Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
I quickly leave the room, locking it behind me, then step out of the chapel with a bucket I use to fill the stoup. Roosters crow with the rising sun, and I hurry to the sacramental well, where the holy water is drawn from behind the chapel, filling up the bucket before heading back into the church.
Once I’m locked in the back room again, I stand a few feet back from the Syren and then heave the contents of the bucket at her. The water splashes over her like a slap, and she lifts her head with a muffled gasp.
Relieved, I put the bucket down and go over to her. I reach out and brush her wet hair off her angelic face.
Those angry violet eyes stare back at me, her nostrils flaring.
I can’t help but smile.
“I was worried you were close to death,” I say to her. I know she doesn’t understand, but it still feels good to talk. “I don’t know much about keeping a Syren alive, but perhaps you need water, just as I need blood.”
She frowns, delicate brows knitting together, and lets out a low growl. To see the fight in her return brings me a perverse sort of joy.
A drop of water rolls down over her nose to her lips, sinking behind the metal chain, and I see her pink tongue dart out to lick it, a sight that makes my cock twitch. I do my best to ignore it.
“I suppose you might want something to drink,” I muse, stepping back and looking around the room. I’ll have to go back out again later for more water, and I’m not about to offer her blood, especially not her own, so I go to the cask I know has wine and open it. The chalice I drank from last night is empty, so I pour wine into it and bring it over to her.
“I’m going to assume you’ve never had wine before,” I say as her eyes focus on the chalice, fear and curiosity mixing in shades of a bruise. “I can’t promise it will taste good to you. Frankly, the wines they give us for the church are not of the highest quality, and I don’t know if it will be enough to quench your thirst. But Jesus turned water into wine, and I can only hope I can turn this wine into water.”
I step closer to her and reach out with one hand for the back of the cross, finding where I had latched the chains together. Once again, her breasts are against my chest, though because of my black shirt, I don’t feel them as I did last night.
“I’m going to undo the chain so you can drink freely,” I murmur, staring down into her eyes. “You can try and bite me, but rest assured, you cannot hurt me. You can scream, but I will either put this chain back in your mouth or take away your voice. It’s up to you.”
Her nostrils flare as she stares up at me, but she eventually relents, a tired sigh rumbling through her.
I undo the chain and pull it away from her mouth, quickly stepping back with it. Her mouth widens and stretches, and she winces, obviously sore. The chains have left rusty red grooves at the corners of her mouth, reminding me of blood.
“Behave,” I warn her, coming closer again with the chalice. “You bite me, and I will bite you right back. I won’t turn the other cheek.”
She stares at me intently and swallows, licking her dry lips, wriggling the tension from her jaw.
Then, she nods. She may not speak my language, but she understands me.
Acquiescence.
“Very well,” I say, lifting the chalice to her lips. “Drink while you can.”
She sniffs the chalice, most likely checking that it’s not her own blood, then takes a tepid sip, her full upper lip softly clasping the edge. I tip the cup forward so the wine pours into her mouth slowly, careful not to spill, and watch as she swallows it down. Her face contorts for a moment, perhaps shocked at the taste of wine, and then her eyes flutter closed. She looks angelic again, young.
Suddenly, I’m hit with two conflicting desires—the desire to protect this creature from any harm and the desire to do harm to her. To feed from her, to defile her, to know what those lips would feel like if they were pressed against mine or, heaven forbid, wrapped around my dick.
But then, she gulps the rest of the wine down in a frenzy, the red liquid spilling everywhere, and her razor teeth chomp into the edge of the metal chalice, biting it.
I quickly rip the chalice away from her.
“I told you to behave,” I scold her. “To disobey a priest is blasphemy.”
“I won’t behave,” she snarls at me.