“Mike—it wasn’t you. It was the addiction.”

“Do you hear yourself?” He smirked. “You sound like a victim, Ara—saying exactly what every other girl who’s been hurt by her boyfriend says.”

“But this is—”

“No! It shouldn’t matter—addiction or not.” He simmered his loud voice a little. “I should’ve controlled myself. I won’t be one of those guys who always has an excuse.”

“It’s not like you’re saying I just had a bad day or You brought this upon yourself by not cleaning the floor, Mike. This is something supernatural, something that was out of your control. A freakin’ blood addiction.”

“Does addiction make it okay for an alcoholic to hit his mates at the pub?”

“No, but—”

“But nothing, Ara.” He stepped closer, taking my arms more gently than he had earlier today. “I grabbed you. I hurt you, and you’re so small, so precious.” His glassy eyes followed the line of my face. “I could have done worse than just scare you or bruise your arms. I won’t stay around for that to happen again.”

“I can’t lose you, too, Mike. I can’t lose everyone I love just because they might hurt me.”

“Ara, that’s a perfect reason to lose someone.”

“Not in the world I live in. It’s a world of murder and blood and damage beyond repair or comprehension. There’s bound to be a bit of pain—and I can take the physical pain, Mike, but this?” I placed my hand over my heart. “This, I can’t take.”

He rolled his shoulders back and sighed. “And what about next time, huh? What’s my excuse going to be then?”

“Mike, you’re not one of those guys. Don’t you see?”

“I disagree.”

“Mike, please. If you leave...if you...” My voice shook; I just wanted to burst into tears for the frustration. I hated when he’d make up his mind—there was never any changing it.

“It’d really hurt you if I leave? You really care that much?”

My teeth clenched slightly. “Can’t you tell?”

“Tell what?”

“That I...that I still love you.”

He gently wrapped his strong, broad fingers around my upper arm, drawing me closer, my head tilting so I could look up at him. “You love me?”

I nodded.

“What kind of love?”

“The wrong kind of love.”

He looked at my lips and said “This kind?” Then pressed a firm but delicate kiss there. I nodded, breathing out with relief, wrapping my arms all the way around his neck so my entire body, wet clothes and all, pressed inch to inch against his. A burning surge of anger and lust shuddered through me, the fulfilment of thoughts left wanting too long; his strong embrace, his warm, loving arms and a gentle touch that could only be human.

The beat of my heart thumped in my ears as Mike pushed me back against the tree and lifted my soaking singlet top—smoothing his thick fingers down my spine. It felt so confusingly right, so much that I begged him, under hot, jagged breaths, to go further, make love to me, right here, right now—to touch me, caress the craving from my skin and make the pain of wanting go away.

We breathed the heavy, heated air from each other’s lips while our hands searched frantically over places we’d always only dreamed to touch. Mike tucked his thumbs into the band of my underwear, trying in vain to remove them, but they bunched up, rolled around the top of my hip, stopped by the half-dried lake that made my skin sticky.

“Okay, that won’t work,” he said, abandoning that route, lifting me up so my legs wrapped his hips. A small hollow formed between us, his stomach drawing in to reveal his ribs, making room for me to pull the zipper of his jeans down.

We both let out a breath, his smooth skin finally touching me, brushing against my inner thigh, after so many years only imagining it. He could hardly breathe for the desperation to have me; I knew how badly he wanted to lay me down and tear my clothes away, because I wanted it too.

“Baby,” he whispered against my neck. “Baby, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mike.” As he reached down, his warm, so very human touch shifting my underwear to one side, I caught his hand, stopping him an inch before he owned my virginity. “Mike, wait.”

“You okay?” He repositioned his hips to keep me up where I started to slip down the rough surface of the tree; I was sure I had an ant and, at minimum, some bark in my underwear.

“No. I mean, yes, I’m fine, but...We can’t. I can’t do this to David.”

The hot breath of Mike’s smile moved my hair over my face. “Shit.”

“I’m sorry, Mike.”

“Oh, baby. Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry. I got carried aw—”

“Ara?” A voice, liquid with cold hurt, broke the intensity of our near connection.

“David.” I looked past Mike’s shoulder, my butt scraping the bark all the way down the tree until my toes touched the ground again.

“He has really bad timing,” Mike whispered to me, smiling as he fastened his jeans.

The weight of my breath stayed heavy, even as the intensity of desire rushed away, leaving a rigid twist of panic in my gut. Frozen, I waited for David to react.

He turned, with clenched fists, and walked, at human pace, back in the direction he came.

“David. Wait?” I called, running after him.

“Ara. I can’t talk with you right now.”

“David, please. It wasn’t—”

“Just don’t.” He stopped, holding a finger to my face. “Don’t give me the automated responses.”

“It’s not her fault, mate, I kissed her, she—”

“She can control herself.” David turned away. “I expect better of her.”

“David?” I burst into tears.

He froze, keeping his back to us. “Crying won’t grant you my pity, Ara.”

I folded over a little more, burying my face in my hands. “I stopped myself,” I yelled. “I stopped. I wasn’t going to do it.”

Mike reached for David’s shoulder. “Give her a break, mate, she—”

At lightning speed, David twisted around, planting a blow so violent to Mike’s face that his feet left the ground and he spun, hitting the dirt with the force of a hammer. My tears stopped; I waited for Mike to get up, but he didn’t move. Even David looked a little shocked at his own rage.