The Light

(Adrian and Christina Outtake)

Adrian POV

As the great philosopher, Pluto, once said, "Woof."

Okay, the philosopher wasn't named Pluto, it was Plato. Pluto was a dog owned by Mickey Mouse. Plato was this weird guy who got his name from how wide his forehead was, or for as broad in range as his knowledge was. Depends on which Wiki source you want to claim at the bottom of your report. But big foreheads and wagging tails aren't the point. The point is, Plato once said, "We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light."

I like that.

I say it sometimes when my mind slips off into darkness and all I see is one pinpoint of light.

I don't see the purpose in fearing the light. The light is the only thing that reminds me something other than shadows exists.

I've become preoccupied with thoughts lately. One does that after a few days, weeks, months…however long it was, stuck in a box. I figure pondering the stuff that requires pondering a la one Winnie the Pooh style is better than naming imaginary friends. Which, don't get me wrong, if Christina hadn't found me I was well on my way to do doing. There's still one persistent bunny that likes to hop in from time to time. I wanted to call him Mr. Whiskers but I figured until we got on speaking terms it was presumptuous to give him a name. Maybe he already has a name…

There's a soft knock on the door. I forgot I was in a room with a door.

"Yeah," I holler.

It has to be Eddie. Castle's the only one here who cares to humor me with company. Color me four thousands shades of shocked when Christina slips into the room.

Seriously, I'm so stunned I just sit there and stare at her like an idiot. An idiot who was just having a philosophical debate about the name of an imagery bunny.

"Are you busy?" she asks.

I shrug. "Busy is as busy does." Yeah, reinventing Forrest Gump quotes, that'll win her over.

"You didn't show up for dinner."

Another shrug. "I wasn't hungry." For food. I leave the last part off because I don't want to scare her. I don't want to have to drink blood. I can't help it. She knows that. Much to a dismaying exchange a few nights ago she proved that to me, but that doesn't mean I want to bounce around like Count Von Count and name all the veins in her neck that I could tap into.

"Do you…" She shifts in place, hands nervously smoothly down nonexistent wrinkles in her skin-tight shirt. God, she looks good in that shirt. "Do you need…" She inclines her head and the big fat white elephant dripping blood is suddenly giving jazz hands in the middle of the room.

"Sex?" I say, because humor puts everyone at ease all the time, right?

Sure. Joking about getting naked with a girl who looks like she does back flips off moving trains for fun is going to make everyone in the room chill the fuck out. Little Adrian is certainly relaxed as can be.

Her skin is a silky russet color and I'm enchanted by the flush of red that seeps into the corners of her cheeks. She's a sunrise at the end of a dark night. I'd love to paint her. On canvas…and on her. She's so hard and soft, smooth and jagged. She's got scars on her hands and tattoos on her arms. I want to memorize every inch of her and draw her from scratch.

She blows a shaky breath between her lips. "Blood," she clarifies and I can't help but smirk.

I used to love making Rose hold a hard line when talking to me. It knocked her on her ass to have to dance around my word play. She did it to fight her attraction to me. Christina does it because she's no nonsense.

Lord help me, I've fallen for a woman who values honesty more than breathing.

"I could use a little bit of both," I say. I hope she thinks I say it because I'm being honest and open with her. I'm not, though. I'm saying it because I'm too horny and hungry to care.

She moves closer to my bed and I resist the urge to snarl. It really has been too long since I had regular feedings. Hers is the only blood I've tasted in this fucked up future. Just a whiff of her scent sends me on edge.

I keep my breaths shallow.

"When was your last relationship?"

I blink. Stare. Blink. I wonder when Mr. Whiskers will be back.

"Adrian?"

"I…uh…" I don't really want to tell you that I haven't been with anyone since Rose. "About five years."

Her eyes expand and I have to nod to reiterate just how hard up I am.

"You?" I ask, because turnabout is fair play.

She levels me with those dark eyes of hers. She has no fear of truth. "I'm a virgin."

Little Adrian is ready to step out and join this conversation. I bend my legs and prop my elbow on my knee. It's not disguising my erection at all, but I figure it's slightly more appropriate than just dropping my pants and offering to change her Facebook status.

Is Facebook even still a thing in this place?

"Does that bother you?" she asks.

Bother me? Why would the thought that I would be the first guy allowed to touch you affect me at all? Nope, I'm all good in knowing I'd be able to show you things you never ever knew existed and blow your mind without being constantly compared to all the guys who came before me.

I laugh at my pun.

She didn't hear it so she's looking at me like I'm nuts.

I am nuts. I can't keep a straight line of thought through one conversation.

"You're too pretty to be a virgin," I say. "Are guys in this century blind?"

She rolls her eyes and I don't miss the way her blush intensifies. "More like every guy I fall for ends up dead before we can do it."

"For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity."

Her eyebrows make a deep v in her forehead.

"William Penn said that."

Again I get the confused as all hell look.

"He was a…dude who said a lot of things. And died long before I was even born so…yeah now that I think about it's irrelevant to you guys."

I run a hand through my hair. I should quiz Tobias more in the next dream walk. "How to talk to a girl from the future." That's going to be the next topic.

"History isn't irrelevant. I like the words that William Penn said."

I get distracted by her smile. God, I want to paint that smile.

"Do you have paint?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "You're exhausting to talk to, do you know that?"

I nod. "Yeah, everyone tells me that." I shove off the bed, slipping on my shoes. "Come on."

"Where are—"

I open the door and wave toward the hallway. "Only one way to find out."

It's dark as shit as we walk through the hall. My eyes are used to no light. I don't know what her excuse for navigating her surroundings so well is. I've come to the conclusion that she's a ninja.

And now I'm picturing her dressed like Trinity in The Matrix.

I veer us right when we reach the floor where everyone eats. I remember seeing the word "Tattoo" on the wall the first night I was brought through here.

"I hate to tell you," she says, "but the tattoo shop is out of business."

"I'm not the tattoo type," I say, relieved to find the door is unlocked.

"Afraid of pain?"

"Nah, petrified of commitment."

She laughs and the sound does funky things to my back. Things I didn't think anyone could do to me anymore.

"Why are we here?"

"Tattoo artists specialize in ink, but," I say, inspecting the containers and jars that I find in every nook and cranny of the room, "they are also usually artists of other mediums."

I open a jar and sniff. Bingo.

"Do the lights work?"

She tests the switches on the wall. "Nope. Zeke cuts the power at dusk."

The dark might make this more fun. I don't need light to see what I'm doing. I'm not entirely sure how much she can see in here. Dhampirs would have a little trouble with no light, but humans are a total mystery to me.

"Can you see anything?"

"No. Why? Are you naked?"

She's teasing me. I groan. "You don't play fair."

There's that laugh again. I wonder if she sings. She has a voice like an angel.

She is an angel.

"What are you doing?"

"Grab a seat," I say. I locate a jar of black and a jar of white paint. I don't bother looking for brushes. I was a big fan of finger painting in kindergarten and I've been meaning to get back to basics.

"I don't suppose you're familiar with ancient Chinese philosophy, huh?" I ask.

There's that Adrian is smoking the good stuff look. "Let's pretend I'm not."

Her sarcasm tickles me. I ease her back against the chair, looking her up and down for the perfect spot to do this. My eyes are drawn to her abdomen. Her shirt pulled up just a little when she laid back and the sweetest spot of skin is peeking out at me.

"Can I touch you?" I ask, moving the edge of her shirt higher before she can respond.

She inhales sharply. Every inch of me tightens up at the sound. Little Adrian is doing handstands in my lap.

Five years of celibacy is a long damn time.

"Um…sure," she says.

That one word does something to me. I'm transported. The room goes darker as my eyes see past the realm of solid things. Her aura sparkles like a goddamn firecracker. She's the Fourth of July and Christmas lights and every candle ever lit in the name of a saint.

"You're gorgeous," I say. I don't say it to get in her pants. I don't even say it because it's true, and trust me it's true. I just don't think she hears it enough. I don't think anyone in this place stops to really look at her. Their eyes recognize her but nobody sees her.

Their loss. My eyes feel lonely if I spend more than a few hours without her in them.

I dip my pointer finger in the black paint. "So," I say, clearing my throat when the word gets stuck. "Ancient Chinese philosophers believed that for every good there is a bad. For every rise there is a fall. And for every light—"

"There is a dark?" Her aura turns a shade of light blue with a wave of uncertainty. She's guessing and worried she's wrong, but she's right.

I'm just happy she's willing to play along. I touch my paint covered finger to her stomach, drawing a lazy outline of the quotation mark looking shape. I pull the paint down from the line to fill in the space, leaving one small spot at the top clear.

The light blazing around her flashes yellow, then orange. She's getting excited by this.

Next I dip my pinky into the white paint. "Balance is the way of nature. Harmony is the goal of all living things." I mirror my work with the black paint and create a white inverted quotation mark pressed against the black. When joined together they form a complete circle. I leave one spot free of color in the top of the white.

"So, there can't be any dreams without nightmares?"

I dip my finger back into the black and drop a dot of black in the open space within the white. "Yes, and there can be no life without death." I do the same with my pinky and one drop of white within the black.

"Why are you vandalizing my stomach?"

"I want you to be my light," I say. I frown. "No…what I mean is you are my light and I just wanted you to know."

The spirit coursing through me is making everything feel heavy. I can barely hold my head up. The walls are leaning on top of me. I can't shut it off, though. Her aura melts into a fiery shade of red that hypnotizes me. It's like she's got a cloud of passion and lust and blood swirling around her.

I lick my lips.

"I don't think you're the darkness, Adrian."

She means it. God, the woman is Pinocchio and George Washington and Jim Carrey all rolled into one. She can't tell a lie to save her life. To save my life.

She's excited. I can smell it. I can taste it on the air. Her heart is speeding up and her blood is racing through her veins, racing to all the special places that I want to touch.

"I should probably go," I say. My voice doesn't sound right. I'm not right. I'm buzzed on just the thought of drinking her. I'm so worked up I'm liable to get off on just the bite alone.

She doesn't need to see that. She thinks I'm not dark. Seeing my monster will lay that lie to rest.

"No," she says. Her hands are on my face. How can anyone feel this good? Only her palms are touching my cheeks and yet I feel like she's stroking every inch of me.

"You need to feed."

I shake my head, but my hands grab her shoulders against my will. I clench my jaw. I'll give myself TMJ before I'll open my mouth over her neck again.

"Go away," I say between my teeth.

She shakes her head. "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm okay with you doing it?"

"I can't," I start to say and she presses a finger to my lips.

I'm drowning in her essence and her scent. Her patience makes me feel small. And there's this look in her eyes that makes me feel sky-fucking-high.

"Can I kiss you?"

I don't know what to say. I'm dreaming. I finally figured out where they store the booze in this place and I got so shitfaced that I'm imaging drawing pictures on her stomach. Out of the corner of my eye I see a fuzzy little bunny bounce off the end of the tattoo chair.

So long Mr. Whiskers.

"Adrian," she says, pulling my focus back to her. She doesn't ask again. Just leans forward and plants a hard kiss on my lips.

I'm out of control. Crazy from spirit, desperate from hunger, and I'm so damn in love with her it hurts. I kiss her back, but I'm not gentle or sweet about it. I'll make sure the next time I kiss her I do it softly. I'll spend the next thousand nights of our lives pressing my lips delicately to every inch of her body.

But not tonight.

Tonight I'm devouring her, starting with her mouth. I'm careful to keep my fangs away from her tender skin. It's not that I haven't decided I'm going to drink from her, I will, I just want to tease her first. I want this chaotic rush that I feel to echo in her. Once I bite her we'll both be too far gone to enjoy it.

Her fingers tangle in my hair while mine rip her shirt in two.

She breaks the kiss with a gasp. "Hey. I like this shirt."

I don't have the ability to talk. A growl is rumbling in my chest as I stare at her. Her throat's right there. So smooth, so soft, so easy to pierce. She'll be delicious, she has been every time I've tasted her.

My hand slides along her collarbone, curving around her neck.

She steps back and I let my hand drop. I won't attack her. I won't. I can't. I'll go lock myself in a hole before I take anything from her against her will.

I'm just about to do that, run out of here and lick my wounds, when she reaches for her belt. She stares at me with desire in her eyes and she unzips her pants and lets them fall to the floor. My pants feel so tight I might just break through the material like the Incredible Hulk.

Although his pants always stayed intact.

I'm distracted by sideways thoughts and miss her removing her shirt. I don't realize she's naked until she helping me remove my clothes and my hands become preoccupied with touching her. Her skin blends into the shadows but I see her as clear as day. My fingertips brush the smeared design I drew on her stomach and then dip lower. She moans, leaning back in my embrace as I slip my finger into her warmth.

"You sure about this?" I ask. I'm on the ledge. One more second I'm going to be tumbling over and I won't be able to stop myself. But if she tells me to stop, I'll stop.

She shoves me toward the nearest chair and I plop down into a sit. She climbs up, straddling my lap and positioning herself over me.

Fuck, she's fearless. Confident. Beautiful.

It's been so long. Too long.

My hands help guide her down. I suck in a breath as she eases over me. She's wet and warm and tight, and I can't remember the last time anything felt this good. I give her a moment to get comfortable. My toes are curling and my eyes are rolling back in my head.

"So," I say, cause talking seems like such a great idea at this point. "I don't know how much you know about Moroi anatomy."

Her face is pressed against the side of my neck and I feel her smile. "Let's pretend it's not much."

A shaky laugh jumps out of my mouth. "Yeah…well you know about our bite. How uh—"

"Good it feels," she whispers, pressing her lips to the shell of my ear.

I shiver. "Yeah. Well uh…it's uh…it's heightened when …uh…"

She leans back, looking me in the eye. I'm a sweaty, panting mess of raw masculinity. At least I hope I am. Mostly I'm sure I look like a pale out of breath mess of a mess.

She spreads her legs wider, taking me as far as she can and leans her head to the left. Her hands force my face forward until my tongue tastes the salt of her skin. She moves her hips ever so slightly and pleasure shoots up my spine. My teeth sink into her neck. Blood rushes into my mouth.

And I lose my goddamn mind.

I snarl holding her against me tightly as I feed. The entire world is red with lust and she tastes better than anything else and I can't stop. She cries out, rolling her hips forward and I'm spinning us around, throwing her on the seat under me as my body takes on a mind of its own. My hips thrust hard and fast and deep as I continue to drink. My senses are heightened, every nerve is electric as we move together.

It doesn't take long. It doesn't need to.

Her nails bite into my back as I dislodge my fangs from her throat. I run my tongue along the wound, healing the cuts and I keep up the quick, sharp pace with my hips. She writhing, arching her back, making noises I wish I could record and play on repeat. It's not pretty, it's not romantic. It's primal and passionate and when her muscles clench around me I'm gone. I lock up, coming so hard I see stars.

Afterwards, our labored breaths are softened by the darkness in the shop. I'm collapsed on top of her and I know I should move but everything below my neck feels like Jell-O.

"Wow," she says. Her voice sounds like a satisfied purr.

I smile, planting a kiss to the side of her neck. "Not a virgin anymore."

She nuzzles my the top of my head. "Nothing dark about you. You're too shiny to be dark."

Shiny? I laugh until my sides hurt and my head is so light I feel as high as she must. My eyes relax and I see her aura. Talk about shiny. She puts the sun to shame.

I did that.

I made her that happy.

I shift us around so I'm on the bottom and she's snuggled on top of me. I keep my arms around her. I'm not entirely sure what just happened.

But I think I finally found the rise to my fall.

I found my light.

And I'm not planning on ever fearing her.