Dual Heritage Ch 002

Author's note:

I wanted to take a moment (because I desperately crave attention, like a addict yearning for his caffeine.) to thank you beautiful weirdos for joining me on this delightfully absurd journey! It truly warms the cockles of my cold, dead writer's heart to see so many of you tuning in. Yes, I check the stats obsessively. Don't judge me.

Now, because I value your opinions almost as much as I value coherent plotlines, almost. I'm dying to hear what you think! Comments, suggestions, existential ponderings... hit me with your best shot! But please, be gentle. My ego bruises easily.

So, go forth, my loyal readers! Leave your mark on the internet (and on my soul) with your thoughts. You never know, you might even inspire me to write something halfway decent! But let's not get ahead of ourselves...

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Chapter 4

The book she held clattered to the floor, forgotten as she stumbled backward, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. Mark instinctively reached out to steady her, but before his hand could make contact, she spun on her heel and fled. Her boots pounded against the polished floor, the sound echoing through the silent library as she disappeared around a corner.

What the...?

Mark stood there, stunned, his hand still outstretched.

What just happened?

Did she feel the same thing as he did, or was she just scared of a stranger approaching her? His mind was racing with questions.

He couldn't not follow. His feet were moving before he'd even fully registered that she'd fled.

Control yourself

, a thought, faint and reproachful, echoed somewhere in the back of his mind. But it was a whisper compared to the thrumming need that propelled him forward, urging him onward, faster, as he caught glimpses of her through the rows of towering bookshelves.

"Wait!" The word tore from his throat—a desperate plea he hadn't meant to voice. But she only ran faster, her slender figure a whirlwind of panic, dodging bewildered students as she bolted toward the library entrance. He glimpsed the glint of sun on her chestnut hair, and his pulse quickened.

Take her.

She burst through the door and into the open air, her figure swallowed by the bustling college campus. Mark followed, his pace quickening as he weaved through the throngs of students. He had no idea what was happening, why she was running, why he felt this overwhelming urge to follow her.

"Wait, please!" He calls out to her again. "I just want to talk!"

She didn't even glance back, her pace increasing as she rounded a corner, disappearing from sight. Mark pushed himself harder, his legs burning, his lungs screaming for air. He turned the corner, catching a glimpse of her long hair as she sprinted down a hallway, her backpack bouncing against her back.

He was dimly aware of students jostling, of exclamations—

Hey watch it, Asshole, Is he chasing her?

—but those were words spoken in a foreign language, barely penetrating the fog of his single-minded pursuit. It was only her.

The flicker of that navy-blue shirt, the graceful sweep of those legs he couldn't get out of his mind, the intoxicating scent— a promise of something he couldn't quite name but desperately needed— guiding him through the labyrinth of the campus, off the familiar pathways and onto busy city streets, deeper, faster, into unknown territory.

The cacophony of car horns and the shouts of street vendors faded into background noise as his focus remained solely on her. He was vaguely aware of time passing—shadows lengthening, his own breaths burning in his chest— aware of his muscles screaming, yet he kept pushing forward.

He found himself in a quiet residential neighborhood, lined with quaint houses and manicured lawns. He saw her figure in the distance, still running ahead. As he got closer, he could see that she was gasping for air and slowing down.

The street lamps, just beginning to flicker to life against the darkening sky, illuminated the delicate line of her shoulders, her chestnut hair now plastered with sweat to the graceful line of her neck— a sight that shouldn't have been erotic, yet it sent a jolt of something through him.

"Hey, wait up!" he called out, his voice hoarse.

She glanced back, chest heaving, and the fleeting image of fear reflected in those golden-brown eyes made him falter, as though the invisible thread guiding him had snapped for just an instant. But not for long. He took a step forward—

She was already gone, darting through an open doorway and slamming the door with a resounding thud that should have jolted him back to his senses. It didn't.

He was at the door, pounding on the wood before the echoes of that final slam had even fully faded.

"Open up!"

Even to his own ears, he sounded like a bad movie villain. Lida would kill him—no, actually, that was probably not what his aunt was most concerned about at this moment.

"Don't draw attention, Mark. Control yourself. Be smart—"

Those careful admonitions he'd tried (mostly) to heed for thirteen years suddenly felt like the childish echoes of a lifetime ago.

Silence mocked him from behind the heavy wood of the closed door. The scent he'd chased so relentlessly—gone, now. Swallowed by the growing certainty that he was an idiot, propelled by some goddamn pheromone overload straight into a restraining order (or maybe assault charges? It hadn't actually gotten that far, right?).

He slumped against the door-frame, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

What the hell just happened?

he thought, his mind reeling from the encounter.

A hot, embarrassing flush crept up his neck, chasing the last vestiges of that captivating perfume from his overheated system. He should walk away. Apologize, mumble some excuse about... he didn't even know what. And get the hell out of here before things got exponentially worse.

Except...

Take her............

The voice echoed back, faint, then swelling. And now that the chase was over, that consuming need it sparked morphed, twisting into a different sort of ache, settling low and relentless. It wasn't about fear, or logic, or any of those usual levers of motivation that kept him (mostly) a functional human.

He hammered his fist against the door— harder this time. Sharp pain radiated up his arm— not from the impact but from the surge of energy, almost electrical, that ripped through his tendons the moment his knuckles made contact with the wood.

"Please...Open up!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the quiet neighborhood. But there was no response, only the hollow thud of his fists against the wood.

As the seconds tick by, it becomes clear she is not going to open.

What was it about this woman that had such a powerful hold on him? Why did her scent ignite such a primal urge within him?And why had she reacted so strongly to his presence?

Take her take her take her take her............................................

The voice whispered, its insidious command worming its way deeper into his consciousness.It only grew louder, more insistent, driving him with an almost physical force. He couldn't resist it, couldn't fight the overwhelming urge that pulsed through his veins.

He was losing control, slipping further into the clutches of an unknown force, and he didn't know if he could, or even wanted to, stop it.

Without thinking, he reached out and placed his hand on the doorknob. A jolt of energy passed through him, and the knob glowed faintly before turning on its own and the door swung open.

He hesitated just long enough to register a new layer of fear layered atop the mess already roiling within him—

what the hell have you just done, Mark?

"Uh...Hello?" he called out.

The house wasn't just cold; it felt as if the air itself were laced with ice crystals— each inhale sending a prickling shiver down his spine.

But beneath the chill, faint scent, from the intoxicating aroma that had led him here, tickled his nostrils. He followed the trail, his senses on high alert, until he reached a closed door at the end of a hallway.

He pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit bedroom. She stood there, her back to him, her long hair cascading down like a dark curtain.

The way the sunlight filtering through the lace curtains illuminated the graceful curve of her shoulder blade, the narrow taper of her waist, those damn

jeans

... His mouth went dry, a primal urge battling with the shame twisting his gut.

What the hell am I doing here?

As she slowly turned, golden-brown eyes wide with an alarm that echoed his own, that primal instinct took over. She wasn't beautiful in that conventionally perfect way— high cheekbones, pouty lips, and all that nonsense—but she was...

striking

.

And right now, bathed in that almost unnatural shimmer of pale sunlight and shadow, she looked as dangerous as a live wire. A perfect paradox he was clearly not meant to be close to, yet—

"Who are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"Look, I'm sorry—" He took a tentative step forward, desperate to somehow bridge the terrifying gulf of air and suspicion that already stretched between them. "I really don't... this isn't how I usually—"

She wasn't just spooked— he could feel it. Some other current thrumming between them, beneath the fear, a recognition.

"Do... do you feel it too?"

He leaned closer, the primal command reverberating now as surely as the symphony of need strumming through every nerve:

TAKE HER.

"No," she breathed, her voice barely audible. "It can't be."

He frowned, utterly lost and confused. "What do you mean?"

"You..." she trailed off, her eyes widening as they scanned his face.

Does she know something?

She backed away until she came up against the edge of her bed— soft pink blankets that felt strangely wrong, out of sync, with the rest of the... the aura surrounding her.

A sudden gust of icy wind swirled through the room— or maybe it just felt like that— making the hairs on his arms prickle, every sense amplifying, as she pressed a hand to her temple, confusion and something akin to fear mirroring on her face.

"This..." She swallowed. "You're..."

The coldness intensified, the air around them growing thick with an icy mist. It was then that it hit him, the realization dawning like a sunrise.

"You're an ice mage."

Her eyes widened. "Wha...How did you..."

"I don't know..I just...don't know what's happening.."

His voice was a husky rasp, all bravado evaporated. And why should that bother him so much? She was...

mesmerizing

. More specifically, the way she flinched when he took another step, how the pulse at the base of her throat quickened— he noticed things like that. Things that shouldn't have felt so...

damn

hot.

"But..." he inhaled. Now that the fear was replaced by this other kind of tension, that intoxicating scent was a thousand times more potent. It coiled around him— ginger, blossoms, and now something sharper— iron? Blood?

"You smell amazing."

A wave of pink swept over her high cheekbones, softening those hard lines just enough. He almost choked on his own amusement— since when was he this guy?

"And you..." She lowered her gaze— long, thick eyelashes a screen, then raised those captivating eyes back to his. "You.... smell good too....."

Hesitation still trembled through him. Wariness.

This could end badly, Mark.

But those were rational concerns belonging to a rational version of himself that no longer felt like it was fully in charge here. Not with her lips parted, that damn scent coiling between them, his pulse a drumbeat urging him—

And she wasn't backing away now, either. Not completely. He could sense it— a battle waged beneath that carefully controlled exterior, that primal pull resonating through her, too.

Her fingers flexed, nails biting into the faded duvet beside her— and god, those chipped bits of black nail polish were strangely hot, juxtaposed against the skin...He caught the sharp inhale, the way her chest rose and fell beneath the thin cotton of her blouse.

Maybe this wasn't all the strange compulsion guiding his next move, either. Maybe it was a response to those wide, dark-rimmed eyes watching him, that sudden rush of cinnamon spice in the air.

Whatever the reason, as their breaths mingled, it seemed perfectly natural to bridge the distance between them, his hands framing her delicate jaw, fingertips already aware of the tremor just beneath the surface of her impossibly smooth skin.

She arched into his touch. He inhaled, the sweet torment of those mingled aromas turning his head.

His mouth slanted across hers, rough. And she didn't back away, not this time. Those full lips parted— surprised, then... welcoming. The sigh escaping her mouth as their bodies brushed was like the final crack in an already-fragile dam.

His tongue tangled with hers, hands roaming.

Mine

became a word, breathed against her lips as he slid her against the wall, his body pressing her in, not for comfort but to claim.

Chapter 5

Mark slammed her back against the wall, ignoring the soft thud of her body against the lavender paint as he captured her mouth, this time with a bruising possessiveness he couldn't— wouldn't— apologize for.

He tasted magic on her tongue— ice, power, that something else that resonated through him, and it made his blood sing.

Mine...

That insistent, demanding voice no longer felt foreign, intruding, but like an echo of his own wants amplified a thousandfold. Her moan as his lips finally brushed against the smooth curve of her collarbone was all the encouragement he needed.

He ripped at the buttons of her blouse, tearing through the fabric with a ferocity that surprised even him, desperate to feel her bare skin against his.

"Mmmh-awww..." She gasped.

He wasted no time as he pushed the bra up, revealing her impossibly hard nipples mounted on her deliciously full breasts. His mouth latched on them, his tongue swirling around their peaks, sucking and biting with a fervor that elicited a moan of pleasure from her lips.

"Ohh.....Ahhhhhh......"

He pushed her back— or she yielded, he wasn't sure anymore— but she landed on those absurdly frilly sheets with a soft bounce that made him almost laugh. It felt incongruous. Wrong.

Perfect

.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of those impossibly tight jeans and yanked them down in a single, decisive motion revealing the smooth curve of her hips and the soft cotton of her panties.

And for a moment his mind— or maybe the vestige of sanity— rebelled. He pulled back, searching her face for ... he didn't know what. Doubt? Hesitation? Regret? But there was only the same desperate hunger burning in those gold-flecked eyes, mirroring his own.

She simply arched those incredible legs, pushing those damned panties down with a slow grace.

He watched— captivated— as she shimmied free of the last scrap of lace, a playful smirk twisting her lips as she met his gaze, her fingertips lingering on the clasp of her bra before tossing it aside.

Her skin was as pale as winter moonlight, the curves of her ribcage so delicate he wanted to trace them with his tongue, to see if those hollows tasted as intoxicating as...

"H-Hurry..."

That was the final nail in the coffin of his self-control. He yanked off his own clothes—

damn these buttons!

— and when his eyes returned to her, she was on her elbows, propped on the edge of that frilly bed, her gaze sweeping down over him, slow and frankly assessing. Hungry. Her bottom lip disappeared behind a neat row of teeth.

Her pupils were blown wide, those normally glacial eyes molten gold. She was as lost as he was. Maybe more.

The bed creaked under their combined weight as he pulled her towards the center of the mattress, his hands gripping her hips possessively.

He buried his face against the warmth of her throat, kissing the pulse point beneath her delicate ear.

"Oh god..." Her body shuddered beneath his.

He showered her neck with kisses, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She moaned softly, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her hips bucking against his in a silent plea for release. He was

hard

, gloriously hard, aching for release. But then a flicker of rationality pierced through the haze of desire.

He hesitated just long enough to make sure she knew what the hell she was getting into—his, hers, or whatever the hell that insidious voice whispering in their veins wanted. He stared down into her face, at the flush on those high cheekbones, at the feverish heat burning in those usually glacial eyes.

"Tell me," he growled, "do you want this?"

"Y-Yes....I-I'm going... crazy," she replied, breathing heavily. "I want nothing more. Please, just... don't make me wait anymore."

Her plea was laced with a raw vulnerability that sent a shiver down his spine.

He got this sudden rush of power, a messed-up kind of thrill from her desperate words. This wasn't like him, this craving for control, this hunger to dominate.

But in that moment, it didn't matter. The last vestiges of rationality slipped away, replaced by a primal urge that demanding to be fed.

"I'm going to make you come so hard," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

"Please," she begged, her body writhing beneath him. "Just do it. Fuck me."

He grazed the tip of his cock against her swollen folds— once, twice, the slick heat of her soaking his skin. A low whine tore from her throat. And with the deliberate cruelty only this strange, overwhelming need could inspire, he pulled back—just slightly, pressing against that exquisitely sensitive bundle of nerves nestled between her gloriously thighs.

She moaned with frustration, her hips bucking against him. "Please," she pleaded, "I need you inside me. Now. Just do it already........"

Her cries was a broken plea, and dammit, he relished that frantic edge in her voice. He rammed into her, sinking deep in one fierce drive.

"AAAAGGHHHHH!!!...."

The force of it almost sent him over the edge right then. And then something shifted, a current more potent than any drug slammed into him— not pain, but pleasure so intense it was a shockwave rippling through him, stealing his breath and blurring the edges of his vision.

"Y-You okay—?"

Stupid

, goddamn stupid, pointless question drowned out by the next desperate, unhinged cry.

"No, fuck, I need— more... harder..."

He didn't need another second of confirmation. He was moving, all control out the window, driven by a hunger deeper and darker than anything he'd ever felt. He drank in her gasp, the taste of her, the feel of her nails digging into his shoulders, marking him as hers just as surely as he intended to brand her his.

It was like that first, life-altering hit— euphoria slamming into every cell of his being, obliterating thought and leaving only a raw, desperate need for more. More of her, more of this,

more

.

His hips found a rhythm, a brutal, primal tango that had them both moaning, sweat-slicked and panting against the sheets.

Every thrust sent a filthy, electric jolt through him, her desperate whispers against his throat setting a rhythm that pounded like a war drum in their veins.

She was tight.

Hot

. So fucking hot.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, her body trembling beneath him as he thrust into her with increasing force. Her nails dug into the sheets, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she shuddered.

"Harder...faster, fuck...YES!" she moaned, her voice hoarse with pleasure.

He answered her with a groan, burying his face against the damp warmth of her neck, tasting salt and that ever-present hint of cinnamon— but this close, he swore he tasted something colder, too, metallic, an undercurrent of something that shouldn't have been alluring, shouldn't have been...