“Of course,” Potter smiled. “It wouldn’t be the same without her whingeing.”

“Isidor?”

“Don’t push your luck,” he groaned. “He can stay here and look after the manor – you know, a bit like Alfred from the Batman comics.”

“No Isidor, no team,” I said, staring straight at him.

“Okay,” he said, throwing his hands up into the air as if in surrender. “But I promise you, one more wisecrack from him about my name and…”

“Why did you go and get my stuff for me?” I cut over him.

“Why not?” he shrugged.

“Tell me the truth,” I asked him.

“Because you wanted it and I couldn’t bear to see you so 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 similar to that. It was like feeling tipsy – the initial happy, giddy feeling you get before you have too much and start to feel ill.

As I sucked away at his neck, I could feel my wings spreading open beneath me and for one awful moment those pictures of me standing in front of the mirror in my room, cracked and broken-looking, swam before me. I opened my eyes and looked at my arms which were wrapped about Potter’s shoulders. But instead of the cracks, my skin almost seemed to shine – glow. It was as if taking his blood was somehow revitalising me, like rubbing moisturiser into dry skin.

I closed my eyes again, the soft feel of my wings beneath me making it feel as if we were making love on a soft bed of feathers. Entwining his fingers with mine, Potter raised my arms above my head, and kissed my breasts, never stopping moving above me. A thin trickle of his blood ran from the corner of my mouth; seeing this, Potter licked it away with the tip of his tongue. Then, without warning, he buried his face into my neck and I felt his fangs pierce my flesh.

I cried out. It didn’t hurt, not really. If it did, I doubted that I would have felt it anyway. My body felt as if it was on the brink of bursting with ecstasy and there was nothing that could have drowned out that feeling. It was like a madness had overtaken me and I would let him take as much of my blood as he wanted – needed. And when I started to feel lightheaded and that spinning feeling came back, I sank my teeth back into his neck and let his blood gush into my mouth.

It was then, as we made love on the floor, drinking from each other, I realised that we had become one and the feeling of pleasure was almost unbearable. Our lovemaking then took on an eagerness that was like a ravenous hunger until we both collapsed in each other’s arms.

I rested my head against Potter’s chest as he drew in breath. Just as my body had seemed to thump, so did his. I could hear the blood gushing through his veins. But I didn’t want it now. The thirst for it – the lust for it – had gone. It was like I had been thirsty but now my thirst had been quenched.

“That was wrong,” I whispered against him.

“Was it?” he said back. “I thought it was…”

“I don’t mean it like that,” I told him.

“What did you mean?” he asked, rolling onto his side and staring into my eyes. His eyes were black and I could read nothing in them.

“Making love with you is like nothing else,” I said, breaking his gaze and running my fingertips across his hard, flat stomach. “But the blood thing – I promised myself that I wouldn’t take the red stuff…that I would try and beat it.”

“I don’t think it’s there to be broken,” Potter said.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s what we are…it’s what you are,” he whispered. “Taking blood now is as natural as breathing air. But I guess it’s more important to us, as technically we’re dead and we don’t need air to survive. But we do need blood…”

“I don’t need it,” I cut over him, the fear of becoming addicted to the red stuff scaring me.

“Are you so sure?” Potter asked, cocking an eyebrow at me.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“The cracks, Kiera,” he whispered, looking away from me.

I pushed away from him, and all of a sudden I felt angry and confused. How did he know about the cracks? Had he been spying on me? I didn’t want anyone to see me like that. I looked like a monster – a freak. “How do you know?”

“I saw you…” he started.

“You’ve been spying on me,” I hissed, feeling defensive. Nothing made me angrier than the thought of my privacy being invaded and I couldn’t help but think of the time in the shower block back at the Police Station in Wasp Water. The thought of Jack Seth watching me had driven me half insane.

“Take it easy, tiger, I’ve shared a room with you, remember?” Potter said. “That was until you kicked me out.”

“I didn’t kick you out,” I told him, looking away. “It was just…”

“You didn’t want me to see the cracks,” he said and moved closer towards me. “I saw you one morning. You had got up early but hadn’t shut the bathroom door properly. I could hear you running a bath and I came to the door hoping that perhaps we could share the water, if you know what I mean?” and he half-smiled at me. “Anyway, I pushed the door open just a fraction and saw you standing in front of the mirror. Your wings were out and they looked beautiful, just like now,” he said and brushed them with his fingers. “But it was as I stood and watched you that I saw the cracks in your flesh.”

To know that he had seen them made me feel uncomfortable and I wrapped my arms around my chest; I felt less vulnerable like that. Sensing this, Potter pulled my arms free and wrapped his muscular arms around me. “What do you think those cracks are?” I asked him. “I look like an ancient statue. Grey and cold, cracked and weather-beaten. I look ugly.”

“No one could ever accuse you of being ugly,” he half-smiled again and kissed me gently on the forehead. “But I know that’s why you’ve been distancing yourself from me.”

“I was scared,” I told him. “Scared of what those cracks might be and what might happen to me.”