Chapter 7: Drinking While Angry is Never a Good Idea

Priscilla’s POV

I slid my hands up and down my arms, trying to erase the sensation Wyatt left against my skin. I hated it. These emotions weren’t real. Naivety would have me believe they were, but I knew better.

Too many times I believed in men and too many times I’ve been struck down. Used to someone else’s advantage.

I’m not going to fucking do it again.

This time I would be the one doing the using.

At four in the morning, I tore my clothing off, standing beneath a scalding shower. Needing to feel something else. Anything else. If only I could peel it off, get out of my own flesh, my own earthly desires, but I couldn’t.

A stroke of want climbed up my spine, even as the hot water left me flushed. I wanted Wyatt. That was not lost on me. My thighs trembled as I thought about how good he felt on top of me. How I ached to walk my fingers up his bare chest, feel if his chest was as firm as it looked.

I bet it was. Solid and hot. Just asking for a taste.

I groaned audibly, the hot water spraying down my back, dousing my internal flames. Fact of the matter was he deserved someone else. Someone that didn’t hold so much contempt for themselves.

He needed someone who wanted to be coddled and protected. Someone softer than I was. I didn’t want to be treated like I was fragile. The fact Wyatt always tiptoed around me annoyed me more than anything else.

Sparring with him was fun, though. Took me by surprise. The heat ignited within me again, achiness nipping at the sensitive spot along my throat, where I’m sure his mark would be.

Thinking about being marked just pissed me off again. Eternally bound. I didn’t have the temperament for it.

A part of me appreciated how polite Wyatt was. Giving me space I asked for. He didn’t know how to act around me, and that was somewhat exhilarating to me.

But fuck, I wanted to see the primal side of him. I wanted to see him angry. The wolf he had such control over. I wanted him to chase me. Let go of that tight rope. Show me what he was made of. Maybe that was the reason I wanted to spar with him.

A good fight turned me on more than a mediocre fuck.

When Wyatt knocked me down, and I pulled him down on top of me, he should have just kissed me instead of thinking about it. A flash of heat flushed down my abdomen as I imagined how his lips would taste. What the rest of him would taste like.

I entertained the idea of what else I would have done if he didn’t give me a chance to second guess myself. Would he finally let go then? I wonder how his long fingers would feel tangled in my hair, pulling eagerly as I nipped at his thighs.

Would he beg?

I’d take my time, watching him fight with himself through hooded eyes. A coil of desire tightened in my belly as I wondered how loud he’d be. The idea of this tightly controlled man losing his inhibitions in the face of desire gave me this unhealthy high.

My fingertips slipped down my heated body as I indulged that high.

*****

“What are you thinking about?” Astrid asked me as we sat in the moonlit courtyard. The full moon was high in the sky, another reason I decided to visit Astrid. The moon made shifters antsy.

The Romano villa was meticulously kept. Absolutely beautiful and manicured to perfection. The type of place I wish we had growing up. “Nothing.”

Astrid frowned, following my gaze out into the honeysuckle vines that coiled around the awning. I could smell them from across the courtyard. “I had them added to the garden when Oriana was a baby. Reminded me of home.”

“Why didn’t you ever come back?” I asked.

“Mama made me promise to keep you out of vampire politics,” she replied. That sounded about right.

A humorless laugh slipped past my lips as I sipped at my glass of red wine. The villa was attached to a vineyard, so Astrid insisted I try their recipe. Of course, like everything Astrid had a hand in, it tasted amazing.

“How are our siblings, Cilla? Everyone turn out okay?” my sister asked tentatively. Hope was evident in her voice. She seemed very interested in hearing about everyone.

“For the most part, they’re all doing great things,” I offered. “Felix is pursuing a Master's in English. Wants to be a novelist.”

“Always a smart kid,” my sister added happily.

“When he wasn’t looking at himself in a mirror,” I teased, remembering how our youngest brother would stare at himself and make funny faces endlessly when he was a kid.

Astrid beamed, “That’s right. How about Javi? I’m always worried about him.”

Our military man of a brother between Astrid and I. “Javier came home in a box a few years ago.” Those words came from my mouth callously. My brother and I were never close, but his death made me numb.

“What?” Astrid breathed. The news was clearly a shock to her as tears welled up in her eyes.

“Don’t act so surprised. Those were the risks in his line of work,” I said, taking a long drink from the wine.

Astrid’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’m allowed to be upset that my brother died.”

“You weren’t there, were you?” The alcohol was making me loose-lipped, revealing just how bitter I had become.

“What happened to you?” Astrid asked, her tone taking on that scolding big sister sound that I thought I missed. I didn’t.

I scoffed, not answering her question.

“The Priscilla I remember was shy and sweet. She couldn’t hurt a fly. What happened to you?”

I sucked my front teeth, debating what I should say. “The Priscilla you remember was a child, Astrid. I’m not the same person.”

“What do you want me to say?” she snapped, her youthful features seeming to give away her real age.

My shoulders hunched as I sighed. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I’m angry with you. Mama. Abuela.”

“And I understand that, Cilla. You’re allowed to be angry, but stop throwing my absence in my face, okay? I know I disappeared. Please, just give me the opportunity to make it up to you.” Astrid said, her face screwing up with remorse. A rogue tear slipped down her cheek.

Being with my sister was a welcome relief. Astrid wore her emotions on her sleeve so I could always tell what she was thinking. I felt thankful for her candidness.

“I missed you so much,” Astrid confessed. “It drove me crazy that I was never allowed to be involved with your lives. See who you turned out to be. Even Jessica never told me anything.”

Jessica. A white-hot spear of anger shot through me. “Jessica knew?” the question came out like a hiss.

Astrid knew instantly that she misspoke, but there was no taking it back now. Suddenly panic washed over her face but I didn’t know why.

Jessica, our family friend, who visited our family frequently. Practically another sister to me. She watched me spiral after Astrid’s death and she didn’t say a fucking thing. Eighteen years old and devastated. I had questions that no one would answer. Jessica looked me straight in the face and lied to me.

Like a manifestation of all my rage before me, Jessica, a toddler on her hip, walked through the door. James was right behind her, their teenage son in tow.

“Astridita!” Jessica shouted as waved wildly at my sister.

What the fuck was she doing here?