chapter 1
The Slaughter of Plenty
Laken
The October sky lies, blank and wide, soft as felt with the stars freckling the expanse in a spectacular show of bravado. The evergreens spear into the night like charred daggers, like spirits rooted in bondage, unable to flee to the promise of some unknowable paradise.
“Welcome to the Slaughter of Plenty.” A voice cuts through the dark clearing.
It’s eerie like this, standing in some demonic circle with at least a dozen Counts from the local chapter. I recognize most of them from Ephemeral—the boarding school in which we reside. Wesley and I stand in number, shoulder to shoulder with our long velvet robes. The cool satin that lines the inside inspires my teeth to chatter. I’ve never been to the Slaughter of Plenty before, some mandatory ritual to start the New Moon ceremony off with a bang—or more accurately with a murder.
“Ready the sacrifice.”
I know that voice. It’s Blaine, Wesley’s supposed brother. In the real world, where the Countenance kidnap their victims from, Wesley has no brother. He has a different mother and a different last name all together, but for the sake of sanity and reason, I play along and declare a throaty Amen when the mock prayer comes to a conclusion.
“This isn’t going to be a big deal.” Wesley blows the words hot over my ear, sending a shiver up my spine. “I promise.”
I glance at him. Wesley is sublime in this shadowed world. The reserve light gravitates to his features and illuminates him as some mythological creature, a god who slays women by the sheer heft of his beauty. His dark hair feathers back like wings. His sea green eyes deny the darkness its right to bleed them of all color and they burst to life under these dismal circumstances. He’s so gorgeous it takes effort, on my part, not to bow at his feet. Everything in me yearns to be near him, with him. Wesley Parker is the keeper of my heart whether he knows it or not. He doesn’t remember a thing about our old life in Kansas, where we stole kisses on lazy summer afternoons. He believes he’s Wesley Paxton, some pompous aristocrat in the making with a pocketful of money to prove it. He thinks I fell from a tree and fabricated Cider Plains, and all those sweet memories of who we were—that they were byproducts of my injury. But I know the truth. I didn’t fall from a tree house and end up at the hospital. I dove through a windshield and ended up at Ephemeral. Wesley and I were both dead and now we’re alive as the children of Nephilim descent, belonging to a crooked faction known as the Countenance.
A guttural laugh garners my attention from across the expansive flat rock. It’s Fletcher, my true brother both in the real world and this quasi-fictional one in which we’re wealthy, healthy, and supposedly wise. His blond hair glints like a threat as he brays in the night like a donkey.
Fletch comes around and hands us each a long, silver blade. The metal handle sears the palm of my hand like a branding iron as if it had sat in the freezer, the oven.
“You don’t need to kill,” Wes whispers. His dimples tremble as if he were sorry I had to experience any of this to begin with. “We just need to puncture them for a sprinkling of their blood. Each of us makes a private decision on whether or not to kill.”
I try to process his words as a pale blue fog drifts into the vicinity. It puffs around the stone, around our bodies as if it were a presence that came to join us—a form of wickedness in disguise. The Countenance themselves profess to be angels, minus the harp, and wings, and overall notion of righteousness.
Cooper blinks through my mind—my angel in the truest sense. He’s the blond god of Nordic descent who is more than ready and willing to take on this rogue Viking—this Philistine that Wes has morphed into.
But Wesley is my only hope of freeing my mother and my little sister, Lacey, from the demons who stowed them away to have their blood drained—their Celestra blood—as a means to enrich their own demonic breed. Of course, I’m not lucky enough to be a Celestra. I’m a full-blooded Count—a purported enemy of the aforementioned faction, and how I came to be a spawn of pure evil is still a mystery to me. It’s one of the many things I’d like an answer to, but for now, rescuing my family is top priority. The questions I have, the answers I seek, will all have to wait.
“Wes, would you kill for me?” A tiny smile hedges on my lips as I clutch the blade like a threat.
“You bet I’d kill for you.” Wes dots the homicidal intention with a kiss, and my insides rip with fire. Wesley has far too much power over me. All of the headiness of first love resides with him. He creates a buoyancy in my spirit whenever he’s around. I wish he didn’t. I wish I hated Wesley with everything in me. That would make being his enemy a hell of a lot easier.
A series of childlike screams erupt from an overgrown crate that Blaine and Fletch haul over—the sacrifice of the evening, no doubt.
A ragged breath escapes me as I cast a glance at the forest that skirts the vicinity. Cooper is out there somewhere, amidst the creatures that roam these woods, in an effort to watch over me.
“You don’t have to kill for me, Wes.” It comes out soft like a dream. Everything feels like a dream in these nocturnal woods tonight.
Kresley licks her lips while glaring right at me. Her fingers curl around her knife like a promise. She’s the one Wes spent his time with, surrendered the most intimate part of himself to while we were apart, and now she wants him back with a fervor.
Wes picks up my hand and gives a gentle squeeze.
Forget about killing the damn birds. I’ll be too busy making sure Kres keeps her weaponry the hell away from Laken.
A dull laugh rattles from me as I free myself from his fingers. I still have enough of Cooper’s Celestra blood satiating my cellular structure, enabling me to read anyone’s thoughts through the simple act of touch. Of course, Wes can read my thoughts, too, but for far more nefarious reasons. I wonder if Wes would be so eager to kill for me tonight if he knew I was playing him. That I was onto his little game and was determined to take him and the entire lot of our vermin breed out of the celestial picture?
I’m pretty sure the repercussions would be huge. Cooper Flanders would wind up dead—or worse. He would disappear from the planet if Wes knew he was working with me to dismantle the network of body snatchers I bore my allegiance to.
“State your lineage.” Blaine howls it into the wind like a battle cry that carries for miles.
He points to the person on my left and progresses from Count to Count as each of the hooded entities state their father’s name and pledge themselves as a member of the Countenance.
“Conrad Paxton.” Wesley sounds off with the lusty cry of a soldier reporting for duty. “I bear the blood of the Counts.”
I’m thrown for a moment. Who the hell is Conrad?
A beat of unnatural silence ticks by, and suddenly all eyes are on me—the last and final inquiry of the evening.
“Laken,” Fletch hisses. “Wake up.”
Crap.
I give Wes a nervous look.
“Say your father’s name and state the Countenance.” Wes seems irritated that I haven’t been paying attention.
The smooth scent of the evergreens wafts in with a chilled breeze. The cries of the peafowl scream into the night like small children begging for mercy.
My father?
Shit.
In the fertility of my imagination, my father is a tall man with broad shoulders as wide as a baseball bat. He speaks seven different languages, is well versed in Shakespeare, and often recites scripture from the King James Bible—words stream from his mouth like a song. In reality, my father was a phantom who bent my mother over at a truck stop and inseminated her with a rush of seed in a heated exchange of lust that could only be classified as primal and dirty. That’s how I came to be, my sister before me at a bar, and the younger one after me in the depressed state of a trailer that still lies on the property. I gleaned this knowledge through one of my mother’s drunken confessions, her midnight murmurs that were often laced with the kind of clarity only 80 proof Bacardi could afford.
“God Almighty,” I say it crisp and clean. My voice echoes through the emerging fog like a siren.
A titter of laughter follows suit.
“Bold profession.” Blaine steps onto the stone and catches the sword in his hand as if he were challenging me to a duel. The whites of his eyes glow from beneath his hood as the only discernable human feature. “Do you think you’re special, Laken?” He cuts the words with a hint of sarcasm.
“I do.” I’m betting the tip of my blade finds its way between his thighs in under thirty seconds.
Wes takes up my hand as the entire group steps onto the Stone of Sacrifice—each with a silver seam of metal erect at the wrist.
Shit. She can’t remember her dad’s name?
Wes sighs and a plume of disappointment explodes from his nostrils. Wes as the fire-breathing dragon amuses me.
Fletch shakes out a barbaric cage comprised of long wooden sticks, and a small flock of peacocks strut out in a flurry. A lone male trots to the center of the stone and fans his feathers in a display of his God-given resplendence.
“Let us begin.” Blaine touches his lips to a ram’s horn, and a dull moan escapes the curved ornament.
The birds scatter in a frenzy.
“God, forgive me.” The words quiver from under my breath.
The cloaked figures come in low and begin jabbing their knives at the feathered creatures.
This is my moment. I won’t let the blood of my mother and sister rest quiet. If I’m going to integrate myself as one of these demons, I’ll need to make a point—dirty my hands with blood. Blood is truly the only language these monsters understand.
I jostle my way into the crowd. My blade hacks its way through the throng of winged creatures with the intensity of a medieval executioner. The serrated edge of my knife dips through the cartilage of one of the unfortunate beasts and sticks, forcing me to step on its body to pull my weapon free. It lets out a scream that carries to eternity, and beneath its painful warble, I hear Lacey’s voice collapsing with fear.
I stare at the blood on my blade a very long time as bodies swarm around me—blood and feathers rise to the sky with the laughter of the Counts intermingled.
We’re hurting them, removing them from the planet in the most hostile manner possible. I never wanted to hurt anybody or anything and here I had become one of them, assimilated, easy as breathing.
My head explodes with a pain so electric my vision blurs, and a wave of nausea rolls through me.
A hand flops over my shoulder, and I look up to find Grayson snarling at me with her perfect bowtie pout, her deep-well of a cleavage prominently displayed through the plunge in her robe. Those long blonde locks, those wide haunted eyes make her look like the goddess of seduction even in this distorted world of shadows.
The sharp slice of her blade strikes me just above the elbow, and I jump back from her reach.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She brings a perfectly manicured hand to her lips, but I could still make out her smile—hear the glee in her voice. “Did I nick you?”
I could stab her. In this dark chaos, I could gut both her and Kresley and chalk it up to a happy accident.
“Laken!” Wes shouts from the opposite end of the stone.
A hard wallop crashes over my skull, and I drop to my knees. A trickle of warm liquid runs down my temple, highlighting the headache I already had brewing.
The world blinks in and out of focus. The crowd begins to clear from the stone as Wes speeds over, but it’s the birds that hold my attention—dozens of them squawking in pain, their bodies writhing from their wounds. These were far more than simple punctures. These animals were set up to suffer, agonize for hours—days, with inflictions that would prove to be lethal.
There is no truer analogy of the Counts than this right here. The capture of an innocent creature—making it bleed in the name of the Countenance and their false values.
My body quakes as I take in the mayhem. To do nothing would be to yield to the wickedness—to bow to it, become it.
I jab my knife against the stone as I crawl to my knees. I need to do something—I need to help.
The most humane way to kill a beast is by breaking its neck. Death, in and of itself, is sometimes the most sought after respite from suffering.
I try to stand, but my foot glides in a slick of blood.
Wes reaches for me, but I give him a violent push in the opposite direction.
Instead, my blade finds the long velvet necks of each one of those birds as I carry out a decapitating spree that goes on for what feels like hours.
“Shit, Laken!” Fletch roars in disbelief at the carnage I’ve inflicted. “What the f*ck?”
“They were suffering.” I glance up at the crowd with their hoods pulled back, their eyes locked in horror. I rise to my feet, the blade steady in my hand—blood dripping to my ankles. I latch my gaze over Wes as I try to steady my breathing. “I won’t let anything, or anybody, suffer.”
Especially not Celestra. Although it’s not their heads I’m after.
It’s the Counts.
Cooper
Henderson Hall is pumping with bodies that gyrate to the over processed bass.
I push through the crowd, making my way toward the back. All I really want to do is find a nice spot to keep an eye on the door. Laken texted an hour ago and said she was just about to step in the shower—that the slaughter went well.
I know for a fact it went better than well. I saw the whole thing materialize like some horror movie through a pair of night vision goggles that Flynn let me borrow.
A soft body rubs against me from behind. I’m guessing its female, equipped with 46 double D’s. A hand emerges from between my legs and cups me with a firm squeeze.
“Whoa.” I take a solid step forward, and Grayson bounces into my line of vision.
“Gotcha!” She winks. Her breath washes over me with some serious beer blowback. “Wanna play?” She wraps a finger around one of her lone blonde curls and pulls it through her lips in an effort to get my dick riled up.
“I’m good.” I swipe a soda off the table in a lame attempt to keep my hands busy.
“Oh hon, you’re not gonna have any fun with that.” She snatches the can from me and backs me into a wall.
Crap.
I sink down a little trying to free myself from her indelicate stronghold as she lands her chest in my face, round and soft like flesh-covered pillows.
Her lips come in for the kill—then in an unexpected move, she flies back with a jolt and lands flat on the floor.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Laken feigns a look of surprise.
My entire body loosens when I see her.
Laken showing up on the scene like some estrogen powered superhero makes my lips curve with a devilish smile.
“I didn’t see you standing there,” she continues to Grayson. “I just tripped right into you.”
I try to hold back a laugh. Our eyes lock, and the room disintegrates to a black and white world of shadow and light. Laken brings the color. Laken is water and oxygen, and everything I need to survive, but I don’t tell her that—most likely never will.
Kresley is quick to the rescue, offering her buddy a hand off the floor as the two of them glower at Laken. Grayson cuts me a look that could smash my balls like a hammer, so I break our gaze and stare out at the crowd for a moment.
“If you ever get tired of playing with little girls, let me know.” She gravels it out so low it sounds like a threat.
Kres gets in Laken’s face, and for a second I’m thinking the claws are coming out.
“I’ll find Wes and send him over.” Kres bites down over her pink lip as she twists into Laken. “I wouldn’t want him to miss his ‘girlfriend’ hitting on another guy.” The two of them stalk off into the crowd. I wish they’d magically disappear. I wish a lot of people would disappear from Ephemeral, and Laken’s “boyfriend” is at the top of the list.
“That went well.” Laken bats those dark lashes at me. Just one look at those sea glass eyes, and my stomach tightens in a knot. “I mean”—she glances down, holding back a smile—“I really didn’t see her.”
A silent laugh rumbles through me.
“And, I’ve got someplace I really ‘don’t mean’ to take you.” I slip my hand low over her waist and walk her backward into the kitchen. Laken smolders into me like she wants this, like she wants us.
I pull her inside the pantry and secure it shut by way of my shoe.
“Tell me everything.” I rub my lips over her ear as I whisper the words.
“Coop.” She buries her face in my chest. “It was horrible. I did the unthinkable— I killed.” She blinks up with tears lining her lashes.
“It’s okay. You did what you had to.” I let out a breath. “You’re in now. Wes knows he can trust you, that’s all we need.”
We. My chest rumbles at the thought.
“There is a we.” Laken says it meekly while stroking the back of my neck with her fingers. “We’re a team remember?”
“Yes—I do.” I pull her in and take in the scent from her hair. “We’re a team.” But Wes is out there waiting for her, and the Counts have my balls hogtied at the moment. “Homework assignment.” I pull back trying to sound playful, but really I’m getting down to brass tacks. “Tell Wes you’re ready for the next step—that you want to dig in deep. If you’re hungry enough, he won’t deny you.” God knows I wouldn’t.
Laken presses out a soft smile, her fingers still spinning slowly over the back of my head.
“I know you wouldn’t deny me anything, Cooper Flanders.” Her breathing grows erratic, she pushes in close as if she’s about to kiss me, but I pull out of reach like the moron I am.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I don’t want you to have any feelings of remorse—or guilt around Wes. He’s like an animal. He’ll pick up on it. The last thing we want is for him to put up a wall.” Which is true, but I could’ve said all that crap after she landed her mouth over mine.
She lets out a little laugh with her chest crushing against me until I feel every flawless curve.
“That’s what I like best about you, Coop. You’re nothing but a perfect gentleman.” Her porcelain skin glows under the dim light slicing through the pantry.
I don’t always plan on being a perfect gentleman with Laken, but I don’t say it. And I don’t mind at all if she heard.
Laken lays her cheek against my chest and closes her eyes a moment. Her hand travels down my spine so achingly slow it takes everything in me not to groan.
“We’d better get back out there,” she whispers. “I have a feeling it’s time for me to start on that ‘homework.’”
I peer out the door and find the kitchen empty, so I usher us back out to the party. I let Laken ditch into the crowd a minute before making my way out the carnal gate.
Fallon has her top off and she’s dancing full throttle in her black lace bra as if Flynn weren’t uploading it to YouTube right this very minute.
“Coop!” Laken barrels through the crowd and lunges into me.
“Hey!” I stumble backward before catching my footing. “Can’t get enough, huh?” I grin as I catch her by the waist.
Her face contorts in horror, her eyes wide with fright.
“What the hell’s going on?” I pull her in with total disregard as to who might be watching. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“Laken!” Jen appears and spins her sister out of my arms. “You are amazingly rude. Do you know that? I was right in the middle of introducing you to your new house sister! What’s the matter with you? It’s like your hormones are on overdrive and you can’t control it for one freaking minute. And with Cooper? Really? You have no shame, Laken.” Jen turns to me. “No offense, Coop, but she has a boyfriend.”
“I’ve been told.” Twice tonight, to be exact.
I look past Jen at an all too familiar blonde with her hair curled under her ears and a crooked smile that holds more than its fair share of secrets.
Shit.
She comes up on us, and Jen pulls her in.
“Hattie, this is my sister Laken and her friend, Cooper Flanders. Cooper is Ephemeral’s star football player.” She throws in the promo like she’s ready to auction me off to the questionable girl standing before us—questionable because I’m pretty damn sure she’s not human.
“Hattie Tobias.” Her eyes widen an eerie shade of black, no pupil, just one dark unnatural circle. She shakes Laken’s hand and nods over in my direction as if formal introductions to the dead were a regular occurrence—and knowing Ephemeral, they just might be.
Jen clears her throat. “It looks like I’m going to score the den mother’s room in the basement.” She beams. “It hasn’t been used in years, but rumor has it, its huge in comparison to the rat-hole they have us trapped in. No offence to Austen House.” She dips when she says it. “Anyway, she’ll be your new roommate as soon I clean it out. In the meantime, she’s bunking with Carter and Fallon.” Jen flips her blonde mane as if to punctuate her point. But I can’t take my eyes off Hattie, haunting us here, live and in the flesh.
Wesley struts up like he owns the place—like he owns Laken and wraps an arm around her while pressing a kiss against her cheek. He glares over at me a moment before spinning her into him. “You ready to blow this Popsicle stand?”
“You bet.” Laken looks over at Hattie, filled with suspicion.
Jen dissolves into the crowd, and an awkward silence crops up in our circle.
Laken offers a forlorn smile before perking to life again.
“Catch you later, Coop.” She pulls her cheek back with a dissatisfied look as if she were speaking in code—telling me she’d rather eat a plate full of greasy worms than hang out with Wes Paxton. But I know that’s just wishful thinking. Laken loves Wes—even if I wished she didn’t.
“Later man.” He socks me in the arm before pulling me in. “There’s a bowlful of condoms under the bathroom sink. Help yourself, bro.” He nods over to Hattie. “Have fun.”
Have fun.
I watch as Wes escorts Laken right out the front door. You’d think he were rushing her out of a burning building the way he manhandled her to the exit. He’s partially right. Something is definitely burning between Laken and me, and it’s very damn real.
“So what are you doing here, Hattie?” I ask my long-dead friend. “And where’s your other half?”
“Other half?” She cuts her dark eyes over the vicinity. Hattie takes in the modern day teen population as they lose it to the music blaring over the speakers. You would think an orgy were about to break out the way some of the girls just went into full throttle stripper mode. “You want to know why I’m here? Don’t you?” She gives a placid smile as if it were rehearsed, as if she had only heard of the concept, and initiating it took great effort.
“I’ll bite.” Not Hattie though. You couldn’t pay me to touch my mouth to any part of her body or her evil twin circa 1953. Wes can take his bowlful of condoms and shove them up his ass.
“I’m here to do what you could never hope to.”
“What’s that?”
“Find my family.”
Wesley
The stars cloak themselves with a thin veil of fog as Laken and I drive the last leg to Charity Lake. I took my own advice and armed myself with a handful of rubbers. Of course, that was earlier before I ever mentioned it to Coop. Not that I plan on needing a prophylactic defense strategy—quite the opposite. I’m still committed to the fact she should at least be able to remember my name, or that of her father, before we actually employ the services of a penile missile shield. But lately, when I’m around Laken, I want to go there. I’m weak, and if Laken is willing, I don’t stand a chance.
My mind bounces back to Coop.
I tighten my hands around the wheel and pretend it’s his neck.
As soon as I saw Laken run into his arms, I wanted to head over and beat the living shit out of him.
Laken shifts her body into mine and I pony up a little smile. Laken is a work of art. I can’t blame Coop for admiring her God-given ability to outshine every girl in the room, but it’s another thing to have her running to him like he’s some savior in blue jeans.
“So anything exciting happen before I got there?” I try to make it sound light, but really I want her to tell me what sent her flying to Flanders like they were magnets you couldn’t pull apart if you tried. And that’s exactly what I’m afraid I’ll discover.
“There’s a new student.” Laken sits up, and her sweater slips off her shoulder. She didn’t bring a jacket. I promised to keep her plenty warm, but I like the direction her clothes are headed.
“The blonde?” I try to sound casual. “Coop looked like he was into her.”
Laken smirks into her reflection.
Shit. Laken’s the one that’s into him.
A hot stone settles in the pit of my stomach.
I’d better cut Flanders out of the conversation before he gets too far into her head. The only thing I want her to focus on is us, as in Laken and me. Just the thought sends a surge of adrenaline through my veins.
I park as close to the lake as possible and reach for the blanket in the backseat. I come around and help her out, slipping an arm around her waist. I’ve been preparing for an emergency of the sexual variety with Laken ever since we exchanged I love yous. Speaking of which…
“How’s your memory?” I know for a fact it’s still in the shitter because she couldn’t remember her own father’s name at the meeting tonight.
“Crappy.” She gives my hand a squeeze. Her honey-colored hair sweeps down her back in waves, soft as silk, and it calls for me to bury myself in it.
My boxers tick to life, and I hope to God Laken is up for letting me bury myself in places that are specific to her anatomy.
“Is this our spot?” She dances us over to where the willow trees meet up with the sand.
“Every spot on the planet is our spot.” I press my lips over hers and keep them there until she pulls away.
“Speaking of the planet and normal earthly things…” She bites down on her lip as if unsure how to proceed. “That was pretty wild tonight.”
The slaughter, she carried out, comes back to me in snatches.
“You were pretty wild tonight.” I lie the blanket down and pull her to the ground with me. Her hair whips over my face in an erotic display of innocence—like a thousand silken leashes. Laken can tether my body with her hair anytime she’d like.
I have a feeling she’s about to turn this into another slaughter, the one in which I let her sexually decimate me. I give a lazy grin as I roll on top of her.
“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” I say. “You swing a wicked sickle.”
“You couldn’t get on my bad side if you tried, Wesley Parker.” She seals it with a kiss, her tongue roaming sweetly over mine until she pulls back, embarrassed by her gaff.
“I meant, Paxton.” She shakes her head in frustration. “This crazy night has me all mixed up, sorry.” She lets out a breath, and a river of fog escapes from her lips. “I think I’m getting better though. I’ve had some memories of Jen and me when we were little.”
“Was she pulling your hair?” I brush my lips over her cheek. I’m not all that interested in dragging Jen into our private time, but if it helps her remember, then I say bring it.
“No, she was trying on clothes. We were shopping at the mall.”
“Sounds exciting.” I get up on my elbow and admire her like this, with the moon sprinkling down its ethereal benediction over her. Laken is fluid and sparkling in this murky, post midnight, world—a tonic of the gods, the finest champagne.
She interlaces our fingers and brings my hand to her lips.
Laken’s coming back to me in pieces—she’s just about there. I don’t see what’s stopping us from taking our relationship to the next level.
Her mouth rounds out with surprise, and I cover it with my own before another memory of Jen or, God forbid, Fletch surfaces and deflates my budding hard-on. Fletch would have my balls on a skewer if he knew the moves I was dying to try out with his sister. But this isn’t just anybody’s sister, this is Laken—my Laken. The one I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember. I’ve sunk us in a thousand indecent dreams, and now tonight, after watching her swim through blood like some bona fide Countenance princess, I’m ready and willing to make each one of those fantasies come true.
Laken lets out a moan as my body writhes over hers. The iced breeze is just enough to give me pause before disrobing us both in a fury.
“It’s kind of cold, don’t you think?” She blows the words into my ear, and my stomach clenches.
Shit.
“You’re right,” I say, doubling the blanket over us, creating a tent that leaves us oven-hot in more ways than one.
Laken pulls me in by the neck and delivers a mind-blowing kiss that stretches out for mile after hypnotic mile. She wants this, Laken wants me, and the idea sends my testosterone rising. I run my hands up her sweater and glide past her sculpted ribs, stopping just shy of her bra.
An image of Cooper bounces through her mind and freezes me solid.
What the f*ck?
“You okay?” I dot her nose with a kiss and examine her through the filtered light.
Her lips twitch. “Of course I’m okay.” She pulls me back down to a kiss. “I’m with you, so everything is right in the world.”
God, I hope Coop is getting it on with that girl. The thought thumps through her head, and I don’t mind one bit listening in. The way he keeps hitting on me is really starting to piss me off. I wish he could see me with Wes—see how happy I am with him. I’d mention it to Wes, but I’m not in the mood to ruin the moment with “Coop the Stalker.”
Coop the Stalker—a dull laugh rattles from my chest.
Laken and I indulge in a heated liplock that could set the world on fire. I wish it would. I wish the world would burn to ashes if it meant Laken and I never had to let go of one another.
I’m glad about Coop—glad that Laken isn’t trying to procure him for herself. If she was, I might have to arrange an accident for Flanders—one of the permanent variety.
My hands slip into her jeans. I round out to the front and unhook her button. Her zipper slides down without any effort as if I willed it to happen—as if she did.
“Um…” She scoots back letting me know I’ve crossed a line. I’m pretty sure my dick can pack it up for the night.
“I’m sorry.” I pick up her hand and bury a kiss in her palm. It feels soft, foreign. I like the way it conforms to my lips. It makes me curious as to what her other parts might feel like—and what I wouldn’t do to find out. “You’re not ready.”
“No, no.” She pulls me back down over her. “I am ready.” It comes out a little too eager. “Just not tonight, not like this.” She plucks at the sand with her fingers. “I want our first time to be special. I want us to have all night with nowhere to go.” She runs her thumb over my chin. “I want to wake up next to you in the morning and do it all over again.”
My muscles seize. Everything in me aches to have her.
“I love you, Laken Anderson.” I crash my lips over hers and deliver a serious tongue-lashing born of love. How I wouldn’t like to lash the rest of her, inch-by-inch, so painfully slow I’d explode from the effort.
Cooper blinks through her mind again. She envisions his lonely face, those drawn out eyes that have every girl on campus dropping to their knees.
He’s in her head again.
Looks like I need to put an end to this before he crawls down into her heart.
Nope, not going to let Cooper worm his way into Laken’s anything, least of all her jeans.
I slip my hands over her bottom and feel her soft, warm skin.
Laken’s body and heart, I want them both to be mine.