Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions novel Chapter 87

Chapter 87

I sit here, watching her, as I try to gauge the storm behind those emotion–filled green eyes of hers. The tension in the room is thick, almost suffocating, and I can sense the pulse of her erratic heartbeat that’s only deepening the hunger for her within me. My fangs ache with the pressure of her presence, drawing the very life force from the air between us. The words I just spoke hang there, suspended like a charged electric current, crackling with the weight of truth and inevitability.

Her response isn’t sharp or defensive this time. It’s quiet, almost fragile, as she keeps her gaze on mine. I can see the vulnerability there, the rowness beneath the armor she wears so well. She’s still holding herself together, still trying to maintain that distance, but I can see it now. She’s not avoiding the truth anymore.

” I think I do,” she whispers, so softly that I almost miss it. Her voice trembles just slightly, and in that moment, I hear the hesitation, the fear, but also the longing for something more, something true. Something real.

She’s searching for answers, just as much as I am, and that, more than anything, tells me this is real–that it’s happening.

Griffin’s words replay in my mind, still echoing in the space between us like an uninvited shadow. The way he pushed her with his questions about me. Questions that, bit by bit, tore away the layers of the carefully constructed façade she tried to glue together with desperate humor and sharp sarcasm. Until we all could see the cracks forming in her rationalizations.

Have you noticed his inhuman strength?”

“Ever notice he moves real fast sometimes?”

“What about how quickly he healed after getting stabbed last Friday?

The weight of it all presses down on me, on both of us, and the pull to prove myself to her becomes unbearable. I want to show her everything. Everything that I am, and everything that she is to me. But I know this is a dance that’s delicate and fraught with tension, and I won’t rush It. I can’t. Not if I want her to be mine.

Still kneeling on her living room floor, the cool hardwood beneath me almost grounding me, I shuffle closer to her, but not too quickly. I need to show her, to give her something tangible that can shatter the walls she’s so meticulously built.

My hand reaches out slowly, towards hers, which is still stained with her blood from earlier. The warmth of her skin seems to pull me in, and can feel the familiar ache of restraint tighten around my chest. “May 17” I ask, my voice steady. But the question–my question–feels foreign. coming from me.

She hesitates, her fingers trembling just slightly, and for a brief moment, think she might pull away again. But then, slowly, she lifts her hand and places it in mine.

There’s a moment, a beat, where neither of us moves. But then, as I pull her hand closer to me, I feel it–the shift, the undeniable pull of the bond between us–and my heart hammers, louder than I expect.

I lower my head to her wrist, my gaze never leaving hers. Her eyes are wide and apprehensive as she watches me with a mix of confusion and something else–something that could be curiosity, or perhaps fear.

I brush my lips over her pulse point gently, once, almost reverently. And my breath catches as I inhale the scent of her skin, a soft and intoxicating blend of vanilla and jasmine. But it’s the pull of her blood, the rhythm of her pulse under her delicate skin, that makes me ache with a hunger so deep it threatens to consume me whole.

And then, I let it happen.

I feel the sharp elongation of my fangs pressing against my gums as they emerge slowly, millimeter by millimeter, responding to the beat of her blood throbbing beneath my touch. Her pulse quickens, like a siren’s song to my blackened soul, pulling me deeper and closer. Still holding her gaze, I open my mouth slowly so my fangs now hover just above her skin.

She sees them—my fangs–those sharp, dangerous extensions of who I am, and I see the moment of recognition in her eyes. She sees me for what I truly am.

I don’t hesitate, pressing my langs lightly into her skin, just enough to feel the first rush of her blood as it flows into my mouth. It’s warm and sweeter than anything I’ve ever tasted. It’s everything I’ve ever craved and more, and I almost lose myself in it, in ber, in the sensation of her life

flowing into me. I feel her pulse, her life force, and I want to take more. I want to drown in it. I want to fill the emptiness inside me with it until there’s nothing left but the two of us.

Inhuman restraint tightens around my senses as I force myself to pull back. My fangs retract gently as I feel the sting of her discomfort–the brief, sharp flare of pain as I withdraw from her. She winces, but I know it won’t last long. The bond between us will heal it, Already, I can feel her flesh knitting itself back together.

I watch her closely as the blood starts to disappear, and the marks of my bite begin to fade. She stares at her wrist, watching the skin close up in real time. Her expression is one of disbelief, confusion, and something deeper, something I don’t want to name just yet.

I can feel the pull in the air between us, our mate bond stretching tighter. We’ve crossed a line now–one that can never be uncrossed.

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