Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

Damon
Seven Years Ago
I snake my arm around her, pulling her close and hanging on
as I bury my nose in the back of her hair. The coarse little
jewels glued to her costume cut into my arm. She’s so small
and fragile, like a toothpick in my coil.
The fountain spills around us as her teeth sink into my
hand, but instead of yanking my arm away, the pain of her
sharp, little bite fills my veins with warmth and my eyelids
flutter. Tingles spread under my skin, and the breath I didn’t
realize I’d been holding finally leaves my lungs.
It doesn’t feel bad. It doesn’t hurt the way it should.
I look at her small face, not resisting her as the pressure
deepens, and I’m sure the skin has torn.
Yes.
I won’t pull away.
Not ever.
I squeezed her tighter in my arm, the curve of her body
molding to mine as I refused to let go. Even as consciousness
started to seep in, the fountain faded away, and the scent of her
changed from flowers to my soap. The costume she was