by Larissa Ione
Slake, man, where are you?
Granted, it was stupid to hope that a guy he’d only known for a couple of days would swoop in to rescue him, but at this point, hope was all Raze had. He’d tried everything else. He’d rammed himself into the metal post, but the thing hadn’t budged, let alone bent. He tried to break the chain by pulling on it and smashing it with several heavy, hard objects, like the bed post and the nightstand. He’d tried yelling for help. Jumping up and down on the floor. He’d even considered sawing off his foot, but the sharpest object he could find was the dull edge of a metal bracket in the bed frame, and there was no way the bracket would stand up to bone.
He was going to die here, wasn’t he?
The muffled ring of his phone penetrated his morbid thoughts and the marrow-deep agony. It and the keys he assumed would unlock the shackle around his ankle had fallen under the dresser after he’d tried to use a blanket to knock them closer to him. Now there was no way he could get to them. Maybe whoever was calling would worry when he didn’t answer the phone. Maybe they’d come over.
And maybe he was a fucking idiot.
No one was coming. He was running out of time, and the bitch of it was that in a matter of minutes, a half an hour at the most, he’d be so far gone that he wouldn’t care.
As his muscles cramped so hard he felt the excruciating snap of his ribs cracking, it was time to admit that he was, essentially, gone already.
Slake’s day just got shittier and shittier. As if things weren’t bad enough, he couldn’t find his phone. Atrox was supposed to be tracking Fayle’s movements and uploading them into a handy-dandy merc app designed by the best demonic software developers on the planet. Slake was especially fond of the kidnap-planning function. Those silly demon geeks were good.
He slammed his truck’s door shut hard enough to make the old Land Rover rock on its snow tires. The phone wasn’t in there, and the weird thing was, he felt a split second of relief, because if he found the thing and Raze hadn’t called, he’d be more disappointed than he cared to admit.
He went through his house next, tearing apart the tiny one-bedroom cabin until it looked like it had the day he’d moved in twenty years ago. He unpacked drawers, ripped up cushions, and practically destroyed his bed in an effort to find the stupid phone.
Then, as he reached down to pick up a couch cushion off the floor, a glint caught his eye. There it was, hiding under the TV stand.
Cursing himself to a thousand hells, he plugged the thing in and had to wait precious seconds for the dead battery to get enough of a charge for the phone to turn on. After what felt like days, he finally swiped out of the home screen, checked for messages, and his gut fluttered when he saw the number of notifications waiting for him.
There were several texts from Atrox. And one from Dyre that had come after the fun incident at the Tokyo office. Probably another threat.
And there . . . unholy shit, there was a voice message from Raze.
Hand shaking, he pressed the Play button, and his breath caught at the unexpected sound of Fayle’s voice.
“This is Fayle, you vile oaf. I know you were sent to find me, and I know who hired you. So trust me when I say I’d rather disembowel myself with a toothbrush than call you for help, but . . . whatever, I don’t owe you an explanation. Raze is chained in our apartment. He needs to be released before ten tonight or he’ll die. So . . . yeah. Help him. Oh, and fuck off. I say that with sincerity.”
What the hell? She’d chained him? Why? And wait—
He glanced at his watch, and his heart leaped into his throat. She said ten tonight. It was midnight, New York time. Fucking midnight.
He had to waste valuable time driving to the Harrowgate closest to his remote cabin, but once he arrived at the site two miles away, he hit the gate at a run and popped out near Thirst. In a burst of speed he didn’t know he was even capable of, he sprinted past the charred remains of the club to the alley in the back, and practically flew up the flight of stairs.
The door to the apartment was unlocked, and the moment he stepped inside, he was struck by a wave of what he could only describe as erotic agony. It was as if the very air was charged with both sex and pain, and the craziest part of it was that even as he tore through the living room toward the bedroom, his dick got hard.
And then he came to a screeching halt at the sight of Raze.
He was writhing in agony on the floor, his skin gouged as if he’d been trying to rip it off. Blood streaked his leg from the cuff around his ankle, and between panting breaths, he was moaning.
“Oh shit,” Slake whispered.
Raze’s head snapped around to the doorway, and Slake’s breath caught in his throat. Raze’s eyes glowed an unholy crimson full of rage and pain. Teeth bared, Raze snarled and lunged, only to be yanked backward by the chain. And that erection . . . holy shit, the Sem must be in utter agony.
Slowly, Slake moved forward. “Easy,” he murmured, keeping his voice low and soothing, the way he’d once coaxed an injured dog out of a drainage pipe near the side of a road. “I’m here to help.” How, he had no idea.
Raze went down on his haunches in a defensive crouch, and a growl, sounding as if it had been mined from the deepest pits in hell, rattled his chest. He wrapped a trembling arm protectively around his belly, and something in Slake’s chest squeezed.
“What do you need me to do?” The obvious answer was to get him a female, but no way was he going to subject anyone to this. Well, he’d toss Fayle at Raze in a heartbeat, but he was pretty sure he didn’t have time to find her.
A secret, shameful part of him was glad, if only because he didn’t relish the thought of seeing Raze fuck someone else. Raze was his. Maybe it was just temporary, and maybe it was wrong to think of him that way, but screw it. Slake had spent his entire life knowing what he wanted and who he wanted to be, and for the first time, he’d encountered someone who might accept that person.
So for now, Raze was his, and he wasn’t going to let him die.
“Okay, buddy, here’s the plan. I’m going to knock your ass out, and then I’m going to get you to Underworld General. They can help you.” He hoped. Surely a hospital run by Seminus demons knew how to deal with one of their own kind.
Raze’s only response was a shudder and a moan.
Bracing himself for a battle, Slake lunged at Raze, locking his arm around the guy’s neck and throwing him to the ground. But shit, whatever Raze was going through seemed to have given him super strength, and in a quick series of mind-bogglingly agile moves, Raze had Slake pinned like a WWF loser. And not just a loser. Like an amateur who had been grabbed from the audience and thrown into the ring with a champion.
Raze clawed at Slake’s pants, ripping the fly open so violently that buttons flew across the room and seams tore. Slake’s cock, so hard he could hammer nails with it, popped free, ready for action.
Slake didn’t even have time to think before Raze hauled him up and slammed him, face-first, onto the bed. Slake twisted, but Raze was faster, and in this state, he was stronger . . . impossibly strong. In seconds, he had Slake’s pants yanked down around his knees.
Gods, the guy was so far gone, so desperate for sex, that the fact that Slake was male didn’t matter. But ultimately, it would matter, wouldn’t it? If Raze couldn’t climax—
He heard the sound of Raze spitting, and he cranked his head around just enough to see him spreading moisture on his cock.
Slake held his breath, his mind frantic as he considered his options, because even though his erection throbbed like a sonofabitch and his body craved Raze with an intensity he’d never experienced, his instincts screamed at him to fight back. His hands were free, and he knew he could stop this. He’d have to hurt Raze to do it, but hey, it wasn’t as if Slake hadn’t hurt—or killed—before.
Raze looked up, meeting Slake’s gaze, and for a moment, time stilled. Behind the rage and pain deep inside Raze’s gold-flecked crimson eyes, there was recognition. A shado
w of agony passed over his expression, and Slake’s heart stopped.
Raze didn’t want to do this. “No,” Raze whispered, his voice a tormented rasp. “I . . . can’t . . .” He stumbled back a step, doubled over, and screamed. Screamed as if he were being skinned alive.
He was going to let himself die.
The stark reality knocked Slake upside the head like a blow from a troll’s meaty fist. Raze was a healer who would rather die than do harm. He wasn’t like Slake. He wasn’t like anyone Slake had ever met, and suddenly it wasn’t enough to merely get Raze help. Slake wanted—needed—to give Raze something he’d never given anyone.
Total surrender.
For the first time in his life, Slake stopped fighting. This wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about a battle to be accepted for his choices. It was about giving someone else what they needed.
It was worth a try. Anything was worth a try.
“Come to me, Raze,” he said. “Now.”
There was no hesitation. Just a sudden weight, a sudden pressure against his ass, and then the fiery pain of being stretched. The pain yielded quickly to pleasure as Raze began to thrust. Desperately. Violently.
Raze’s fingers dug into his skin, raking and gouging, but the agony only added to the mind-blowing wave of bliss crashing over Slake as Raze churned on top of him.
Slake’s cock, pinched between his body and the mattress, didn’t seem to notice the lack of attention. With every pump of Raze’s hips, Slake felt as if he were being stroked. His erection pulsed and his balls tightened, and when Raze fell forward and bit into the curve between his neck and shoulder, Slake shouted in ecstasy.
He came hard, hot wetness spreading across his belly. Raze was still going, the fury of his passion scorching Slake’s skin where they touched. Slake came again, so forcefully his vision flickered, and then Raze was roaring. For a second, Slake went cold, fearing Raze had reached the point of failure and pain, but then . . . then came the glorious sensation of being filled up.
Erotic pulses shot straight to his groin, and another orgasm tore him apart. Shattered his mind. His senses. Everything went offline except his pleasure receptors, which were firing on overdrive. Time became one massive climax, and just as he was about to beg for mercy, because surely his heart couldn’t take any more, Raze stopped moving and collapsed on top of him.
The sexual storm was over. They’d both survived.
But what, really, did that mean?
Awareness came slowly to Raze, clawing its way up from out of the black pit it had been buried in. A body lay beneath him. A hard body. A panting, heaving body that had clearly been strong enough to survive the sexual onslaught that Raze could only remember in bits and pieces as his mind attempted to assemble the puzzle of events.
Something sticky coated his skin, and a metallic, smoky taste swirled around in his mouth. Blood? Why would there be blood?
He shifted, hissing at the pain in his joints and muscles. His cock slipped from the warmth that had been surrounding it, and he heard a groan. His? Or had the sound belonged to his bedmate?
And why couldn’t he see?
He opened his eyes. And wow, what a difference that made. The dim light spilling into the bedroom from the kitchen was almost too much to bear, but when he turned his head, what he saw was definitely too much to bear.
The room was destroyed, there was blood everywhere, and beneath him, oh, holy hell . . . Slake.
“Oh fuck,” he croaked. “Oh . . . fuck.” He scrambled off Slake, only now realizing that they’d both been lying only half on the bed, their legs hanging over the side, knees on the floor. Raze’s useless muscles made him clumsy and jerky as he hauled them both more fully onto the mattress and heaved Slake onto his side. Bruises and deep, bleeding gouges marked his skin, and Raze’s mouth filled with bile at the sight of the savage bite mark in his shoulder. “Slake? What the fuck did I do? Slake?”
Slake’s eyes opened, and Raze braced himself to see hatred and loathing in their gorgeous dark depths. Instead, there was only drowsy curiosity.
“Hey.” Slake’s voice was as destroyed as Raze’s. “You okay?”
Raze’s mouth fell open. “Am I okay? You’re the one I . . .” He swallowed. Swallowed again. But nothing seemed to quell the nausea bubbling up from his stomach.
Propping himself up with one arm, Slake reached out to gently cup Raze’s cheek. “I’m fine. Gods, I’m so fine. I made a mess of your sheets, though.”
The sheets? Slake was joking about blood- and cum-soaked sheets? “Damn it, Slake, I attacked you! I—”
Slake sat up and gripped Raze’s shoulders, getting right in his face. “Listen to me. You backed off. You were willing to suffer in order to spare me. I could have gotten away. I chose to stay. I chose it, Raze.”
“But—”
“No. I knew what I was getting into.” He paused, and Raze held his breath, afraid Slake was going to reveal something horrible. “Well, sort of. But then . . . damn, it just felt good. And you didn’t seem to mind that I was male.”
Closing his eyes, Raze shook his head, hoping to rattle some memories back into place. “That shouldn’t have happened. I should have—” He broke off on a sharp inhale as the implications of what had occurred sank in.
He’d come. With a male.
A male.
It wasn’t possible. Maybe this was a dream. Or maybe he was dead.
His mind spun, unable to process everything that had happened. All around him, the world went fuzzy and sounds became muted, as if he was being held underwater. He broke out in a cold sweat, and distantly, he heard Slake’s voice, felt himself being shaken. What was going on? He heard himself mumble something about keys, and then all went black.
“Raze?” A spike of adrenaline made Slake’s hands tremble as he took Raze by the shoulders and shook him. “Raze!”
Nothing.
Raze was passed out cold, and while his pulse was strong and his breathing steady, Slake was pretty sure that being this unresponsive after sex was a bad thing. Had Fayle hurt him? Had Slake? What if being with a male had caused permanent damage?
Icy terror filled Slake’s chest cavity. This could be his fault. All of this could be his fault, right down to Fayle chaining him up out of jealousy or some crap.
Ignoring his aches and pains, he fumbled through his clothes for his phone and dialed *666 for Underworld General. A growly female voice answered. “Underworld General Hospital. How may I direct your call?”
“I need . . . shit, I don’t know what I need.”
“That’s not much help, sir.”
Right. Yeah. Okay. Maybe calling was stupid. He’d get Raze to the hospital himself. “Never mind.”
He hung up, threw on his clothes, and found a set of keys beneath the dresser, exactly where Raze’s nearly incoherent ramblings had said they’d be. After he unlocked the shackle around Raze’s ankle, Slake wrapped him in a blanket and hauled his heavy ass to the Harrowgate. He swiped his finger over the hospital symbol on the wall, and an instant later, he was stepping out into the emergency department.
Immediately, two people wearing scrubs rushed over. One, a doctor he’d seen before, the one with blue streaks in her black hair and a name tag that said Gem, guided him to an empty exam room.
“What happened?” she asked as she gestured for Slake to lay Raze on a table.
“I think he needs a doctor who is a Seminus demon to deal with this.”
She frowned, but she didn’t pause as she checked his airway, breathing, and pulse. “Then this is species-related? Sex?”
“I think so.”
“It’s okay,” she said with a firm nod. “My sister is mated to a Sem. I know more about them than I really want to.” She knuckled Raze’s sternum, but there was no response. Even Slake knew that was a bad sign. “What happened, exactly? Did you find him like this?”
“No.” He watched her finish inspecting Raze’s self-inflicted wounds and then cover his lower half with a sheet.
“When I got to his place, he was crazed and violent. He needed sex.”
She grabbed his wrist. “Did he get it, or is he . . .”
“He got it,” Slake said, hoping he didn’t have to go into detail. “But then he passed out.”
“Where’s the female?” Gem’s gaze flickered to Raze’s blood-streaked hands as she prepared an IV kit. “She can’t be in good shape.”
“Ah . . .” Slake had never been shy about sex, but this was seriously uncomfortable. Not only for himself, but he also didn’t want to betray Raze’s secret. “His partner is fine.”
“Tell her it might still be a good idea to get checked out.” The doctor pushed a button on the wall, but Slake had no idea what it was for. “Now, I need you to wait outside.”
Slake hesitated. He was sure Raze was in good hands, and it wasn’t as if Slake could do anything about his current condition, but still, the idea of leaving him like this . . . it bothered him. Raze was vulnerable right now, and Slake had the oddest desire to stand at his side like a guard dog.
“Is he going to be okay?” he asked, needing reassurance before he could leave.
Gem offered a comforting smile. “I’m calling in an expert, but I wouldn’t worry too much. His color is good and his vitals are stable. Give the receptionist your information, and we’ll get back with you when we can.”
Reluctantly, Slake left Raze in the doctor’s care, but he didn’t stick around. Fayle had done this to Raze. She’d chained him and left him to suffer. Slake needed to finish the job he’d started, but now capturing her wasn’t entirely about his soul. Now it was also about revenge.
Fayle had just made this very, very personal.
According to Eidolon, Raze had been in a coma for three days. Three fucking days. As he stared at the doctor from his hospital bed, Raze blinked his blurry eyes. The last thing he remembered before waking a few minutes ago was having sex. With Slake.
His gut churned at the memory, but right now he had to concentrate on why he was a patient at Underworld General.
