Free Dead Flesh by Tim O'Rourke Page A

unhappy, Kiera,” he
said. “You haven’t been the same since you came back.”
    “Neither have
you,” I said.
    “I know I
haven’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I
didn’t have a reason for being here – I didn’t have a fight,” he
explained.
    “And now that
you’ve got the Lycanthrope to hunt, you feel happy?” I asked
him.
    “Isn’t a fight
just what you’ve been looking for, too?” he came back at me. “Isn’t
that what this whole setting yourself up as an investigator thing
is all about? You’re looking for trouble. Kiera, me and you are the
same. We need a fight in our lives.”
    “Is that all
you need?” I asked him.
    “No,” he
whispered, bringing his face within inches of mine.
    “What else
then?”
    “This,” he
said, ripping my shirt open with one quick swipe of his claws, and
pushing me down onto the floor.
     

Chapter Thirteen
     
    Kiera
     
    For the first
time since returning from the dead, we made love together. We took
our time. It wasn’t rushed or frantic like it had been in the
caves, below the Fountain of Souls. And for the first time, there
weren’t those guilty thoughts which had plagued me for so long
about Luke. He was now gone from my life and forgotten. Even my
fears about those cracks that had appeared on my skin slipped to
the back of my mind as I lay back on the floor of the summerhouse.
Potter was unusually gentle, covering my face, neck, shoulders,
breasts, and stomach with soft kisses. There was no music either,
just the sound of the rain drumming against the summerhouse roof
and the gentle rise and fall of our breathing.
    “I love you,
Kiera,” he whispered against my cheek as he lowered himself onto
me.
    “I love you
too,” I smiled, running my hands through his untidy hair. I dug my
fingernails into the small of his back and there was a sudden urge
to completely let go, but I couldn’t, just in case those cracks in
my dead flesh appeared. So, closing my eyes, I arched my back
slightly, as he gripped my wrists and pinned me to the floor. He
pressed his mouth over mine and I could feel his fangs with the tip
of my tongue. They felt sharp, and I gasped slightly as I felt the
warm sensation of my own blood spill over my tongue. The coppery
taste of it in the back of my throat felt sweet and my whole body
shivered beneath him.
    He felt me
tremor and whispered, “You want the red stuff, don’t you?”
    With my arms
and legs entwined around him, I murmured the word, “Yes.”
    Then,
positioning his neck so it brushed over my lips, Potter said, “Well
drink then, it’s not as if you can kill me, Kiera.”
    I could smell
him against me, but more than that, I could smell the blood beneath
his skin. It made my head spin, and even though I didn’t have a
heart, I could feel a beating starting to build throughout my body.
It started in my head, then to my chest, fingertips, and toes. As
the beating grew faster and more intense, so did my desire to
pierce his skin with my own fangs. But if I did, would those cracks
in my flesh appear? Did it matter if they did? Did I really care
anymore? All I wanted was to bite him - sink my teeth into him as
he made love to me.
    And as he moved
gently over me, I could feel my claws growing from the tips of my
fingers and I dragged them down the length of his back. He sighed
and moved faster. I could feel the warm sensation of his blood
beneath my claws and the smell was intoxicating. It filled the air
like the sweetest of scents. The beating inside me got faster and I
pulled him down on top of me, never wanting to let him go. It was
like I wanted to be a part of him somehow. It was like our
lovemaking wasn’t enough – it didn’t bring us close enough.
    With my head
spinning and feeling more alive than I’d had when I was living, and
my skin feeling as if it was on fire, I lunged forwards and sank my
teeth into his neck. His blood gushed into my mouth. I’d only ever
been drunk once before and the sensation I now felt was