Of Witches and Warlocks: The Complete Series

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

What do you do to help someone who doesn't like who they are, but are genetically unable to change their circumstances? My mind was in total upheaval, as I lay twisted in the covers with my sleeping husband.

Vance was exhausted—both physically and mentally. I had to give him kudos for never backing down from a daunting task he needed to tackle. When he made up his mind to do something it was difficult to make him see things otherwise, and he'd made up his mind to beat his demon tendencies.

While that sounded nice in theory, it was making his life a living hell.

In the days since we left the waterfall, he spent a lot of time testing his boundaries. He refused to drink my blood, which in turn caused him to be extremely irritated and angry. He spent hour after hour outside chopping wood, trying to burn off some of his physical aggression. When he was done splitting, he stacked all the pieces into perfectly organized rows in the three sided wood shed on the property. The structure was near to overflowing now, but he didn't stop, continuing his self-imposed therapy.

Quietly, I observed him from my chair on the porch, watching him work until he was glistening with sweat from exertion. Only when he was near exhaustion would he drop the axe and make his way to the house, pausing to lightly kiss me on the cheek, before going to get cleaned up while I made him some dinner.

He didn't like me to be far from him, I quickly discovered. I kept myself scarce during the first day he tried this, and he yelled at me for it.

"I need you next to me!" he shouted, pinning my shoulders roughly to the wall when he came into the kitchen. "It's the only way I can get used to handling the temptation."

"I'm sorry. I thought it would be easier for you if I kept my distance," I tried to explain, staring into his flaming eyes.

"I don't want you to keep your distance," he growled, crushing his lips to mine as he kissed me hard, choosing to ravish me right there where we stood.

Being together was a major release for his pent up emotions, but it also compounded his problem. His blood lust was so tied up with his physical reaction to me I would often stare at him with worry, watching him while he moved. His face was a mask of determined control, breaking out in a beaded sweat, as his fangs lengthened in anticipation of a drink he wouldn't allow.

Often, he would collapse on top of me in a heap, burying his face in my neck to lick and suck where he wanted to bite so badly. Sometimes his teeth grazed over my skin just enough to draw small droplets. He lapped those up quickly before the Awakening healed me again, his body shaking with violent tremors of longing.

Many times he fell asleep right there in my arms, and I didn't move for fear of disturbing the only snatches of peace he could find.

I knew it was hard for him. It was hard for me too. I made the same vow to not drink any of his blood either. Though I didn't suffer from withdrawal, I did miss the sweet taste of him and the strength his power temporarily added to mine. But it was time to face the facts—Awakening or not—taking from him was leading me down a path I had always hoped to avoid. No, I wouldn't make the change, but I could feel a wild restlessness in myself when I drank from him—something that wasn't normally there otherwise.

Vance shifted, sliding off me slightly, but still keeping me pinned under him possessively with one arm and leg. "I'm so tired," he whispered in a gravelly voice.

"I can only imagine," I replied, studying him and finding his eyes still closed. "You've been putting yourself through a rigorous test."

"This is harder than I thought it would be. I think it's making me sick."