Rapture by L.V. Lane

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Winter

THE SHOCK OF contact forces me to acknowledge my predicament. My last shred of pride counsels me against struggling and giving the entranced audience a greater show. Rebellion is pointless anyway. Jacob’s strength outstrips mine tenfold, in addition to the dizzying pheromones that beguile my biological submission.

All this aside, the desire for flight remains.

His arm tightens a fraction at my waist, fist adding a little sting where it grips my hair.

I am no longer Blood. I am the lowliest Feeder. Worse, I am a Breeder, should he will it. I am whatever he chooses to make me. Until then, I am unmade, unrealized matter, my fate beyond my control.

Once, long ago, my fate had also been beyond my control. Memories of that dark event have been pushed back and smothered, but today, they clamor to the fore.

Today, no one will save me.

This understanding unhinges the last of my tenuous control.

Ugly bitterness consumes me, my thoughts turning chaotic again. I have been so full of self-righteousness for so long, so fully driven for so long, that I have discarded the humanity and compassion that I once held dear. I question who I am and the many crossroads that have brought me to this predicament.

I have no power. This is the most pervasive thought, and oddly, it is freeing in ways I did not anticipate. Destiny, decisions, and what I do in the next second, hour, and the remainder of my lifetime, are not mine to choose.

If I live or die is similarly beyond my control.

I am burdenless.

I am unfettered.

I am his.

Resignation, defeat, and relief all hold equal place.

No, not equal, for relief seeks and gains dominance.

I relax into his hold. He is not Leander.

That Jacob will do terrible things to me is a given, but he is not Leander, and I cling to this hope.