Page 65 of Fangbanger

He’s still shaking above me, still thrusting, his face now twisted in—pain? Unease knots inside me. With a snarl, he pulls out and leaps back, blurring as he hits the wall. Plaster dusts his hair and shoulders.

“Marcus.”

His eyes are black, lips curled, fangs extended.

I edge warily toward him, and he leans heavily against the wall.

“No further,” he rasps. He groans and doubles over. “Fuck.” He braces one arm against the wall. His whole frame is tense and tremors shake him.

I don’t know what to do. “Do you need to feed?”

“No,” he gasps. He flashes to the far side of my room, eyes wild. “The bond. Fuck. It will pass.”

“How do you know?” It hurts to see him like this, twisted with pain, his eyes wild. My fists clench and unclench. I’m still wet between my legs, still naked, and my heart howls inside me. We had more time.

“It’s just the beginning.” Each word seems to take effort. “The bond will push me to claim you, and the spasms will get closer and closer together until I can’t stand to be near you.”

There’s an echo of his agony down the bond, and my vision blackens.

“I’m sorry, Leah,” he rasps. “I’d take it if I could. I’ll cut the bond tomorrow night, I promise.”

After we kill his brother. After he disappears forever.

My heart clenches.

“I didn’t want it to end like this.”

“I know,” he says heavily. His eyes are shut. His mouth is a thin slash. “Is there somewhere else I can sleep?” The final word comes out on a groan. Blood drips to the ground from where his fingernails dig into his palms.

“Marcus.” I step closer, and he snarls.

The sound arrows straight to my chest. It feels like we’ve gone back in time to one week ago. Just a slayer and her prey again. All the tenderness from this week has been snuffed out by the pain.

“Nowhere lightproof. The bathroom, maybe? I’ll go. You’re too big for the tub.”

I grab a pillow off the bed, but when I turn, he’s already gone.

42

MARCUS

The following evening, the air is thick with anticipation as we prepare for battle. The pain from last night is gone, replaced with tension. We both consider the box with crossed arms.

“Does it make weapons?” I don’t trust the box, but additional weapons are always good. Leah stands next to me in her underwear. It’s all business—a bra that compresses her chest and plain briefs—but it still makes me want to bite her.

“If they’re wearable, yes. I got a fantastic set of throwing knives after a few tries last year.” Her smile is quick and vicious.

“My little killer,” I say affectionately.

Her cheeks go pink. “You wouldn’t have said that a week ago.”

“I didn’t know you a week ago, my pretty mate. I like how vicious you are.” She fits me perfectly, this slayer.

Leah ducks her head, concentrates, and opens the box. We stare down at a sparkly pink stick topped with a unicorn head. Sheer horror makes me wince.

“I am not carrying that.”

The tension in the air eases. Leah giggles. “But pink could be your color.”