The Demon's Reprisal

Chapter 34⁓ Reid

"Reid," Lucas begs, the rasp in his voice and tenseness in his muscles giving away the fact he's holding back. "It's important. Really—" His voice falters at the curl of Reid's fingers around his wrist. "Really important. You'll—damn, listen to me."

Lucas doesn't try and hold back his groan as any semblance of shaking control Reid might have had dissipates, and he licks the blood that's calling him so sweetly he'd have to be insane to deny it's beckoning. And Reid's not insane. No, he's not. He doesn't think so, anyway. He's just a sane guy who isn't averse to lapping at his friend's fingers.

A very good friend who suddenly has a fistful of Reid's hair, and those wonderful fingers are thrust between Reid's lips and pressed heavily against his tongue. He chokes because he hadn't expected it in the slightest, although the dark whispering delights in the forwardness.

His brain flips from hunting to giving without any resistance. Reid realizes belatedly that he can physically feel the innate sense of dynamics that his brain is constantly rewiring. He understands now why the vampire hierarchy has always seemed so bizarre to outside observation: sir and ma'am, master, and loyalty to the death.

Reid's fingers shackling Lucas's wrist tighten with some basal instinct to keep him close. The blooming taste of blood has Reid close to feralness. He can hear the animal sounds he's making from a distance. The most important thing in his teetering world is quelling the ringing in his ears and the crashing waves of misery in his gut.

Then the bloody fingers hook behind his teeth. He can't do anything. The blood is kept out of reach of his tongue. Reid's angry—so angry that he digs his nails into the wrist he's clutching, trying to entice a reaction, but the hand holding his mouth hostage shakes hard enough for Reid's head to fog terribly.

Reid gives up and complains, garbling curses around the fingers. He thinks Lucas is talking to him but can't hear the words. His ears are ringing, and the dark whispers are too loud and velvety. He doesn't want to listen to anything else.

The fist grasping Reid's hair pacifies his struggles by tugging painfully. And Reid kicks out, shoes crunching glass, only to lose his fight quickly because he thinks maybe if he does, the fingers will return. It's pitiful, really, but he can't find it in himself to care all that much.

Suddenly, a deep voice rises above the din in Reid's splintered mind. Lucas must have been talking for a while because the man is mid-growl, "—control yourself, or I'll do it for you."

The threat isn't subtle, and Reid glares at Lucas through half-lidded eyes. "Fuck you," he garbles; his impulses have taken over his mind and his mouth.

The slap to Reid's face is startling—a rough palm meeting bruised skin hard enough for Reid's vision to whiten. The fingers leave his lips, but the grip on his hair remains, keeping him upright.

Reid is gasping and shaking with an unfamiliar rage. The lack of heat in Lucas's eyes, instead clouded with despair, has Reid livid beyond reason.

"I hate you," Reid growls, not meaning the words. "I hate you!"

Lucas snarls. "I'm not Kane."

"He'll kill you," Reid growls. "You—" Prick. Skin hitting skin, and then pain.

Reid was unprepared for the second slap because he'd not thought Lucas would dare. The same cheek, the one that throbs from his earlier fall, and his gaze waters with involuntary tears.

"Stop hitting me!"

"No. Kane coddles, and it'll be the end for you, both of you," Lucas says, his voice gentler. "I won't let that happen." He chuckles. "I'll beat your ass if that means you'll stay you. Hell, it looks like it's working."