Wrath, page 5
“Fuck, Z.” His hands landed on my waist.
I helped him remove his pants the rest of the way, and then I straddled him, lining his cock up with my entrance. Slowly, never taking my eyes off him, I sank down, loving the feel of him inside me. Filling me up. Making me whole. Replacing all of the darkness in my life with bursts of light.
A moan worked its way through me. “God, Jax. You feel so good.”
“Move for me, baby. Let me see you.”
I bounced on Jax’s cock as moonlight danced across his face like writhing, silver snakes. Pleasure hooded his eyes, and his lips parted slightly, revealing his fangs. He captured one of my breasts and squeezed it.
“You’re so damn beautiful, Z. I love you so much.” With his free hand, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and tugged my face down to his.
Every brush of his lips against mine was a reminder of all we had to fight for, all we had to live for.
Love for him unfurled inside of me, but it was tinged with desperation. Any second now, this could be taken away from me.
He could be taken away.
I couldn’t allow that to happen.
I wouldn’t.
And as we fell apart together on the beach in the moonlight, I knew I would do whatever it took to hold on to my mates—hold on to these moments that only intensified my love for them.
No one—not the kings, not Aaliyah, not even the humans—would get in the way of that.
I’d like to see them try.
SEVEN
Z
Davia’s face pinched as if she’d just eaten something sour. She tapped her fingernails agitatedly against the table.
All of us had reconvened the following morning in the same tent as before. B, Davia, and HH sat on one side next to a man they introduced as Turner. Turner was, apparently, a prominent member of the human resistance and a skilled military strategist.
My mates and I, accompanied by Mali and Phineas, sat on the opposite side of the table.
There was a clear divide between humans and nightmares, and I wasn’t sure any amount of negotiation would breach it.
“If we have any hope of stopping Aaliyah, we need an army,” Turner insisted.
He was a tall and broad human with light-blond hair—so light it almost resembled freshly fallen snow—and a wicked scar bisecting his right cheek. Intelligent green eyes peered out of a face weathered with time.
B pinched the bridge of his nose. “And how do you propose we do that? We have people willing to fight, but less than fifty percent of them have been trained.”
“Maybe we won’t win with skill but with numbers.” Turner’s expression turned contemplative.
He scratched absently at the scar on his cheek. I noticed he did that often, almost as if it was a nervous tic of his.
I didn’t like Turner.
I saw the way he regarded my mates, particularly Killian and Ryland. Ryland mostly kept himself hidden by shadows, but the few times he made an appearance, the human couldn’t help but stare at the scars distorting Ryland’s darkly handsome face. And he almost looked…satisfied. Pleased, even, like he thought Ryland got exactly what he deserved.
It infuriated me.
And with Killian, Turner didn’t even bother to hide his disgust.
All of my mates were regarded with distrust and trepidation. I couldn’t even blame the humans. They had been subjected and ridiculed for years—centuries, if I really thought about it.
Change, however, was coming, and everyone could taste it. It made the humans brazen, the nightmares angry, and the rulers fearful.
I couldn’t help but scoff at my inner thoughts.
Humans.
As if I wasn’t one.
Though… Technically, I wasn’t a human, was I? I was something other.
A reincarnated angel-slash-demon.
The revelation sat like a lead weight in my stomach.
“Nightmares won’t fight for the humans,” Devlin was saying in his curt, no-nonsense voice. “Some of them will, but the majority are set in their ways. They may not actively hate humans, but they won’t fight for them.”
“Then we need more humans,” Turner said simply, as if the solution to this issue was glaringly obvious.
“What are you saying, Turner?” Davia leaned forward slightly. “Just spit it out, you overgrown man child.”
I liked Davia.
“The detention camps.” A grin split Turner’s face, tugging at the scar.
That smile… It made him look wicked. Nightmarish.
A hush fell over the table. B’s face drained of color, and Davia appeared thoughtful.
Everyone knew that the majority of humans in the shifter kingdom were put into camps years ago, after rebels killed the king’s mate. I’d never been inside one myself, but I’d heard the horror stories.
All of us had.
Lupe looked as if he was going to be sick, especially when Turner flicked his keen gaze in the bear shifter’s direction.
“Could you get us into the camps?” he demanded.
“I…” Lupe struggled to find words.
My sweet mate had nothing to do with his father’s activities, despite being the crowned prince. I didn’t think he even knew the extent of his father’s depravities until recently. Most of the shifters guarding the camps were loyal to the imprisoned shifter king and him alone.
They would kill Lupe on sight.
But Lupe didn’t say that out loud.
Instead, fierce determination crossed his face, and he nodded once, a stiff jerk of his chin. “I can try.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Bash gripped my hand under the table and gave it a squeeze—an eloquent “shut the fuck up.”
I narrowed my eyes at the mage, but he simply cocked an arrogant eyebrow at me before releasing me and refocusing on the table once more.
Cocky asshole.
He shifted, folding his arms over his chest, and I caught a glimpse of his muscular forearms.
Cocky, sexy asshole.
“At least you’re good for something,” Turner muttered under his breath, and it was official.
I was gonna stab him. In the eye. Or the cock. Or the ass. Maybe the ear canal…
“So we send a team to liberate the humans…” B ran a hand through his rapidly graying hair. I swore in the span of hours, it had turned whiter than before. “What about the Trials of Lilith?”
An atomic bomb replaced the stone in my stomach. I felt suddenly sick and lightheaded, my thoughts swirling like a tornado, unable to settle.
“How do these trials work exactly?” Dair placed his elbows on the table and frowned.
“It hasn’t been done in centuries, if at all. No one knows for sure.” Davia’s gaze flicked to the book sitting in front of Lupe, the pages brittle and yellow with age. “It appears as if we say a spell or incantation or something, and then the trials will begin.”
“Right away?” Bash’s eyebrows drew together.
Davia shrugged. “What part of hasn’t been done in centuries do you not understand?”
“Who’s to say it’ll even work?” Ryland’s voice was thick with disdain as one shadowy finger lifted to caress the cover of the book.
A shudder reverberated through him as if he could feel the raw, unencumbered power emanating from the pages.
“It might not,” B agreed readily. “But does it hurt to try? If you guys receive Lilith’s backing, then you’ll be legitimized in the eyes of the other nightmares. Not only that, but the kingdoms’ forces will be more willing to fight with us against Aaliyah.”
“Humans and nightmares fighting side by side.” Turner scoffed, as if the sheer prospect was utterly ridiculous.
Very purposefully, I placed my hands over Bash’s on the table. My mage’s lips quirked upwards into an almost taunting smirk, and Turner paled.
“Stranger things have happened,” I quipped.
“So are we doing this?” Lupe asked, volleying his gaze from side to side so he could see all of our faces. “Are we going to ask Lilith to bless us?”
I wanted to say no, but I knew it was my own fear holding me back. Having Lilith’s blessing—whatever that meant—would help us tremendously. Nightmares would have no choice but to follow my mates’ rule.
And we needed all the help we could get if we had any chance of defeating Aaliyah.
Dair’s jaw clenched, but he nodded stiffly, his blue eyes twinkling in the candlelight.
The shadows coalescing around Ryland flickered out of existence as he silently agreed to give it a try, his chin dipping once.
Devlin and Bash both verbally gave their consent, and Jax blew out an agitated breath but nodded.
Only Killian remained silent, his gaze lowered to the tabletop. His tail, snaking through the back of the chair, thumped against the floor.
“Kill?” Lupe asked. “We’re only doing this if we all agree.”
“It’s our only option!” Turner argued.
“Shut the fuck up,” Mali snapped.
“Agreed.” HH tapped his fingers against the table. “Shut the fuck up.”
Turner scowled but snapped his mouth shut, audibly grinding his molars.
“Who knows what Lilith will make us do?” Killian’s voice was soft, rife with fear. “Especially to—”
“I know,” I interrupted, though not unkindly.
Killian’s worry came out of a place of love, and I couldn’t fault him for that. He was terrified of what would happen to me. In the memories Aaliyah gifted me, my mother was never the warm and fuzzy type of figure. She saw my birth as nothing more than a business transaction, a way to make peace between the demons and angels.
I swallowed around the razor blade in my throat.
“It’ll be okay, Kill.” I wanted to touch him, reassure him, but he was too far away. “Everyone will be okay.”
Killian seemed to hesitate, his green eyes dark with tension, before he turned to Lupe and nodded.
Lupe blew out a breath and slowly flipped open the book. Dust scattered in all directions as the cover hit the table with a deafening bang.
“Then let’s get this over with.”
EIGHT
Z
Lupe ran his hand over the book reverently, his brows furrowed in concentration. His glasses slipped farther down his nose, but he used his middle finger to push the frames back into place.
Then, in a low, lyrical voice, he began to speak.
I wouldn’t be able to repeat what he said. I knew for certain that he wasn’t speaking English, but what language he actually spoke eluded me. Latin? Wasn’t that what Davia said? The vowels flowed together in a way that was almost…musical.
Goose pimples pebbled on my skin, and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood upright. My stomach muscles tightened in a way that was almost painful.
When Lupe finally finished reading, he sat back in the chair, the crease between his brows even more pronounced. He absently scratched at the back of his neck as he surveyed all of us.
“Nothing happened,” Davia interjected.
“We don’t know that,” B said pointedly. “No one has ever—”
The world turned dark. The floor beneath my feet dropped away, and it felt like I was spinning. Falling. Tumbling head over heels with no way to differentiate up from down, left from right. A strange wind blew at my blonde tresses as I fell, fell, fell…
Once, when I was young, I stumbled upon an old book from the before time. The cover depicted a fair-haired girl falling down a rabbit hole, clocks and bunnies and teacups and hats whirling past her. I certainly felt like Alice.
Falling, falling, falling…
And when I landed, it wasn’t with two feet planted firmly on the ground.
Oh no. That would be too easy.
Something twined around my wrists, holding them together and above my head. I hung suspended from the ceiling, the tips of my toes just barely brushing the ground, as the world came back into focus.
What the fuck?
What the ever-loving fuck?
Panic pressed in on me from all directions as I took in my surroundings.
I appeared to be in a cell, maybe a room of some sort, though there was no door that I could see. There was nothing but four gray walls that smelled vaguely of blood and mildew. I couldn’t see what was behind me, but directly in front of me sat a metal rolling table with a collection of folded clothes on top of it.
Where the fuck was I?
“Lupe? Ryland? Killian? Bash? Dair? Jax? Dev?” I called, my body wiggling like a damn worm as I tried to free myself from the constraints.
It appeared as if my hands were tied together and looped around a low-hanging beam.
What. The. Fuck?
“Z?” a familiar voice questioned from the opposite side of the wall, directly in front of me.
“Bash?” I struggled again, but my efforts proved futile.
The rope was simply too strong to break through sheer force.
A dry, sardonic chuckle greeted me, slightly muffled. “The one and only.” A pause and then, “Are you tied up too? Trying to decide if this is super kinky or super disturbing.”
I snorted before I could stop myself. Trust Bash to lighten the mood when I was mere seconds from freaking the fuck out.
“I’m tied to the ceiling,” I confirmed. “And…” Something chafed against my neck, and alarm propelled through me. “And I have a collar around my neck.”
There was a beat of silence, then Bash’s dry voice said, “Kinky.”
“This isn’t fucking funny.” The metal of the collar dug into my skin.
I knew that it would leave behind mottled red lines. Maybe even blood.
Motherfucker.
Though maybe I should say fatherfucker, since my mother was the one behind this.
“I know it’s not funny. This is actually really fucking disturbing.” Bash paused, and I imagined he was assessing the situation. “But I can get us out of here. Give me a second.”
I held myself perfectly still as I waited for Bash to use his powers.
And then…pain.
Pain everywhere.
A scream lodged in my throat, and another wave of despair pushed it free. I couldn’t stop the cries that escaped me.
It felt like electricity was being injected straight into my bloodstream. It seemed to be emanating from the collar clamped tight around my throat. It burned. Oh god, it burned. Was my skin on fire? Was I dying?
Tears pricked my eyes as Bash’s frantic voice reached me.
“Z! Z! Answer me, dammit! What the fuck is going on?”
Slowly, the all-consuming, incandescent pain receded, and it felt like I could breathe again. My throat felt raw. I was terrified to even think about what it would look like beneath the collar.
“Z!” Bash barked.
“I think… I think it’s your magic,” I managed to pant out, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor.
“My magic?”
“When you started to use it, the pain started.” It still felt like I couldn’t take a full breath. Fatherfucker. “But I’ll be fine. Just do it quickly and—”
“Fuck no!” Bash sounded horrified. “I’m not going to use my magic if it caused you to scream like that.”
“Bash—”
“Don’t Bash me.” He grumbled something too low for me to hear and then snapped out, “We’ll just escape the old-fashioned way.”
“And what way is that?”
Another pause. “I’m still thinking.”
My head lolled against my chest, even as a dark chuckle escaped me. “So do you think this is Lilith’s first task?”
“Either it’s Lilith’s first task or we have the worst fucking luck known to man,” Bash proclaimed. “What do you have in your room? Anything we can use to remove the handcuffs?”
I frowned and slowly lifted my head. It hurt like a bitch to do so. Was everything still connected? Was it possible for your muscles to disjoin from the bone? That was certainly what it felt like.
“Handcuffs? You’re held up by handcuffs?” I asked, my voice a guttural croak.
“Yeah?” That one word came out sounding like a question. “What the fuck are you held up by?”
“You swear a lot,” I pointed out.
“Fuck you. Now answer the fucking question.”
I tilted my head back once more and focused on the rope. “Rope.”
“Rope?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“Someone’s feeling sassy today.”
“Stabby, actually,” I corrected, “but close.” I shifted slightly, the muscles in my shoulders screaming in protest, when my gaze caught on something on the tiny table in front of me, poking out from beneath one of the white shirts. “Bash?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I see a key.”
“A key?” Disbelief caused his voice to hitch.
“Gimme a second.”
How the fuck was I supposed to grab it? It wasn’t as if I had use of my hands…
An idea came to me, and I thanked every god in existence that I spent most of my life working out and training. I’d honed my body into a lethal weapon, and just then, I was incredibly grateful for that.
Wincing slightly, I tilted backwards—ignoring the strain the movement put on my aching shoulders—and allowed my feet to lift.
If the world was what it was like centuries ago, before the nightmares took over, I could've been a gymnast. I was certainly capable of bending my body in strange and unusual ways.
Made me popular in the bedroom.
“What’s going on over there, Z?” Bash asked, unable to hide his alarm.
“One second,” I said, my voice nothing but a pant of air.
Fortunately, I was still dressed in a pair of sandals I’d found in my tent. If I could just loosen them, I’d be able to slip them off.
“Motherfucker,” I grumbled as I shifted my head forward so I could bite down on the strap of the sandal on my right foot.
I tried not to think of everyone who had probably used these sandals before I did. Had they even been cleaned? Fuck. Not thinking of that.
