She was lost in a storm of joy and trembling bliss, yet beneath the heady swell of pleasure, confusion stirred—quiet, but insistent. Fear whispered through the shadows of her mind, curling around the edges of the ecstasy that consumed her. The pleasure surged within her like a tightly wound spring, coiling deeper with every slow, deliberate thrust. He filled her completely, again and again, until it was nearly unbearable—until her body trembled on the edge of something vast, something irreversible.
Caralee clung to Merrick as though the act of letting go might cast her adrift in the maelstrom he had stirred within her. Her arms wrapped tighter around his strong frame, nails digging into his skin, seeking anchor in the man who now seemed to command the very rhythm of her soul.
Every muscle in her body was strung taut—her thighs trembling, her breath stuttered, and her back arched with an instinctive desperation. And then, with a final, devastating stroke, Merrick drove himself to the deepest part of her body, the tip of his hardened length pressing firmly against the soft barrier of her womb.
A sharp jolt of sensation burst from that place—half-pleasure, half-pain—like a nerve had been struck that she hadn't known existed. It crackled out through her like lightning, white-hot and blinding. But the discomfort was fleeting, swallowed whole by the tidal wave of heat that followed.
And then—release.
The spring inside her snapped free, and Caralee's entire body convulsed with the sudden, overwhelming explosion of climax. Her breath caught as her eyes rolled back, her mouth falling open in a soundless cry as she arched into him. Her hips met his in perfect rhythm, her body acting on instinct alone. A fire ignited at the core of her, pulsing outward like molten light through every vein, every nerve ending. She was burning—alive and alight and undone.
Merrick groaned low, savoring the way her body trembled and clenched around him. She felt the rhythm of him—steady, sure—guiding her over the brink and carrying her through it. His breath was heavy against her skin, his control exquisite, his touch perfectly cruel.
And still, it wasn't over.
A flash of something wicked passed over his face—a glint of feral delight—and then he moved again, faster now. His hips crashed against hers with reckless abandon, harder and deeper, each thrust more possessive than the last. He seized her wrists and pinned them above her head, his chest pressed to hers as he claimed her body with a primal hunger that no longer seemed human.
And then the final blow—an aggressive, punishing thrust that knocked the air from her lungs.
Merrick's head fell back, his throat bared as a guttural moan tore from him. His muscles stiffened, his entire frame shuddered, and she felt him spill himself inside her. Caralee gasped, her hips grinding unconsciously against his as she rode the last tremors of their joined pleasure.
And then… something changed.
Why had they warned her about this man? This man who had just sent her to heaven and cradled her there? Why did they say he was dangerous, when every inch of her sang beneath his touch? But even as the echoes of pleasure still pulsed through her body, she looked up and saw it—
His eyes.
They were no longer green.
They were black—bottomless and ravenous, starved of light. His face, once so angelic, was hollow now. His hunger had shifted, no longer carnal but predatory. Something ancient stared back at her through that gaze. Something inhuman.
Her limbs refused to obey her. Her muscles, spent from climax, felt soft and useless, as if her body had turned to wet sand in his hands. She wanted to move—needed to—but could not. He held her boneless body effortlessly, cradling her with one arm beneath her back, the other at the nape of her neck.
Then, to her shock, he pressed his face into the crook of her neck and inhaled. It was a pleasant sensation, so primal, so raw.
Then a sudden, searing pain exploded through her collarbone. She gasped—a high, desperate sound—as she felt the sharp puncture of teeth breaking skin, heard the sickening tear of flesh yielding to pressure. With two elongated, fangs he had bitten down, piercing her flesh with a soft set of pops that echoed through her head.
Dear God, he's biting me.
The room flooded with the metallic scent of blood—her blood—and the warmth drained from her limbs. She could feel it: the lifeblood rushing out of her, pulled from her veins, her strength slipping away. Her vision blurred. Her head lolled. Her heart thudded once, twice… and then everything began to fade.
The bliss was gone. Now there was only cold. Soon there would be only darkness, and then death.
She collapsed onto the floor like a discarded doll, her vision a haze of shadows. Above her, Merrick loomed—no longer a lover, but a predator. She saw his lips painted crimson, slick with her blood. Just before darkness claimed her, he paused… and then did something she couldn't comprehend.
He looked at her—examining her face with something like admiration—then sliced open his own wrist with one perfect claw. Then he brought it to her lips.
She tried to turn her head, to protest, but her body was useless. The hot, dark blood touched her tongue—and the moment it did, everything changed.
It was warmth.
It was power.
It was fire and electricity and light, it tingled on her tongue and lips. As it slid down her throat it infused this power into every cell in which it came into contact with. Like the heat of whiskey, felt burning the whole way down and then settled in the stomach. It felt like tiny fireworks going off within her. The sensation multiplied and intensified and then came the pain.
Agony like nothing she had ever known tore through her. Her body seized. Her spine arched. Her scream caught in her throat. It felt like her blood had turned to molten lava, like every inch of her being was burning alive from the inside out. She writhed on the floor helplessly. Screams rang out, tearing from her chest as tears streamed down her face, unending.
"Dying is such a bother, isn't it?" Merrick said lazily, watching her with amusement as her body writhed. He gently stroked her hair, as if talking with a kitten he'd found struggling on the side of the road.
She could smell her own flesh, smoldering. It felt as if every single cell in her body was imploding, destroying itself, only to be reformed. Being remade, stronger, better. Her whole body was being reformed.
Bones, painfully regrowing reinforced. Tendons and ligaments being resewn, more elastic. Muscles returning fuller, denser, much stronger. Veins and arteries more efficient and more dilated. The flesh, her skin, that was the most impressive. Her porcelain became diamond strong, and impossibly smooth. Like a white Jade carving. Flawless.
She could feel her heart race faster, faster—until it was too fast, she was thinking, surely it would burst. Panic gripped her like a vice around her chest. And then, just when Cara was certain that she was taking her final breaths— it stopped.
Her heart, with the final excruciating torture, the last beat of her human heart, would be the single most painful moment of her entire life. When that ceased however, so did the pain. Everything stopped. Stillness descended so completely it was as if the world itself had paused.
Caralee lay on the floor, gasping, more out of habit than anything as she no longer actually needed to breathe. And then, all at once, her senses exploded. A whole new reality ignited into being from within her, and she was now fully awake.