"No". The word tore from my throat involuntarily the second the connection was severed. The sudden absence of that intoxicating heat felt like being plunged into a bath of ice water. My skin screamed for the return of his touch; my very cells seemed to lean toward him, desperate for the chemical euphoria that had just short circuited my pain. I needed…, I needed it back. I needed him.
What is wrong with me? The thought was a , distant alarm bell ringing behind a wall of fog. I turned a bewildered, wide eyed gaze toward Mr. Jason. He remained kneeling for a heartbeat longer, his face as pale and still as carved ivory. But beneath the calm, there was a predatory glitter in his hooded eyes that mirrored my own sudden, inexplicable need. It sent my heart skittering out of control, a drumming against my ribs that I was sure he could hear in the heavy silence of the office.
"What did you do to me?" I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of terror and a longing that disgusted me.
"You would say yes," he said. His voice had shifted, the amber warmth replaced by a dark hunger tinged with an infinite sadness. He stood in one fluid motion, discarding the used needle with a clinical detachment that chilled me. He set the vial of my blood upon the desk, the glass clinking softly. "If I told you right now that the cost of your life was your very soul, you would still say yes. If I told you that the cure was a curse, you would plead for it."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I stammered, even as every fiber of my being betrayed me. My body was a traitor, screaming that I would say yes to anything he asked to a bargain, to a touch, to a death sentence, as long as it meant feeling that fire again.
He leaned over me, invading my personal space until his scent was all I could breathe. I tried to pull away, but I was pinned by the sheer gravity of his presence. He reached out, his long fingers trembling almost imperceptibly, and touched the tiny bead of blood that had formed where the needle had exited my vein. I could hear his breathing now, ragged and irregular.
With the tip of his forefinger, he scooped up the crimson droplet, holding it suspended between us. He stared at it with the intensity of a starving man watching a feast.
A shudder racked his frame. He curled his fingers into a tight fist, smearing my blood across his palm in a gesture that felt intimate. Suddenly, the shadows in the room seemed to respond to him. He seemed to grow, to expand, as if some vast, unholy darkness were uncurling inside his chest, extending far beyond the limits of mere flesh and bone. The air in the room grew heavy, the atmospheric pressure dropping until my ears popped.
"Go," he ground out, the word a guttural snarl that vibrated in my teeth. "Go now, Amanda, before I damn my best intentions and take what I should not."
It was as if invisible bonds holding me to the chair had suddenly snapped. The spell was broken, replaced by a primal, lizard brain instinct to run. I sprang up, the movement sending a flare of pain through my hips that I barely felt. I snatched my jacket from the floor and fled, my sneakers silent on the plush rugs. I banged through the tall doors, my chest heaving, and didn't stop until I reached the elevator, jabbing the down button with a shaking finger.
"Goodbye, Ms. Amanda," the redhead said from behind her desk. Her voice was unconcerned, her expression as smooth and vacant as a mannequin's. "You can expect the results of your screening within a week. We'll be in touch."
The brass doors slid open with a cheerful chime that felt like a mockery. I stumbled into the compartment, slapping at the ground floor button again and again, my breath coming in jagged sobs until the doors finally, reluctantly, hissed shut. As the elevator began its descent, I slumped against the mirrored wall, staring at the small red dot on my arm and wondering if I had just walked into a miracle or a nightmare.