you know that part in the movie where B is trying to get E to hang out and have fun, and he's all reserved but clearly fucking enamored af, and he gets all whispery and deep like, "which beach?"

i fucking love that part.

i could make you come in threes

i'm halfway to my knees

am i too close for comfort?

The Kills: Siberian Nights

XVIII

It's still Friday, February first, or at least it was the last time I looked at my phone.

Double-checking it once more after crossing from the forest to the concrete, the date remains the same, and it's 3:03 in the afternoon in La Push, Washington. Wind that smells like spring but still feels like winter whips against my hood as I pull it back up, and bright sunlight fills a cloudless cerulean sky while nebulous disquiet broods low in my heart of darkness.

I'm nowhere near as weary as I was this morning, but palpable soreness isn't all gone. The warmth of it lingers in my jaw, wrists, and thighs as I walk the rest of the way to Shoot the Moon.

I don't know what I'm going to say when I get there. I could ask him to check up on his work. To ensure that I'm healing properly. Or I could get something new.

I've fantasized about asking him to pierce my tongue. How he'd have to tell me to open my mouth. How he'd have to touch my lips. My tongue. How open I'd have to keep my mouth for both of his hands. How vulnerable and intimate and violent -

I would love it, but the act of private harm would only last so long, and once it was over - I can't stand the thought of anything between us when I'm doing what I was made to do. Even his own metal. I can't stand the thought of anything but Grim in my mouth ever again.

His Nova sits in the far corner of the parking lot, and I can't help but wonder if it smells as good as his bed. I'm rapt suddenly with wondering what it would be like to kiss him in the backseat, deep and heavy, until our lips are swollen and it's hard to breathe. How good I would feel stretched across the front bench, my head in his lap, sating my ache while he drives us far and fast. How warm the steel would be against my back if he pulled over onto some secluded side road and laid me down on the hood, his inked-hand on my chest, keeping me in place while his hips hold my thighs heaven-wide so he can slide and sink and fill the sea of me with him, him, him -

I can't believe I never thought to sneak into his car and imbue it like I have everything else. Swallowing tightly against desire so strong my knees almost buckle, I drag a single fingertip along the shiny black driver's side as I walk past. Saving the interior for tonight, I run my palm along the handle and keep moving.

As I step through the shop's front door, I find the boy with wolf cub eyes slouching behind the counter.

"Hey, hey, look who it is," he greets, standing up straight when I enter. "Long time no see, Bella."

Every part of me softens without reservation or permission, just like it always does when Grim's scent hits me.

But it stops there, with his scent.

And I know instantly.

He's not here.

"You know for a while, I was beginning to think you were developing an addiction," Seth jests.

"There's worse things to be addicted to." I dig my hands into my pockets as I approach him, looking around casually. "Where's Grim?"

"Just down the street. What brings you in? Getting something new?"

I hadn't considered he wouldn't be here. I tell myself to nod.

"Awesome. Come in and hang out. It's dead in here today. What are you getting?"

Off on violating my prey's space.

Hot all over just thinking about him.

Barely by after he spilled his soul instead of giving it to me last night.

"What's down the street?" I ask, keeping my curiosity indifferent.

"Quileute Animal Rescue. It's really cool. Actually -"

Seth pauses and looks at the computer.

"Wanna go check it out?"

Every butterfly inside me flutters wildly.

I shrug. "Sure."

Grabbing his phone, he pulls up his hoodie-hood. "Hey, Birds," he calls down the hall. "I'm taking my break."

"Bring coffee," a gruff voice responds.

"And muffins," Anchor bellows between the buzz of his gun and the mumble of minor chords flowing through the whole place.

The apprentice that can't be much older than I look rolls his eyes on our way out the door. He talks as we walk, asking questions that any puppy with a crush would ask and amicably filling in the spots I leave blank with facts about himself.

Frigid wind encircles us, but even in just a thin, oversized sweater and torn up jeans, where I'm from keeps me warm. Infernal heat kisses every inch of my skin from within, blushing me the paradigm of summer-peach pink even in the middle of winter. The sun shines enviously down, reflecting off windshields and shop windows in gleaming blinks of white-gold as we turn a corner, and Seth notes that I'm not big on small talk.

I don't reply. I'm watching daylight glint and play in a car's side-mirror and thinking about Grim's gold fang. His shiny, pointless star of Ishtar. The gilded tone of his groan when I swallow what he's made of -

I should be able to scent his nearness by now. I didn't pick it up on the way to the shop either though, and I didn't even realize until I was already where he was supposed to be, that he wasn't.

"Are we almost there?" I ask, combing the cold air for any hint of gunflint and stone fruit.

"Yep, right over here." He points across the street between a bookstore and a cafe.

Even as we cross, I can't pick up a single whisper of his scent.

Not even on the side walk.

I've taken Edward-I-Give-My-Demon-Nightmares-Cullen deep enough that I should be able to hear his heartbeat a mile from here. It should be forcing my own heart to match its pace by now. If he's as close as Seth says he is, my knees should be trembling to bend and crawl. My mouth should be watering by the time we open the door. All of me should be. I should be a fervid little sea -

But even as we enter, all I feel is strung out.

Unnerved.

And starving.

Seth says hi to a couple of girls as we walk through the place that smells like pet food and disinfectant.

"Is Grim out back?" He asks as I trail behind, avoiding eye contact with females I have no reason to be jealous of, but am. Badly. I'm so jealous of their accessibility to the one I crave, of their nearness and likeness to him that it ties knots in my already twisted-up stomach.

I can't hear what they say under their breath as we keep walking, but it turns the knots and tightens my lips into a thin line.

Then Seth opens another door and we're back in the chilly daylight, and I see him.

Mine no matter what those girls or anyone else thinks.

Mine no matter where he goes or how long it takes me to find him.

Mine no matter how much he fights it.

Mine, just mine is sitting on a ledge at the far end of a yard, throwing a frisbee for a couple bullboxers. Hair the color of cider and cinders is pushed back and falling over his ears, and a tiny black cat is perched on his left shoulder. His black hoodie is unzipped over a black tee, and he's drenched in sunlight, smiling.

I've never seen him smile so wide.

And I've never felt any shame about who I am or what I do, until that smile falls from him like a blade.

Halfway across bright green grass, the wolf cub stops to play with the animals, filling the stifling silence between me and my prey with lighthearted babbling. I don't know what to say or do. Just a few seconds ago he was more at ease than I've ever seen him and now he's unmercifully tense, and I don't love it like I usually do. Like I used to. Like I want to.

Instead, I feel guilty.

Greedy.

Bad, and not in a good way.

"What's up, EKG?" The man I'm here for asks after a few suffocating seconds. He rubs his light and dark hands together, then runs them over his black jeans. His jaw flexes as he sits forward. Then leans back. More uncomfortable than ever.

"Nothing," the boy playing tug of war with two dogs says. "Bella wanted to see the Rescue."

"That's not -" I snap my eyes to Seth and immediately regret my defensive tone. Shaking my head while my fitful pulse races, I face Grim again and take a few steps toward him. Running one hand casually through my hair, I send my scent out. "I'm here to get pierced. To ask you to pierce me."

I can feel his heart now, pounding furiously against his ribs, every brutal beat bearing down on my own as he looks any and everywhere but at me.

"What's she getting?" He asks like I'm not standing right there. Subjugated from the chest out. Bound from the mouth down. So under his thumb I swear I feel it beneath my sweater, pressing against my unbuttoned jeans, right where I ache.

"I don't know." Seth laughs, rolling around in the grass with grumbly half-pitbull-boxers.

My lover presses his lips together as he squints against the sunlight, ignoring me so hard it feels aggressive.

The near-guilt I felt just a moment ago is gone, swallowed whole by possession. Obsessive craving. Requirement. He's got what I need and he's going to give it to me. Every last drop. Especially the last drop.

Stress strains his entire frame as I step forward, closing the small distance.

"My ears," I say, softly and clearly, turning to sit on his ledge.

He stands up at the same time, keeping obvious space between us.

So I stand back up too.

"You pointed it out the first time I came in," I remind him with a small smile, taking two steps forward for each longer one he drifts back. "Remember?"

The kitten clings to his shoulder with little claws as he moves, and he brings it down, cradling the tiny sharp thing to his sternum as he continues to spurn me with impunity.

"Did she fill out a sheet?"

His avoidance is too much in the wake of last night.

It's violent.

It's been too long since I've put this man in his place.

"Seth-"

"What? No, we just came over here. I still have to go next door for Birds and Anchor."

The baby black cat climbs up black hoodie cotton, making the smallest sounds and trying to burrow under my lover's collar. I relate so much my veins ache.

It should be me up there.

Me in his hands.

Me with my claws in him.

He starts to walk, and the loss of pressure from his pulse leaves my own bereft. If he thinks I'm going to run errands with some apprentice -

I don't bother telling him to wait. He's halfway through the door and doesn't hold it as I jog at a human pace to catch up.

Back inside the building, he hands off the kitten to one of the girls.

"Awww, hi, Leaves," she coos, nuzzling its cheek to her cheek.

"Not much longer," the other girl says to Grim, pretting the cat's crown. "And she'll be all yours."

None of them acknowledge me in any way, but they have to know I'm standing there, right on the edge of his shadow. I know he knows. I can feel resentment rising off him like heat waves.

"Less than two weeks now," the first girl adds, rubbing noses with the little feline. "We're going to miss you so much. Yes, we are."

"Thanks," is all he says before he's moving again, and I'm following him outside.

I don't try to walk beside him.

He wants to feel like he's in charge.

So I let him.

For now.

Absorbing surge after surge of how tense my proximity makes him, I stay a step and a half behind the whole way back to the shop. He doesn't hold the door here either, but he swings it wide enough for me to make it if I rush.

A heady swell of his scent hits me as the door closes and it's all I can do not to moan his name. Grab him by the back of his hoodie. Turn him around and drop to my knees and tell him everything.

What I am.

What I've done.

What I'm going to do -

Shoot the Moon isn't like the rescue shelter. It's familiar, in sleep and waking. As I move through the penny-tiled lobby, memories and longing and every dream I've had of this place swirl and bloom with each step. Messing with my resolve. Unsettling and disorienting me because it feels like flashbacks and fantasies and right now are all happening at once.

Like Grim tosses the clipboard and pen onto the counter the same time he walks down the hall. Like the bathroom door closes the same time he locks it. Like I'm walking down the same hall the same time I'm sitting down on his vinyl table. Like the room that haunts me asleep or awake tilts and floats the same time the words and lines on the consent form blur together as I try to focus.

Mine from his somber auburn bedhead to his folded-down Docs walks in the same time he tells me to sit up, the same time he turns my chin and rubs something cold and clean over my earlobe.

One the same time as the other.

I sit still, with no memory of lying down.

The man I keep asking to mark me doesn't ask if I'm ready. He tells me to hold onto the table instead of reminding me to take a deep breath, and I tuck my hair behind my ear the same time he hurts it.

One ear the same time as the other.

I wince as the sting steadies me.

And it's all over far too soon.

Gloves snap off while his pulse forces mine to ride ruthless beats. A tide of full-body softening makes me sway at the same time, and when I breathe in, the air is feverish with the familiar taste of him. Clingstone-fresh and cottonmouth-dangerous. Thick midnight and thicker lust, and intimacy so invasive, so heavy, I can hardly close my lips.

I need to lick him.

Any part of him.

I need him on my tongue so bad it hurts.

Cleaning up, washing his hands, neglecting me to the point it feels like punishment, he picks up the clipboard and puts it in my lap instead of answering when I ask if he's this nice to all his clients.

"Fill that out," he says, callous for a voice so burning warm. He rubs his thumb over his lips at the same time, leaving a streak of darkness there when I look up.

My pulse grinds to a halt, but the malicious mark is gone when I blink. I swear it was there. I saw it so clearly I bring my fingers to my own mouth and check my reflection.

No dripping black.

Just a pouty pink mouth and blushed pink cheeks and throbbing pink earlobes.

In the corner of my eye, Grim takes off his hoodie. Tossing it randomly. It lands on the table beside me, and it takes every conscious effort not to pick it up and huff it like a drug.

He's about to walk out when EKG and Anchor open the curtain instead.

"Whoa," mumbles the taller one.

"Seth, turn the heat down," Grim says, his face flushed with warmth as he takes a few steps back into the room. He keeps as much distance as he can, but the space is small. He can't help how close he has to stand to me.

My pulse revels under the weighted rhythm of his as he notices his hoodie and picks it back up.

"It's on like, 66, dude," the shortest of the three replies, nodding a smile my way.

"Don't go getting sick, man." Anchor gives Grim a half-joking, half-warning look. "You've ditched the guy the last two Fridays."

"Yeah, you have to come tonight," Seth agrees. "It's his birthday."

Swaying slightly, my piercer nods. He pushes longish hair back with his left hand, and I swear I see it again. Darkness like a streak of slick smoke smudged from his temple, back through messy shades of dirty autumn.

He pats Anchor's shoulder as he edges between them to get out. "Come here, I gotta talk to you."

Every end of every nerve in my body cries at the loss of proximity.

"You know, you're supposed to fill that out before the piercing," the boy with wolf pup eyes says, nodding to the paper in my lap as he steps into Grim's absence. He smells like dogs and coffee, and the urge to get up and go after what's mine is so strong I can't sit still.

Standing up, I circle all the right answers while Seth lingers, awkward with attraction he didn't ask for.

"You should come with us tonight," he offers. "The more the merrier."

My yearning heart floats with possibilities.

"There's this club in Port Angeles. I know that's kind of far, but Forks is on my way anyway. I could pick you up, if you want."

I don't know what club or whose birthday or why he knows I live in Forks, but none of it matters.

All that matters is Grim will be there.

"Sounds great," I tell him, signing Bella Swan's name to the form. "What time?"