Fists clenched, ready to fight. Ready to continue what had begun in the water. Ready to destroy…
Nothing.
Peaceful waves rolled toward the shore with relaxing ease. Nothing burst from their smooth formation. No monster of the deep, no creature from the ocean’s floor.
Patrick sucked in breath after breath, chest rising and falling in rapid succession, studying the sea closely.
Nothing except a seagull skimming the surface out over Backpacker’s Express, a lone windsurfer away out in the distance and the rising sun peaking over the horizon in a blinding white slither of light.
He fell to his knees on the sand, shaking his head. What the fuck had just happened? Was he going insane?
He ran a shaking hand though his wet hair, the matted strands clinging to his fingers like seaweed.
Jesus. What was going on?
A seagull squawked behind him. The sound harsh. Frantic.
Patrick closed his eyes for a moment, steadying his breathing. In your mind, mate. Just in your mind. Time to pull your finger out and get back to work.
He pushed himself to his feet, turning to shoo the seagull away.
And saw the sand shift.
Tiny individual grains rolled over each other. Moving. Coming together. Building. Forming…
Patrick’s mouth went dry. Jesus, it’s a monster.
Muscles locked frozen. He stared at the rudimentary arms sprouting from a torso thick and dense and massive, at the hands forming on the end of each one, hands with talons both long and hooked. The sand shifted, like it was alive, a bulge the size of a head spewing from the formation. A head with a gaping maw and sunken, lifeless eyes.
A head that swiveled about until those lifeless pits came to rest on Patrick.
He stared at it, his blood roaring in his ears.
A monster. Looking at you.
The hideous thought unlocked his muscles and he lunged.
Straight for the sand creature.
Ven fisted his hands in Death’s hair, the cool, silken strands like molten ribbons threading through his fingers. He growled, plunging his tongue deeper into her open, willing mouth.
She tasted so fucking sweet, those mysterious, secret spices flavoring her scent a thousand times more potent on his tongue. Savage desire surged through him. Controlling him. His demon, his true self, felt her phenomenal, infinite power and reacted to it, roaring so close to the surface his fangs grew longer and his forehead furrowed. His demon felt the terrifying entity that was Death, but he felt a woman . A warm, lush woman with smooth womanly curves and soft womanly bits.
He deepened the kiss, pressing his hips forward. His cock, engorged with blood and stiff with lust, ground against her groin. Fuck, he wanted her. Bad.
Removing one hand from her hair he grabbed her arse and jerked her hips closer to his, tugging her head backward with his other until her neck bowed into a glorious, exposed arc.
He tore his lips from her mouth and placed them on her throat, sucking at the warm, muscled column directly above her pulse. He could feel her indisputable power beneath his tongue, a latent current of utter supremacy that made the tiny hairs on his body stand on end. He’d never felt anything like it. It was raw. Ancient. Timeless. Undefeatable. He knew, before even puncturing her flesh and drinking her blood, he was already addicted to it. To her .
A hand fisted in his hair, brutally hard, whether to pull his head away or hold him to his neck, he didn’t care. He opened his mouth, ready to pierce the wonderful column of flesh, sinew and muscle. Ready to partake of the glorious, frightening power flowing through the veins within.
“Fuck, Steven, what are you doing to me?”
Death’s strangled question sent a ripple of liquid heat through Ven’s core. Fed his lust and his hunger. Mouth filling with saliva, cock rigid, blood burning, he tore his lips from her neck, wanting to see the desire he was positive smoldered in her eyes before he fed from the desire in her veins.
Needing to see it and know it
Nothing.
Peaceful waves rolled toward the shore with relaxing ease. Nothing burst from their smooth formation. No monster of the deep, no creature from the ocean’s floor.
Patrick sucked in breath after breath, chest rising and falling in rapid succession, studying the sea closely.
Nothing except a seagull skimming the surface out over Backpacker’s Express, a lone windsurfer away out in the distance and the rising sun peaking over the horizon in a blinding white slither of light.
He fell to his knees on the sand, shaking his head. What the fuck had just happened? Was he going insane?
He ran a shaking hand though his wet hair, the matted strands clinging to his fingers like seaweed.
Jesus. What was going on?
A seagull squawked behind him. The sound harsh. Frantic.
Patrick closed his eyes for a moment, steadying his breathing. In your mind, mate. Just in your mind. Time to pull your finger out and get back to work.
He pushed himself to his feet, turning to shoo the seagull away.
And saw the sand shift.
Tiny individual grains rolled over each other. Moving. Coming together. Building. Forming…
Patrick’s mouth went dry. Jesus, it’s a monster.
Muscles locked frozen. He stared at the rudimentary arms sprouting from a torso thick and dense and massive, at the hands forming on the end of each one, hands with talons both long and hooked. The sand shifted, like it was alive, a bulge the size of a head spewing from the formation. A head with a gaping maw and sunken, lifeless eyes.
A head that swiveled about until those lifeless pits came to rest on Patrick.
He stared at it, his blood roaring in his ears.
A monster. Looking at you.
The hideous thought unlocked his muscles and he lunged.
Straight for the sand creature.
Ven fisted his hands in Death’s hair, the cool, silken strands like molten ribbons threading through his fingers. He growled, plunging his tongue deeper into her open, willing mouth.
She tasted so fucking sweet, those mysterious, secret spices flavoring her scent a thousand times more potent on his tongue. Savage desire surged through him. Controlling him. His demon, his true self, felt her phenomenal, infinite power and reacted to it, roaring so close to the surface his fangs grew longer and his forehead furrowed. His demon felt the terrifying entity that was Death, but he felt a woman . A warm, lush woman with smooth womanly curves and soft womanly bits.
He deepened the kiss, pressing his hips forward. His cock, engorged with blood and stiff with lust, ground against her groin. Fuck, he wanted her. Bad.
Removing one hand from her hair he grabbed her arse and jerked her hips closer to his, tugging her head backward with his other until her neck bowed into a glorious, exposed arc.
He tore his lips from her mouth and placed them on her throat, sucking at the warm, muscled column directly above her pulse. He could feel her indisputable power beneath his tongue, a latent current of utter supremacy that made the tiny hairs on his body stand on end. He’d never felt anything like it. It was raw. Ancient. Timeless. Undefeatable. He knew, before even puncturing her flesh and drinking her blood, he was already addicted to it. To her .
A hand fisted in his hair, brutally hard, whether to pull his head away or hold him to his neck, he didn’t care. He opened his mouth, ready to pierce the wonderful column of flesh, sinew and muscle. Ready to partake of the glorious, frightening power flowing through the veins within.
“Fuck, Steven, what are you doing to me?”
Death’s strangled question sent a ripple of liquid heat through Ven’s core. Fed his lust and his hunger. Mouth filling with saliva, cock rigid, blood burning, he tore his lips from her neck, wanting to see the desire he was positive smoldered in her eyes before he fed from the desire in her veins.
Needing to see it and know it
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