As part of Sneak Peak Sunday, I am sharing six never seen paragraphs of a current WIP called Kiss Eternal:
Michaela took a deep breath and closed her eyes as air eased through her sore body. Bit by bit, she made her way across the stone floor to where Rafe lay. He didn’t stir as she came up alongside him and rolled him onto his back with her bound hands. Blood, wet and dry, speckled and stained his pallid skin. Gray circles fanned out beneath his eyes.
Lifting her hands Michaela tore what remained of Rafe’s t-shirt down the middle, exposing his chest and stomach. She paused, taking in his chiseled abs and defined pecs. And they called her a witch. The devil himself couldn’t match Rafe’s temptation. She averted her gaze, worked to remove the scraps of his shirt. Filthy. She rose to her feet and walked along the dungeon wall to where water trickled down the stone. The small bit of liquid soaked into the cloth. She squeezed it out then let it absorb more water. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. She needed to clean his wounds to some degree.
“Okay.” She knelt beside him. “Por favor, please, don’t wake up and bite me.” She placed the wet cotton against his chest and held it there several seconds before releasing a long breath. With small strokes she cleaned his wounds, traveling back to her water source every so often to clean her makeshift rag. Even clear of the dirt and grime, his wounds bled.
Michaela sat back on her heels. She had no choice but to stop the bleeding herself. It would mean tasting his blood and there would be no turning back afterward. Unless he was willing to give up his immortality, he absolutely couldn’t drink from her. Leaning forward, she opened her mouth and placed it over the torn skin of his side. She brushed wet kisses along the damaged skin, sucking out blood as she moved along. His body had already rejected the silver bullets. A good sign. Skin mended and stretched, allowing her to focus on other injuries.
He shifted beneath her and she pulled back, but not fast enough as he held the material of her dress in his steely grip. His eyes glowed burgundy, his fangs elongated. One tug and she’d tumble into his arms.
Michaela sank back to the ground from her squatted position. She grew weak from the healing. “Please, don’t drink from me.”
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