Page 31 of Luna

Everything moves fast and slow at the same time.

I cry out. I’m falling.

And then I’m not.

He has hold of me. His arms are around my waist. He is holding me with one hand and the thickest upper branch of the tree with his other. And he is smoking.

Not a cigar.

His body is smoking. The skin on his exposed forearm starts to blister and crack. He growls loudly, then in one swift motion hauls us both up onto the branch. He scoops me into his arms, tossing me onto his shoulder like he did in the bookshop, balancing on the branch as if he’s some kind of fucking acrobat.

In one leap, we are back inside, tumbling onto the floor.

As he drops me, he scrambles away from the light like a wounded animal. He is behind the bed, hiding in shadow. He stands, smoke still simmering on the surface of his skin.

His arms and face and neck are blistered and red. He pushes past me into the light again, grabs the painting, and slams it back onto its fixings so hard the wall behind it gains a hairline fracture.

I am standing in the corner of the room, pressed up against the wall, barely able to breathe.

When he turns around, the room now dark again and only lit by candles, he is glaring at me with a look that makes me want to run for my life.

He paces toward me. A tiger approaching its prey.

Then he grabs me. He jerks my arm up between us and with his gaze fixed on mine, he says, “Luna?”

“Yes,” My reply comes out as barely more than a whisper.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I cut my hand on the glass.”

His eyes travel from my face to my hand, and I swear little flecks of red appear in them when he stares at the crimson droplets running down my arm.

“I told you it is not safe out there,” he murmurs.

When his eyes meet mine again, I shake my head and try to pull away from him. But he doesn’t let me go. “Stop pretending you’re trying to protect me. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

He smiles, and a flutter of warmth settles in my belly. “You are bleeding onto my shirt, what do you expect?”

“I don’t mean now.” I tilt my chin up, try to look like I’m perfectly confident standing up to someone who could end my life at any second. “I mean always. When you appeared in the bookshop. When you brought me here.” I inhale sharply, my breath swelling in my chest. “When you look at me it’s like…”

“Like what, Luna?”

“Like you’re trying to decide whether you want to drink from me or fuck me.”

Did I just say that? Why the hell did I just say that?

Lucien tweaks his index finger beneath my chin, then closes the gap between us. One hand is on my waist. The other is holding my wrist, my blood slowly pooling in my palm and dripping down onto his fingers. He lets me go and raises his fingers to his mouth.

Still staring at me, wiping my blood onto his lips, he says, “What if I want to do both?”

Chapter 10

Luna

My entire body feels like it’s on fire. Like if he stares at me a moment longer, my skin will start to burn the way his did when it was touched by the sunlight.

I stare at my blood on his lips. I expect him to lick them clean. Instead, he leans in and brushes my hair away from my neck.