thing keeping him together.

He grabs the sides of my face, his mouth over mine, devouring me. Or maybe imprinting on me. His possessive intensity bleeds into me, and I arch up into him, giving him all that I am.

One hand slides along my neck, briefly giving my jugular a squeeze that sends more hot warmth pooling between my legs, then it continues down, brushing over my breast, my nipple, gripping it with ownership, claiming me.

Meanwhile, his hot, drugging kisses have drilled their way into the center of my brain until there is only him.

"Take it off," Six rasps, eyes flashing green as he tugs at my tank top. It's a plea like if I don't, it will kill him.

We break apart just long enough for me to peel my tank top over my head and fling it across the room. It hits the lamp and dampens the light, but bright bursts slip out from the tilting shade.

One's hand covers my bare breast with a groan that I echo, addicted to his touch. There is nothing hesitant or unsure about what they want, and it makes me feel powerful and wanted.

In the rocking light of the lamp shade, One rears back and blinks to purple eyes.

Two again.

With that sardonic smile, he holds me down while scooting backward. He parts my knees as he goes and they lift on instinct. The cold air hits the growing dampness on my panties, leaving me aching. I whimper.

"Don't worry, I got this," he says, echoing the first thing I ever said to him.

Before I can say anything, he dips his head between my legs and licks one slow line from bottom to top. I gasp, fingers tunneling through his hair.

"My underwear—" I start to say as I'm incoherently trying to express what just happened.

"I can phase through more than just walls," he says, looking up at me with a cocky half-smirk before the heat in his gaze doubles, hitting me right below the belly button. Then he lowers and does it again. He leans in and licks, his tongue passing through the fabric, pushing into me.

My knees lift and my fingers dig into his skull as he laps at me with lazy, yet persistent strokes.