Eight Lives (Match Made In Hell Book 1) by Autumn Breeze & Ashley Chamblee

Author:Autumn Breeze & Ashley Chamblee [Breeze, Autumn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-05-19T18:30:00+00:00

Edmund

The next time I was human was two days later. Anselm had gone out to get some more food and blood, and I woke up on the sofa in my human body. Much like the first time when I’d turned, I was only just rubbing the sleep out of my eyes when Anselm walked in.

My cheeks burned as he looked at me. I was standing in the living room naked, and I could feel his eyes on me. It was embarrassing and flattering at the same time. I liked that he wanted to look, but I wasn’t sure if I should like it. It was confusing—conflicting.

“I have something for you,” Anselm said, putting down the bags. “And since you’re human, we’re going out tonight. I want to take you somewhere.”

My steps were slow but deliberate as I marched towards Anselm. “Eat,” I ordered. He hadn’t eaten in at least a week. Whatever he had gotten me, wherever he wanted to take me, it could wait. Right now, he needed to feed. Even if he wasn’t going to starve to death, he still needed blood in order to stay strong.

“So bossy,” Anselm teased, his finger pinching my chin as he tilted my head back. He leaned down, licking a line along my neck. I shivered under his touch. He was only teasing me, but my body didn’t know the difference. A desire I hadn’t felt in forever pulsed through me. My cock hardened. I could feel my heart racing as it drummed against my chest. In the back of my mind, I could hear Elex’s voice teasing me, repeating that I liked Anselm. Or even worse, thinking that we were dating when I was just a cat.

“Just eat already.” My voice was small and breathless.

“Am I not allowed to enjoy my meal?” Anselm asked, and I swallowed.

“Of course you should,” I whispered.

Did everyone he fed from feel this way? It felt like I was going to die before he even bit me. Maybe that was just because of my feelings, feelings that seemed to grow every time I took this form.

“You smell sweet,” Anselm whispered, nipping my jaw.

I twisted my fingers in his shirt, and my tail wrapped around the front of me. I swallowed my moan when the fur brushed against my hardened shaft.

“Be nice to me,” I whined, my voice strange to my own ears. He was so close. The cool heat of his body burned, setting my body ablaze.

“You want me to feed from you so badly. Is it only for my benefit?” Anselm asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. Maybe I wanted him to bite me for me—on more than just my wrist because he was starving. I had always wondered what it would feel like to have him take me in his arms and feed from my body, sip from my neck because . . . because he wanted to feast on me. I’d watched him bring home other boys, drink from their bodies, and maybe even as a cat, I had wished to be one of those boys.

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